One of the less bullshitty conventions of the cancer kid genre is the Last Good Day convention, wherein the victim of cancer finds herself with some unexpected hours when it seems like the inexorable decline has suddenly plateaued, when the pain is for a moment bearable. The problem, of course, is that there's no way of knowing that your last good day is your Last Good Day. At the time, it is just another good day.
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I'd taken a day off from visiting Augustus because I was feeling a bit unwell myself: nothing specific, just tired. It had been a lazy day, and when Augustus called just after five P. M., I was already attached to the BiPAP, which we'd dragged out to the living room so I could watch TV with Mom and Dad.
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"Hi, Augustus," I said.
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He answered in the voice I'd fallen for. "Good evening, Hazel Grace. Do you suppose you could find your way to the Literal Heart of Jesus around eight P. M.?"
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第二十章
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