“Yeah. He's gone, now.”

Probably for the best no matter which way it's sliced—she's a little wistful, all the same. “He was responsible for that bum statue Merlotte was so hot and bothered about,” she carries on, in an upbeat tone that mostly disguises the thing her face does when he keeps his eyes closed—normal, probably, right?

He's not well.

She pokes her salmon around her plate, eats some of it.