She watched him on the televisions screen, dressed in a tuxedo, looking older than she remembered, more gray in his beard, but still the same sincere smile. He accepted the award and gave a speech that she knew was written for him, because it was chocked full of the type of platitudinal statements that he despised.

After the ceremony, a reporter caught him walking out to his limo. She leaned against the bodyguard’s forearm and asked him, “Sean, congratulations! Is there anything you want to say to the people watching at home?” He walked past the reporter, but then turned around as if he had just thought of something. He looked straight into the camera lens and said, “I still love you, little goose.”

She dropped her glass.