These tears in my eyes are giving me salt goggles. Everything is blurry, including signs that hang from the ceiling and the shape of Brendan as he comes closer to me.

“Do you want a hug?” he asks. “Laughter and hugs. Best medicine.”

I hesitate, then nod, even though it’s so cheesy. At this point I’d let an ax murderer hug me, just as long as some 98.6-degree something will grab hold of me and keep me from falling.

“That blows,” he says, and puts his arms around me and gives me a squeeze. He’s a lot taller than I am, which puts my nose a bit beneath his armpit. It smells like he just showered. “Really blows.”

He pulls away from me, and I remind gravity to work its magic on me. Keep my feet on the ground and the hair on my head. Feel free to ignore any remaining tears, though. You can give those the middle finger, and they can fall right back up into my head.

“I’m sleep deprived—I don’t know what I’m saying.” I pull back and make stern eye contact with him. “Tell no one about this.”

Brendan laughs. “If you haven’t noticed, people don’t exactly gather round when I open my mouth.” His smile flickers.

“That must be lonely.”

He nods and clears his throat. “Well, I have to do volun-cheer rounds. Maybe I could stop in and talk to your dad later if—”

“Hell no. I mean, thanks, but hell no.”

“Well, I don’t know if you’re doing anything, but if you’re looking for some time to kill, you could come with me on a round.” He starts to walk away. I pause for a moment, deciding what to do. Finally I run after him.

“Hey, wait! What’s a round?”

In the children’s ward there are large posters covered in brightly colored handprints and trees and suns. Friendly forest creatures wave at me. I don’t wave back. Brendan walks in wheeling a suitcase he grabbed from one of the volunteer lockers, and I trail behind him.

“Are you moving into the children’s wing?” I ask, pressing the button so that the doors open automatically.

“Are you moving toward permanent sarcasm?”

“I thought laughter healed the world,” I grumble to myself, stepping out of the way of anyone in scrubs. We turn into a hallway with a large bin full of toys at the end of it. Midway down the hall, Brendan stops abruptly and knocks on a door. It has a paper plate on it that reads Sal in puffy paint.

“Come in,” says a man’s voice.

Brendan opens the door and I see a middle-aged man holding up a book to a hospital bed full of stuffed animals. He looks a bit old for the children’s ward, in my opinion.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Brendan says. “Should I come back?”

I look back and forth between the two of them.

“Hi, Brendan!” The pile of stuffed animals erupts, and a little girl launches out of bed wearing bright green pajamas. She goes right for his legs and gives them a hug. “Is that the magic suitcase?”