In those last hours before the alarm went off and Kate and the boys dressed and ate the breakfast I would prepare and climbed into the car Jeff Slade had ordered that would whisk them to the airport, where they’d fly United at a cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet, heading toward Orlando, I had no illusions about being Neil Armstrong.

I knew I wasn’t Neil Armstrong, but here was my fear: What if Anna was the moon?

FIVE

FIVE

KATE

KATE

THAT MORNING I WAS IN A FUNK. AND TIM KNEW IT. BUT HE DIDN’T KNOW THE REAL reason why.

He had tried to cheer me up by saying, “It’s just a few days. You’ll be back in no time.” He even joked, “Maybe you’ll have your own Disney Magic Moment!”

But nothing he said seemed to help. It felt wrong to leave him right before his dissertation defense. “Honey,” I said. “If you want, we can stay.”

“No, no!”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s just a weekend, Kate.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Maybe it’s a good thing we’re going. Give you a little space.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Will you do me a favor and treat yourself?”

Tim looked as if he’d been electrocuted. “What does that mean?” “Sleep late. Rent a movie. Eat a lot of chocolate.”

“Oh,” he said, not smiling.

“Reward yourself for a job well done.” Then I said something lame like “But don’t have too much fun.”

Later, we stood on the curb, locked in a hug. “Good-bye,” he said, his arms wrapped tightly around me, not letting go.

The boys were already seat-belted in back of a gray sedan from Promenade car service. Their small matching suitcases had been stowed in the trunk. They were ready, I was ready, but Tim was the one hanging on.

This reminded me of how we used to say good-bye in our first days together. Back then, whenever we parted, I’d walk a bit, sense that I was being watched, turn, and find that he was still standing there, watching me. I’d wave, he’d wave, and we’d both walk on. We’d keep turning and waving until we were terribly small, an eyestrain, until the last possible second. It was our way, I suppose, of letting the other know we’d always be there.

“Okay, honey, I love you,” I finally said, which was code for Let go.

He released me and stepped back. He leaned into the car and kissed the boys and held them and whispered into their ears, not stopping until Sam squirmed and Teddy said, “Daddy, don’t.” When Tim pulled back out, he couldn’t look at me. “You’re going to miss your flight,” he said.