I debated with myself over whether I could justify having a fire lit in the fireplace in mid-May at the same time I practiced closing the thick cream curtains, which, amazingly, blocked out all light. I tested out the state-of-the-art stereo and the flatter-than-flat-screen TV. I did not test the bed. The bed, I decided, would remain untouched until . . .

My heart banged against my ribs. Dizzy, I needed fresh air. I unlatched the glass door that led to the wraparound deck, which was more like a full-fledged terrace, with a gray slate floor and designer table and chairs. I leaned over the ledge, looked down all seventeen stories, and had that rise in my stomach that comes from realizing how easy it would be to fall.

KATE

KATE

DARLA AND I STAYED BACK AS JEFF AND THE BOYS RAN AHEAD. IT WAS SWEET watching them race toward the Magic Kingdom. Jeff had arranged for prime seating at the three o’clock character parade.

“Mr. Slade has given me back my faith in actors,” Darla said.

“He’s been really nice to my kids, it’s true.”

“I mean, after what he’s done the last three days . . .”

I didn’t know what Darla was talking about. “What has he done?”

“Uh-oh,” she said. “Wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“You may as well tell me.”

“Well,” Darla said, obviously wanting to tell me. “There’s a boy from Iowa named Charlie Boxer. He’s only six, and he has a rare form of leukemia, months to live, basically. Charlie had two wishes. Like the majority of Make-A-Wish kids, he wanted to visit Disney World. But he also wanted to meet the actor who played Angel Alex on An Angel and His Wings. When Jeff heard about Charlie, he said something like ‘Let’s make all his wishes come true.’ Jeff came three days ago to spend time with Charlie. ‘I’m here,’ he said. ‘Use me.’ And we have. He’s been all over the park with a number of the Make-A-Wish kids. These kids really face hard stuff—it’s all pain and hospitals most of the time, and Jeff has given them more than a little bit of happiness.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“But, please don’t say I said anything. I think he wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I promise,” I said. “I’ll be surprised.”

While Darla was on her cell phone, I bought myself a small Sprite served in a plastic Mickey Mouse cup. I sat down on an empty bench, and that was when it occurred to me: There is no litter in Disney World. No cigarette butts, no candy wrappers, no warm wads of gum waiting to stick to tennis shoes. If only the world were this clean. And to think thousands of people moved through Disney World every day. Where was the mess? How was it possible?