"Sure, Tud. As all right as you can when you're standing by to swim up out of your own sweat, any minute. How's mother? What new mess has Popcorn made?"
She gave me the country news.
"Won't be too long now," I said.
"Miss you."
"Miss you. Been thinking about the gardens. See you day after tomorrow—barring acts of God."
"I'd rather wait longer—and have you sounding better."
"You wait till I get there and I'll do my own sounding."
"Good night," she said. "I love you."
When I hung up, I was quivering.
I'd come pretty close: