I took a bite of a warm and chewy cookie.

Kate called the boys and they came running.

“Because, honey, I think it could be a good opportunity, if you’re open to it.”

As Kate explained the reason for Jeff’s call, as she detailed the offer he was making our family, my mouth must have hung open. I was stunned just by the thought of it: You’ve got to be kidding! Jeff Slade, bearer of the Third Sign?

KATE

KATE

“DISNEY WORLD? YOU’RE GOING TO DISNEY WORLD?”

My yes was barely audible, because I couldn’t believe it, either.

The eerie silence that followed made me worry. Then the kimono-clad Bruno shrieked with glee, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, Bruno, I’m not.”

He took my hands and said, “What fabulous news. I couldn’t be happier for you.”

Funny, I couldn’t have been happier for him. It had been three days since my last visit, three days since he lay semiconscious in his hospital bed, writhing in pain, his hands strapped down so he couldn’t yank out his IV line, three days since the parade of doctors—the oncologist, the pulmonologist, the endocrinologist, and the infectious disease specialist—each of whom knew for certain but wouldn’t say: This was it.

Now, somehow, Bruno was back, propped up in the hospital bed, barking out orders to the plump nurse. No longer a grim gray room with its drips, bleeps, and numerous tubes, his surroundings had been Bruno-ized: His bed was framed by numerous bouquets of flowers. Oriental pillows had been brought from home. He wore his fuzzy bunny slippers. A stack of glossy magazines shared his bed. He had his color back, and he was speaking as if to a packed house, even though it was only the two of us in the room, and Rica, the nurse.

“If anyone deserves a trip, Kate, it’s you.”

“But Disney World? I thought you might object.”

Rica refilled the ice in Bruno’s mauve hospital water pitcher.

“Why would I object? You see, later this afternoon my sister is going to arrive with a handful of hospice brochures, hoping to get me to accept the inevitable. Oh, I accept it. I just don’t want to die here, in this place, this house of horrors.”

It was as if he were an old actor giving his last performance after a long run. He’d found his light, and I watched as he exaggerated every gesture, savored every word, stretching each moment so the curtain might never come down.

He went on, “So I’m happy to hear about your trip, because I’m going on a trip, too.”

“Is that a good idea?”