"No. No more talk." She was happy he wanted her here, that they wanted her here, and not because they wanted to use her for their own political gain. They seemed to actually like her
"And I'm fine." Rarely greater than, never less than. It was her way, the only way. "The beer and the wine and the liquor help. Running, too. Oh, and did I mention the alcohol?" She smiled, but it was weak.
From where they were seated, she could see the place in the clearing where she'd covered Rutherford's body with the quilt Oliver had picked up from a street merchant the summer they'd spent in California.
There was enough blur from the rain that the flower rising from the disheveled back garden could've gone without notice. And, if notice was taken, it was breezy enough to reason the wind carried it over and laid it gently where the former Raj had fallen.