How come in that moment Anna suddenly became all mouth? A Giant Mouth.

"I hope that's not a problem for you."

"Why would it be?"

I only kiss my husband. This, I quickly rationalized, was a good thing. It meant that for both Anna and me, our spouses were, and would always be, our priority.

Truth be told, my latest Anna Brody fantasies were exclusively about kissing. I had made elaborate plans.

Anna must have sensed my disappointment. "Are you sure it's not a problem?"

"Believe me. Not a problem."

After Anna left, pushing Sophie in her stroller, I stayed behind because I needed to think. Tim the Realist had expected Anna to cancel. But now the Weekend was more real than ever. n.o.ble Tim felt great for having forgotten about it. p.i.s.sed Tim hooked up with Insulted Tim and began to rant on behalf of Ashamed Tim and Tim with Petty Thoughts: Who ever said there had to be a Weekend? Maybe I'm not interested anymore. Maybe I used you, Anna Brody, to light a fire under my a.s.s to finish my dissertation! Maybe I don't want you and your complicated life filled with soft landings! Spiteful Tim began to chime in. Maybe I won't even show up. Maybe I'll go to the movies. Maybe I'll cuddle up with my wife, renew my wedding vows. Then Pragmatic Tim seized control of the moment. This all may be beside the point. Let's not forget, friends. There hasn't been a Third Sign!

In that spirit my many selves and I walked home.

"It's been a weird afternoon," Kate called out from the kitchen.

"You're telling me," I said, heading toward her and the smell of baking cookies.

"You want to go first or can I?"

"You, please," I said.

"Phone rings," she said, spatula-ing the last of the peanut b.u.t.ter cookies off the baking sheet. "It's a headhunter calling. She specializes in nonprofits. She's gotten my name from that Wall Street Journal reporter and wonders if I'm looking for work. 'Maybe-possibly-yes,' I say."

"That's not weird. It's wonderful."

"Here comes the weird part. The phone rings again. Guess who it is?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Jeff Slade. Calling from the coast. He has big news, he says, and a proposition. Honey, please eat a cookie. They're warm and chewy."

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.

"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?"

"Probably not. My friends Carl and Doug have a boat that actually floats. It's anch.o.r.ed off St. Croix. They have a macrobiotic cook who also does deep-tissue ma.s.sage. And I've told them, should I die between islands, they're to toss me overboard and sail on. Oh, Kate, stop crying."

It had hit me. Bruno was saying good-bye.

"Stop it or you'll make me start," he said. "And I don't want my makeup to run."

Four of Bruno's male friends came into the room. They smelled of leather, faint cologne, and cigarette smoke. They were all my age or younger, one balding, one bearded, but all of them impeccably dressed and oh so handsome.

"Ah, back for more," Bruno said. "Boys, this is Kate."

They smiled and nodded, as if they'd heard all about me.

"Hi," I said, giving a half wave.

"Kate's going on a trip to . . . Disney World!"

"Oooh," said one of the men eagerly.

"It's no big deal," I said, but from the way everyone began talking, it apparently was. "Can I just say a great ride? Pirates of the Caribbean-"

"I like Countdown to Extinction!"

"Splash Mountain. s.p.a.ce Mountain. Any ride with a mountain in it."

The cutest of the cute asked: "Are you going with kids?"

I nodded.

"Then eat at Cinderella's Castle. She'll greet you all at the door."

"Toontown is the best place to meet the characters . . ."

"Listen closely to the most important word I'm about to say. Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Fastpa.s.s. Otherwise you'll be in line all day."

Too bad I didn't have a pen and paper, because their suggestions were golden. One man spoke of how he admired that Disney was the first major conglomerate to give full benefits to same-s.e.x partners. Two of them fought over whether Goofy was gay. Bruno told how all his guy friends growing up had wanted to schtup Annette Funicello from the Mouseketeers. Not Bruno: He had a thing for Cubby. "He was cute. An angel. We were perfect for each other."

Watching Bruno revert to those first-crush feelings was sweet. We all took it in. Someone began to hum "It's a Small World." I was the content observer of a Disney Magic Moment. After it pa.s.sed, Bruno was quick to ask: "Will you promise to bring me back a set of mouse ears?"

Later that same day I was riding with Claudia in her new Range Rover, running errands. We were hurrying to beat the rain. I thought I'd explained the story clearly, but apparently not, because she kept asking me the same questions. Here was what I'd told her: Jeff Slade had called the day before to share his good news. He had proposed to a "wonderful woman" who, "as fate would have it," was also named Kate. This particular tidbit kept Claudia from hearing the rest, which was simple: Jeff and his fiancee, Kate, had made plans to visit Disney World, and, yes, it was last-minute, but Jeff wondered if Tim, the boys, and I might like to join them. I objected, saying maybe he and his fiancee needed some time alone, but he said that Tim and I were role models for him and that he wanted the other Kate to get to know us, and ever since Disney had acquired ABC a few years back, they'd made "D-World" pretty much carte blanche for people like him (meaning: stars of a super-successful Sunday-night family show like An Angel and His Wings). Claudia couldn't understand why I would even consider going. "You hate everything about Disney."

"But Tim loves it," I said. "And since it was an all-expenses-paid offer, with first-cla.s.s airfare, three days and two nights at the Wilderness Lodge, a personal guide provided by Disney, and free babysitting, I didn't see how we could refuse. The drag is Tim can't go."

Claudia smelled blood. "What do you mean?"

"He's got his dissertation defense. So he's letting the boys and me go. He'll be staying home."

"Well, it's either kind of him or really stupid. Dan would never let me travel with any of my great loves."

"But this is to meet the fiancee."

"Whose name is Kate, I might add!"

"Please, Claudia. It's not like that," I said, laughing.

"No?" Claudia swerved to avoid the new Grand Canyon-like pot-hole on Hicks Street. The windshield wipers batted away the fat drops of rain that, only moments earlier, had begun to fall.

"My thing with Jeff was a long time ago."

"Which makes it worse."

"How do you mean?"

"It makes you nostalgic."

Claudia hit the brakes and skidded on the wet pavement. She pounded the car horn at a man who had stepped stupidly out into the street. "You coulda been killed, you ditz!"

As the man crossed, he gave a vague look in our direction. It was Philip Ashworth, in a gray raincoat, holding one of those cheap umbrellas you buy at a newsstand.

"Well, will you look at that. Even Philip Ashworth gets wet," Claudia said. "Hey, have you heard the latest?"

"No."

"He's been having affairs for years. He's notorious for it. I mean, who hasn't that man f.u.c.ked? But karma, it seems, really is a b.i.t.c.h. Because apparently, she's taken a lover." Claudia turned left onto Pineapple Street. "I say, 'You go, girl.' But Philip's all bent out of shape over it. Leave it to a man. The hypocrisy. My hunch? It's about to get very ugly." Now the rain was falling hard and fast. Claudia turned on her hazard lights and pulled over to wait out the sudden storm.

I wanted to change the subject to something more positive. "Actually, I feel the opposite with Tim. He surprised me. To let us go without him to the place he wants to go to most. That's really generous of him. Frankly, it gives me hope."

"I was saying something like this the other day."

"What?"

"Husbands. How we never really know them."

TIM.

IT WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEEKEND, AND I WAS ABOUT TO BETRAY THE PERSON I most loved. While Kate and the boys were dreaming of Disney World, I couldn't sleep. How could I? I fretted and paced around our living room/dining room/toy room, finally ending up in our bathroom, where I sat on the toilet with the lid down, staring at myself in the mirror, not recognizing who was there.

I turned off the bathroom light and sat in the dark. I don't know how long I sat there. I needed the counsel of a friend. For obvious reasons, I couldn't turn to my best friend (Kate), so I turned to history for perspective. Who from history might understand how I was feeling? One person immediately came to mind. Neil Armstrong. Yes, I know it seems a bit of a stretch. What did Neil Armstrong, the commander of Apollo 11, the first man ever to walk on the moon, and I have in common? Normally, I would argue, not much. But this was not a normal night.

If I'd had Neil Armstrong's home phone number, I would've made the call myself.

Mr. Armstrong-may I call you Neil? What were your thoughts in those last hours before blastoff? Were you too excited to sleep? What if you didn't make it back to Earth? Did you worry about your life after the moonwalk? Were you concerned that the rest of your life would be a letdown? And as you descended the steps of the lunar module, did it occur to you that you could simply refuse to walk on the moon?

Neil Armstrong: "Why would I refuse?"

Because you don't walk on the moon and not have it affect the rest of your life in every conceivable way. Is every step afterward a lesser step?

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 alt.i.tude 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.

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."