“Last night in a dream,” Angelo said, “I went walking with Van Gogh between the olive trees. He asked me to visit his paintings all over the world. ” Angelo glowed all the way to his fingertips. “I promised I would.”

“Most of the Van Gogh paintings are very far from here. Paris and New York and...”

“Amsterdam!” said Angelo, fluttering his feet in the last of the milk. “And London! I will see all the beautiful paintings. Not only for me, but for Rosaline, too. I’ll be her eyes.”

“That will be a wonderful trip,” I said. “I'll miss you, of course. And I’ll worry about you. Where will you sleep?”

Angelo climbed out of the bowl and scrubbed himself dry with the tablecloth. “I’ll bring my front door. It turns any cereal box into home. Piano and everything.”

“Oh, good,” I said, and tried to smile.

“Don’t be sad,” Angelo said. “I’ll come back someday.”