His cleats remained beside the back door.
At the hospital, nurses learned which arm he preferred for blood draws.
Stella packed overnight bags without checking a list.
I became good at sleeping upright and lying to relatives on the phone.
“He’s having a decent day.”
“Treatment went fine.”
“We’re taking it one week at a time.”
“Treatment went fine.”
Mike heard everything.
He also knew when we were pretending.
One afternoon, during another infusion, a Make-A-Wish volunteer named Claire sat beside his bed. She wore green sneakers and carried a folder covered with stars.
“If you could go anywhere,” she asked my son, “where would you go?”
Mike did not hesitate.
“Disneyland!”
He also knew when we were pretending.
“Why Disneyland?”
He glanced at the clear medication dripping into his arm.
“Because nobody is allowed to be sick there. Only happy.”
Claire’s smile held.
Mine did not.
“Why Disneyland?”
***
A month later, she called.
The trip was approved.
We did not tell Mike until the tickets arrived because hope had become something Stella and I handled carefully. We had seen plans disappear after one bad scan.
When we finally showed him, he read the destination twice.
Then he whispered, “All three of us?”
The trip was approved.
“All three,” Stella said.
He hugged the tickets to his chest.
That was how we reached seat 12A.
***
Mike had the window. Stella sat in the middle. I took the aisle and pretended not to notice how often she checked his color.
He hugged the tickets to his chest.
A flight attendant named Dana brought him apple juice in a plastic cup.
“Do pilots really say ‘roger’?” Mike asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Do they have keys?”
“I’ll ask,” she said.
“Can airplanes get tired?”
Dana glanced at me before answering. “Not when they know where they’re going.”
Mike smiled.
“Do pilots really say ‘roger’?”
Then the captain’s voice came over the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Harris. We are cruising at thirty-five thousand feet and expect a smooth flight into Los Angeles.”
Mike looked disappointed.
“He didn’t say ‘roger.'”
The captain continued: “We also have a special guest with us today. Mike, in seat 12A, I hope you’re enjoying your trip so far.”
“We also have a special guest with us today.”
My son froze with a straw between his lips.
Passengers turned toward us.
Mike lowered the cup.
“He knows my seat.”
Dana stood near the front galley, smiling.
Captain Harris spoke again.
“Mike, before we land, there is one thing about this trip that you and your parents know nothing about.”
Passengers turned toward us.
Stella’s fingers locked around mine.
I looked toward Dana. She gave nothing away.
The seat belt sign remained off, but the cabin went still.
“Passengers, please reach beneath your seat. You will find a small folded paper tucked into the life vest pocket.”
People bent forward.
Paper rustled across the plane.
