The Heights Part 25

I couldn't write them down fast enough. Our goal-while Jeff helped the boys into their swimsuits-was to remember every Disney character we had seen that day. Peter Pan, Captain Hook, Simba, Tarzan, Donald Duck . . .

Later, as the four of us walked in our flip-flops to the Wilderness Lodge's pool, the list-making continued. Aladdin, Ariel, Buzz Lightyear, Cruella de Vil . . .

The list had been Teddy's idea. "This way," he said, "we can tell Dad."

Tim had suggested it, but I'd been quick to agree. We were not to call each other that weekend unless there was an emergency. What happened with Teddy had me reaching for the phone. But then I hesitated. I'd like to think it was because I wanted to honor our pledge/pact. The truth was that if I did call him, the conversation might get around to the other Kate, and I'd have to explain her absence. But as soon as we'd pulled Teddy out of the water, I had reason enough. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed home, and when the machine answered, I said, "Don't worry, I'm not calling." Then I handed Teddy the phone.

TEDDY.

HEY, DAD. DAD, THERE'S A POOL. A BIG POOL. AND GUESS WHAT I DID. YOU KNOW what I did? I put my head under. And Jeff showed me how to. I put my head all the way under. And Dad. I was swimming, Dad. I was swimming.

TIM.

TRAFFIC. A BABYSITTER MIX-UP. A SNAG IN THE HOUSE TOUR PREPARATIONS. ANY of these seemed reasonable. But a tour glitch was the most likely explanation. Maybe something to do with where to place a vase of flowers. Something to do with beauty, something she couldn't help but do, evidenced by the care she'd taken in choosing this room. Getting it right was important to her.

Maybe she missed the stop. (As if she'd be taking the subway.) Maybe the t.i.tanium battery in her watch wore out and she wasn't aware of the time. Maybe she b.u.mped into an old friend and was forced to make small talk on a street corner just as the brakes went out on a city bus, mowing down thirteen pedestrians, including her.

Ridiculous.

Then again, maybe not.

Anything was possible.

Well, not anything.

Yes, anything.

If I could be where I was, waiting for her, then yes, anything was possible.

Or maybe . . .

A last-minute bikini wax.

Or . . .

A pigeon p.o.o.ped on her shoulder and she went back home to change.

Or . . .

Outside the Pink p.u.s.s.ycat Boutique, a chauffeured town car with tinted windows idled, while inside, a woman of astonis.h.i.+ng cla.s.s and style picked out a discreet and expensive battery-operated s.e.x toy . . .

Or . . .

Maybe she got lost. Maybe she changed her mind. She wasn't coming. But a person didn't book this kind of room and then not show. Maybe she was already here, hiding. Maybe it was a cruel joke. Maybe the Infinity was filled with men like me, all waiting for her to arrive to indulge in their weekends. Maybe she was watching it all from a command center in the bas.e.m.e.nt, a bank of television monitors displaying images from hidden cameras. I was being watched! How many times had my mother said it? "Always behave as if your ancestors are watching."

"Why?"

"Because very likely they are."

Well, then, Grandma and Grandpa were having a fine time right about now.

What did I know? I didn't know. I didn't even know what I knew. Oh, wait-I knew one thing. She was late.

Just breathe.

How late? I'd have to do the math.

Breathe, you dummy.

I double-checked the small, sleek digital clock at the side of the bed-my G.o.d, what a bed-and yes, I was right, she was late. Four minutes late.

KATE.

THE BOYS AND I WERE HAVING A LITTLE DOWNTIME IN OUR SUITE WHEN JEFF knocked on the door. He was dressed in jeans and a blazer. He smelled of cologne. Darla was behind him, holding her rainbow-colored clipboard pressed to her chest.

"There's a thing I'm going to do," Jeff said. "It won't take long. Wanna come?"

I glanced at Darla. From the way she smiled, I knew this was my surprise.

"I'm game," I said.

Darla looked after the boys as Jeff and I were driven in a high-speed air-conditioned golf cart to our destination.

"Last December," Jeff said, "when we had dinner in Brooklyn, and I heard about the work you were doing, your charity work, I got to thinking how selfish I'd been. How everything always was about me. So I decided to do something. I got involved. And this is the result." The golf cart came to a stop. "This, Kate, is all because of you."

We had arrived at Give Kids the World, a nonprofit resort on the outskirts of Disney World, a wonderland paradise for any kid, especially those who were terminally ill.

GKTW handlers ushered us quickly into the Wish Cafe, where a big reception was in full swing for twenty Make-A-Wish kids and their families. These kids were all ages, shapes, and sizes. Some looked very sick. Several of the kids had no hair; others wore scarves. Many had faces bloated from steroids and anti-rejection drugs. One boy had a ventilator attached to the back of his wheelchair. The ventilator had been covered in skateboard decals.

Jeff stopped at the first Make-A-Wish kid he saw. He knelt down beside her and said, "Hey, Carla, it's Jeff Slade."

The Cleveland chapter of Make-A-Wish had sent Carla; her parents, Donna and Buzz; her brother, Scott; and her sister, Beth, to Disney World. I was introduced to them and learned that Carla had hypoplasia, a medical condition affecting the development of her arms and legs.

Jeff gently stroked Carla's cheek as they talked about his show. She asked him questions: "Do you believe what your character believes? Where do we go when we die?"

Jeff leaned forward and did his best to answer. From his pocket, he produced a small pewter angel coin. He pressed it into Carla's frail hand and said, "Squeeze this, and the angels will hear."

Yes, it was a cheesy thing to say, but it was kind, and the look on Carla's face made me want to believe.

Imagine twenty more different conversations but all the same in one respect: Jeff was bringing these kids hope and happiness that they didn't get to feel most days.

He was like Jesus to these kids. He knew each of their names. He hugged them, high-fived those who could raise their hands. He posed for pictures. And I watched him proudly.

In one hour, he did more for the world than I'd done in a whole year.

"Here goes nothing."

"No," I said, "you'll be great."

And great he was.

As Jeff approached the podium, everyone in the Wish Cafe started to cheer.

"You're too kind," he said, gesturing for them to stop.

One of the Make-A-Wish kids screamed out, "We luuuv youuu, Jeffff."

"I love you, too," he said.

The room erupted a second time. Jeff took a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, opened it, and began to read. "I'm not an angel," Jeff said.

Silence.

"But I play one on TV."

Big laugh.

"When I look out at you all in this room tonight, all I see are . . ." Jeff started to choke up. "Angels." He looked down at his speech and was overcome with emotion. He tried to keep reading what he'd written, but he couldn't see through his tears. It was raw, unexpected. Genuine. At one point he shouted out something. I don't know what he said, but the force of it gave me a chill.

The ovation was still going on when he sat back down next to me and asked what I thought.

I had to shout over the cheering. "Pretty much everyone was crying!"

"Really?"

"Not a dry eye!"

"But my speech that I worked so long on . . ."

"It doesn't matter." The truth was, I couldn't remember the words. "What it felt to me like you were saying-without saying it-was that there are some things that go beyond words. Some things words aren't for."

Jeff seemed to like my take.

The applause started to swell again and the crowd began to chant, "Jeff! Jeff! Jeff!"

Before he stood back up to take a second bow, he looked at me and said, "You hungry?"

TIM.

EIGHT O'CLOCK. STILL NO ANNA. I TRIED TO THINK WHAT KATE WOULD DO, WHICH was difficult in a literal sense, because she would never be in this situation. I thought about how she handled our boys' frequent meltdowns and freak-outs with exceptional grace. Her secret? Distraction. So I thought like Kate and came up with a solution. I channel-surfed until I settled on Animal Planet.

What I'd learned so far: The long-eared hedgehog, despite her cute face, is actually a swift-footed predator. Her diet consists of insects and small vermin, including the highly poisonous yellow scorpion, proving an important fact of nature: Either eat or be eaten. Hunt or be hunted. This was nature's way.

On the screen, a hedgehog was in pursuit of a scorpion. It was a cla.s.sic chase scene, rife with that age-old question: Will the hedgehog catch the scorpion?

Close on the hedgehog sniffing and moving fast.

Close on the scorpion skittering across a rock, not moving as fast as the hedgehog.

Cut back to the hedgehog, picking up speed.

Cut back to the scorpion . . .

The hedgehog. The scorpion.

I didn't have a good feeling about this when- There was a knock on the door.

I froze as the hedgehog lunged for the scorpion, catching it in its mouth. I turned the TV off. That was better.

Mirror check.

During the 137 minutes that I'd been concerned/worried/crazed out of my mind, I had learned something, and now that Anna was finally knocking, I felt grateful for the delay.

Second mirror check.

There will be no recriminations, I told myself.

I popped a breath mint in my mouth.

No sirree. All is forgiven . . .

My heart was racing as I opened the door.

"Mr. Trammel?"

"What!" I groaned.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"What is it, Nils?"

"Your Bible, sir." Nils extended the Bible. It was a deep gold color. It was the "Good News for Modern Man" version. "We didn't have one on the premises. So on my dinner break, I went to a Christian bookstore. The cas.h.i.+er recommended this one. She asked if you were a devout believer. I said I didn't know but that you were very disturbed about the lack of Bibles at the Infinity Hotel. She sold us this for half price."

I opened my wallet.

"You can charge it to your room."

"No, here." I gave Nils two twenty-dollar bills.

"Thank you, sir."

"No, thank you, Nils."

"You must be a religious person, Mr. Trammel."

"No, but I might be very soon."

Nils and I stood before each other.