There were conversations they could have.
But she eventually said what neither of us could escape.
“We need to begin thinking about what Caleb wants his time to look like.”
I stared at the floor.
Not how much time.
What the time should look like.
That distinction told me everything.
When we returned to his room, the Westmere Hawks were playing on television.
Caleb was sitting up with a blanket over his legs.
A plastic tabletop football game sat beside him.
It was cheap.
One goalpost leaned permanently to the left.
Half the players had been repaired with tape.
The scoreboard no longer moved.
Caleb loved it anyway.
Daniel sat beside him.
The Hawks scored.
Without thinking, Daniel jumped up.
“Yes!”
Caleb burst out laughing.
Daniel immediately stopped.
“You okay?”
Caleb stared at him.
“Yes.”
“You laughed hard.”
“I’m allowed to laugh hard.”
“Of course.”
Daniel sat down.
I took a picture.
Caleb noticed.
He looked at my phone.
Then at me.
I lowered it.
“Sorry.”
He shrugged.
Nobody said anything else.
But that was the beginning of something Caleb had already understood before we did.
His illness was turning every normal thing into an event.
A week later, a woman named Lydia Grant came from the fictional Bright Horizon Wish Foundation.
She wore sneakers.
Caleb liked her immediately.
She sat beside his bed and asked:
“If you could choose one day that was completely yours, what would you do?”
I expected something enormous.
Meet the quarterback.
Fly somewhere.
Disney.
A private concert.
Caleb answered almost immediately.
“Westmere Hawks game.”
Lydia smiled.
“That’s doable.”
Then he added:
“At Creston Field.”
Daniel nodded.
“Good choice.”
“And Mom and Dad have to come.”
I laughed.
“We were planning on abandoning you at the gate.”
Caleb grinned.
“No.”
“You both have to actually watch.”
Daniel looked confused.
“We always watch.”
Caleb gave him a look.
I noticed.
I did not understand yet.
Lydia worked with his doctors.
Accessible transportation.
Seating.
Medical contingencies.
A quiet room nearby in case he became exhausted.
She handled details I never even considered.
We thought the wish ended there.
One game.
Three tickets.
Caleb.
Daniel.
Me.
We were wrong.
Creston Field was enormous.
That was Caleb’s first reaction.
Not the players.
Not the crowd.
The size.
He stopped just inside the concourse and stared through an opening toward the field.
