According to Bob Shrum, the two senators also struggled to get along. In an attempt to establish some intimacy, Edwards told Kerry he wanted to tell him a story no one else knew. He then told him about embracing Wade’s body in the medical examiner’s office. Kerry was stunned and put off, because Edwards had actually shared the same tale with him once before.

When I saw him after this meeting, Senator Edwards said nothing about the Wade story but confessed that he had serious doubts about whether Kerry would make a good president. The Edwardses both called John and Teresa “complete assholes,” and the senator concluded that their shared wealth, power, and privilege had left them out of touch with ordinary reality. He said, “Andrew, I’m rich, but they are ludicrously rich. How can he possibly be the leader of the Democratic Party? I bet he doesn’t know the price of milk.” (Mrs. Edwards always made sure her husband knew the price of milk, as well as gasoline, just in case someone asked.)

Of course, these personal feelings didn’t affect the senator’s professional ambitions or his public statements. All through the spring, he helped the Kerry campaign in any way they asked, even flying to the ends of the earth-okay, Fargo, North Dakota -to give a rousing speech on the nominee’s behalf. Inside the Democratic Party, support for a Kerry-​Edwards ticket began to build. Kerry still had other candidates on his list, and while he labored over the choice, Senator Edwards invited my family to join his at Disney World, and he paid for the trip. The group would include little Jack and Emma Claire, plus the Edwardses’ twenty-​two-​year-​old daughter, Cate, and the Young family of four. Or four and a half, since Cheri was eight months pregnant.

The summer high in Orlando averages about ninety degrees. The humidity generally hovers around 75 percent, and it rains every other day. These conditions would be hard enough on anyone hauling kids around the Magic Kingdom, but our group was further challenged by the fact that Mrs. Edwards was recovering from an abdominal operation (she still had a surgical drain in her belly) and Cheri was pregnant. In retrospect, I would guess that we mounted this expedition primarily so the world would know the Edwardses were at the most American vacation spot of all if the call came for him to be vice president.

To be fair, John and Elizabeth did not expect that he would be chosen, and the vacation was a thrill for the kids. A terrific father, the senator took Emma Claire and Jack on the flying teacups, allowed himself to look as silly as possible aboard the Dumbo ride, and endured the cloying melody of “It’s a Small World (After All)” as many times as they wanted. The experience was a little more difficult for Mrs. Edwards, who tended to have an inflexible concept of fun and was never able to relax like her husband. Instead, she seemed to get preconceived notions about what an experience should be and then tried to force everyone to play certain roles so the picture looked as she had imagined it would. For example, when we saw Peter Pan she had the kids listen as she told the entire story when all they really wanted to do was rush to see the young woman dressed up as the character.

The characters were a huge hit with the kids, and the Edwardses chose to pay for VIP treatment, which meant we had a tour guide-her name was Tracey-who drove us from the hotel to the theme park in a van and then stayed with us to make sure we got to the front of every line and got into the better restaurants on the property. Tracey saw our group at its best and its worst. One morning as she collected us at our hotel, Mrs. Edwards noticed something had been left behind with the senator, who was still in their room. I happened to be talking to him via cell phone, so when she tried to reach him she couldn’t. When she found out what was happening, she actually cussed me out in front of my family and people who stood nearby. I just took it, which made me feel humiliated. When the senator finally appeared, he discovered a stony silence in the van. Eventually, Cate spoke up and asked Mrs. Edwards to apologize. To her credit, she did. But I was reminded of all the times Cheri questioned how the Edwardses treated me and thought her concern was valid.

Mrs. Edwards was especially tense that morning because she and the senator were starting to think that he would not get the call to be vice president. That night, we had dinner at Chef Mickey’s, where the kids got to meet a gang of Disney characters. As we walked into the place, Brody saw Mickey Mouse and ran over to see him, with Emma Claire and Jack following right behind. The senator and I chased down the kids, and then I went to our table and took a moment to check my phone. It showed six or seven missed calls, all from the same number in Washington, D.C.

The messages were from Mary Beth Cahill, a major figure in the Massachusetts Democratic Party who was John Kerry’s campaign manager. After leaving one of the messages, she had handed the phone to Kerry, who said, c wh220;Hey, John, this is John Kerry. I’m hoping to speak with you as soon as we can.”

As I finished listening to the messages, the senator appeared with the kids and I told him what was going on. His eyes got wide, and I asked if he wanted to go back to the hotel and return the call. He said he’d prefer to do it right away and asked me to find a private place where he might use the phone. I had performed this duty for him countless times, and it’s remarkable to see how people always respond positively when they are told that a prominent person needs a private place to conduct important business. In this case, the manager of Chef Mickey’s cleared out a little outdoor smoking spot for employees and we sat there at a table, with amusement park rides in the background and lights starting to come on all around us.

When we reached her, Mary Beth didn’t put Kerry on the phone and was evasive about the purpose of the call. All she wanted to say was that Kerry was inviting Edwards to a meeting in Washington and wanted him to fly up the next evening. They then engaged in a little debate over whether he would travel in a private jet or fly commercial. He wanted the campaign to send a jet so he could avoid public attention and because the gesture would signal their respect for a family man interrupting his vacation. She wanted him to head for Orlando International Airport and hop a commercial flight to save the campaign money. (I suspect she also feared that if they sent a jet, it would indicate that Edwards was already the chosen one.) They agreed that he would try to get to Washington, but they left the transportation issue up in the air, so to speak.

When we returned to the table inside Chef Mickey’s, Mrs. Edwards was bursting with curiosity. The senator explained what had transpired with the calls but emphasized that Mary Beth had not told him anything about the reason for the invitation. For all he knew, Kerry wanted to reject him in a face-​to-​face meeting. Mrs. Edwards insisted that the senator go to Washington as requested, even if it meant spending a few hours on a commercial flight.

The buzz about the call continued until we returned to the hotel, where Cheri went to the Edwardses’ suite with Elizabeth, and the senator and I took the kids down to the pool to swim and watch the nightly Disney fireworks show. We ordered some drinks, and after his third or fourth glass of wine, he got a little louder and more pessimistic about his prospects. Almost certain he wouldn’t get the nod, he said, “Andrew, this is bullshit. Unless they send me a jet, I’m not going. He’s fucking with me, he’s yanking my chain. I’ve been in the Senate with him for four years, why does he need to meet with me?”

Worried that the senator was speaking too loudly poolside, I went to pay the bar bill. When I turned around, he and the kids were gone. I assumed they had returned to the room, so I went upstairs. They weren’t there. Mrs. Edwards lost her temper and screamed at me, “Andrew, you know how irresponsible he is. You can’t leave him alone with four kids.”