"Healthy, Wealthy, and Wise," Jeff repeats, a light sing-song quality to his voice as he approaches from, eh, wherever. He's not sneaking up on Mercy or anything, but he doesn't bother saying anything to make his presence known until he's standing close by the grave, a few steps behind her. "Sounds like they hit the jackpot," he remarks. "Some of us don't even get one of the above, let alone all three."

There could be bitterness, or self-deprecation, lacing through a comment like that, but in Jeff's case, there's only a trace of laughter.

"You ever expect them to talk back?"