Jack’s route home took him past the Central Park Zoo, which was clogged with children and parents. Jack felt a sudden catch in his throat as he wondered if there would be a chance for him to enjoy such an outing with JJ. A little farther on, and coming abreast of a beautiful playground with a slide built of polished granite, Jack stopped for a minute to watch the children squealing, shrieking, and laughing. Their glee was infectious, and it almost brought a smile to Jack’s face, remembering his own exuberant childhood. But a moment later his thoughts were dominated by JJ’s neuroblastoma and the heavy question of which was going to triumph, the mystical power of JJ’s body to heal itself with the help of modern medicine if and when the medicine could be restarted, or the equally mysterious power of the DNA-driven neuroblastoma cells: a classic collision of right and wrong.

Experiencing another, more powerful catch in his throat, Jack jumped back on his bike and pedaled furiously to clear his mind. Luckily, because of the springlike weather, he quickly found himself enveloped in a mob of other bikers, runners, in-line skaters, roller skaters, and mere walkers such that thinking was difficult to avoid running into someone.

Jack exited the park at 106th Street. As he pedaled he could clearly see his house, which stood out sharply as the only one on the block that had been totally renovated. Then he caught a glimpse of something he wished he hadn’t: the sight of his neighbors warming up on the outdoor playground’s basketball court. Unable to resist, Jack jumped the curb and glided to a stop at the chain-link fence.

As soon as Jack had come to a halt, one of the players sauntered over to him. His name was Warren Wilson, and he was by far the best player. Over the course of Jack’s years in the city living in the neighborhood, he and Jack had become the best of friends.

“Hey, man, you coming out? I still got room for one.”

“I’d love to,” Jack said, “but Laurie’s been cooped up in the house with JJ, and I’ve got to go and relieve her. You know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I know. Catch you later, then.”

Struggling with his conscience, Jack watched Warren rejoin the group. Reluctantly, he turned his bike and headed across the street, hoisting it onto his shoulder to carry it up the front stone steps.

After unlocking the door, Jack poked his head in and listened. No crying. Carrying the bike inside, he placed it in its designated closet and started up the stairs.