That was when I figured it out. I might’ve been the feather in the cap of Dr. Lamson’s career, but the other two couldn’t have cared less. They were humoring Dr. Lamson, and they wanted me gone. How quickly their kind-seeming smiles turned into patronizing sneers. I decided to fight back, to prove myself and convince them. I began to speak without thinking, rambling, really, trying to reiterate a key point about history being an endless succession of mostly minor moments that accumulate and how intention was all that could be controlled and how meaning well didn’t always mean doing right, and even now I worry about what slipped out, what was exposed, because all I remember is the way the committee laughed and laughed until they hurt from laughing, leaving me with the distinct impression that whatever I’d said had been all too revealing and how, when I felt the blood rush to my face, my knees buckled . . .

Flop.

When I came to, they asked if I remembered fainting or if I’d felt the crack of my mouth against the table’s edge. “No,” I said, fingering my newly chipped front tooth. “I don’t remember any of that.” Which was true. All I remembered was the moment before I fell—the buzzing lights, the blur of laughter, and me saying, “Please don’t tell my wife.”

KATE

KATE

PLEASE KNOW I WASN’T EASILY IMPRESSED. I RESISTED THE LURE OF THE EMPHATIC 3-D billboards that lined the network of Disney highways as we approached, and I felt no awe at the fact that Disney World wasn’t one place, as I’d previously thought, but actually four theme parks, three water parks, and two huge areas that were designed for adult nightlife. And yes, I’m sure our accommodations at the Wilderness Lodge were lovely, but I didn’t jump up and down like my boys when they saw the Lincoln Log-like lobby and the eighty-two-foot fireplace that blazes all year round, or the pool that begins indoors as a hot spring and then flows into a winding creek, culminating with a waterfall into the rocky caverns of the outdoor pool. It was kind of Jeff to be waiting for us when we arrived, and how sweet he was to get down on his knees as he greeted the boys, and how thoughtful he was to insist they be covered with sunblock, and how nice to have our own Disney chaperone named Darla to guide us through the complex series of options. All this was fine, but I wasn’t convinced, not even as we floated on the launch toward the Magic Kingdom and hurried after the boys as they ran ahead down Main Street. It was simple, however, my conversion, and its cause was obvious. Cinderella’s Castle. I’d avoided looking at it, but when I yielded and saw that familiar turret towering above, I began to scream.

TIM

TIM