He got his brother's phone call while wiping a cabinet. His eyes went side to side --like a cartoon character having a conniption. Even though there was an inkling of a nose-dive, the mind plays tricks thinking maybe; a rally could plant the feet on terra firma again. There was too much to express without ample time. Junior had rehearsed the denouement until fluent, but forty miles and his Mazda 626 needed a miracle; jetting 90 mph weaving and ducking as one possessed might reach there ahead of the last exhale and lifting sheet. He turned into the valet entrance near the sliding glass. His brother stood there expressionless, the color of slate. He bounded out and up through the doors and asked his brother, "Am I in time?" --the answer was like a chest stab; "--He passed 15 minutes ago." Junior had missed Senior.