Patrice frowns at the noise, looking his eyes from the envelope in his hands to Des just as Presley does.

"Just some wind in Wyatt's, for sure. Nothing like that. Be careful."

He drops the letter, unable to make himself open it, and then he hesitates, searching the table, unsure of what to do. Presley is looking at the tarot card. A thought takes root, and he shifts. Maybe Presley won't notice Patrice's small movement to lightly touch his mother's hand. It's been a long time since she's had a physical form.