"Yes. This is Missus McGillicuddy."
The accent is comically crisp. "Hello,"
"Hello, how are we today?"
"Passing well, thank ye." A light Irish brogue
infiltrates my own voice. Apparently,
the missus bewitches.
"Pip. Pip. You know
we're having tea?"
"Tea with mum and grandmum?"
"Jolly good, yes. And lemon curd and scones."
"Mrs. McGillicuddy, that sounds fun."
"Tut, tut. It is! Would you like to say 'hi'
to your daughter?"
"If she's willing to come
away from her wee tea." (Now I'm Scottish.)
"I miss you, daddy." Her voice has become
an impression of herself at three-ish.
Hint of tears. "I miss you, too, pizza dough."
There's a silent beat, then stiff upper lip.
"We'll be home on Sunday." Sound of a kiss.