Harold left home early in the morning on Christmas Day and waited in the park. It was sharply cold. He adjusted his scarf to keep the chill off his neck, then shoved his gloved hands into his coat pockets.
He waited.
Just before eight, a blue sedan stopped in front of Grace’s door. A red-haired woman older than Grace got out and went up the stairs; the door opened before she got there. A few minutes later both woman came out with their arms full. Grace had two bags of gifts and a big wicker basket. Her sister had a covered tray and another bag. They put all their parcels in the trunk and back seat. Grace went back inside and returned with one last bag and a Thermos. She locked the door behind her. When the car was loaded, Grace got into the passenger seat. The older woman drove, and they were gone.
Harold watched until the car was completely out of sight.
Grace and her sister, he knew, were headed to Connecticut, to the home of their brother. The brother had received a big cooler of prime rib from his employer, as had everyone else at his company. The sister had six bottles of very good wine in the trunk of the car. Or five, at least. She’d ‘won’ them in a drawing at her favorite wine shop, along with five other lucky customers. The covered tray was loaded with desserts; it had come from one of the magazines Grace had drawn covers for. All their employees and private contractors had received one like it.
The whole extended family would enjoy a wonderful Christmas dinner.
Grace had, on Christmas Eve, been presented with a fancy new single-cup coffee brewer that actually made decent espresso. Her business card had been chosen from a fishbowl at her local coffee shop. She’d received a year’s supply of coffee with it.
It was the most Harold could do for her, in the way of gifts and surprises for Christmas.
It was not enough.
He turned his face to the cold wind and walked.
***
Ellis Donnelly surveyed the theater lobby with a practiced eye, taking in everything.
The people gathered were loud, talkative. Of course, many of them knew each other; they were all Christine Fitzgerald’s invited guests. His date had already peeled off twice to greet people she knew from the café or the library. He didn’t mind, really; it gave him a chance to study the crowd.
He wasn’t foolish enough to think the Man in the Suit would show up. Even if Christine knew him ” and he still didn’t have any concrete evidence of that ” she wouldn’t be stupid enough to invite him to this event, when she’d already invited Donnelly. Of course, he wouldn’t actually know the Man if he met him face-to-face, so she might think she was safe …
Theresa touched his arm. “Ellis? Are you alright?”
He smiled tightly. Stop working. You’re not working. Let it go. “I’m fine.”
“Agent Donnelly,” a woman said behind him.
He turned. “Detective,” he answered. “Merry Christmas.”
Carter was wearing a stunning red sweater. She looked at him a little quizzically. “Merry Christmas.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Taylor.” She grabbed the tall young man by his arm. “Agent Donnelly, this is my son, Taylor. Taylor, Agent Donnelly.”
“Nice to meet you,” the teen said formally. He offered his hand and Donnelly shook it.
“Theresa Ramos, this is Detective Carter and her son Taylor.”
They did another round of greetings and handshakes. Donnelly could see the detective’s eyebrows climb even higher, but she was much too refined to comment. Yes, Detective, I have a date, he thought, rather smugly. And a life, outside of chasing the Man in the Suit. Or at least I’m trying to. He shook his head. He’d been looking for him just a moment before.
“Where’d your grandmother go?” Carter asked her son.
“She and Tia went to the, uh …” He gestured with his head toward the restrooms.
A young Hispanic man spoke to Carter and her son then. It took a moment for Donnelly to realize it was Sanchez, the rookie from the coffee shop. In street clothes, the young man looked younger than Carter’s son. He nodded his greeting, then turned back to Theresa. “Do you want some popcorn?”
“Sure.”
They made their way to the concession counter. Donnelly reached for his wallet, but there was no need; the counter was lined with cups of soda and tubs of popcorn and boxes of candy. No one was taking money. It was the Fitzgerald family-friendly version of an open bar.
Donnelly shook his head. “She doesn’t do anything half-way, does she?”
“I’ve never known her to,” Theresa agreed. She grabbed a cup of cola and a bag of M & M’s. Donnelly took a Sprite and a tub of popcorn. Theresa tucked another pack of M & M’s into his pocket. “For later.”
He grinned and added a pack of Twizzlers.
Inside the theater itself, the crowd was still milling around and talking. Christine was there, but Donnelly noted that she stayed in the aisles and she moved quickly, never engaging with any group for too long. It was her event, her friends, and yet she was visibly anxious. Smiling, pleasant, but he could read the tension in her from across the room.
The only time she seemed to relax even for an instant was with a smallish man in glasses who was dressed like a well-off college professor, and his companion, a much younger, rather scruffy-looking man in jeans and a suede leather jacket. They were an odd couple, Donnelly thought, but then the whole theater was full of odd couples. And trios. And bigger configurations.
The younger man looked vaguely familiar.
Theresa could see their friend’s tension, too. Donnelly knew that she’d been planning some at least gently chiding remark, but when Christine reached them, she said, “You look awful.”
The hacker flushed, but smiled. “I may have significantly underestimated the extent of my social anxiety disorder.”
“You all right?” Donnelly asked.
“I’ll be fine. I expect the Xanax to kick in any minute. Have fun.”
He started to say something else, but she was already moving away. The house lights dimmed in warning, and he helped Theresa to a seat.
A few minutes later, the owner of the theater went up onto the little platform in front of the screen and introduced himself. “For any of you who haven’t been here before, welcome to the Empire City Theater. We’re what you’d call a second-run house, which means we get new movies a month after the big chains, but we’re a lot cheaper. We run classics on Thursdays, classic horror on Fridays, and the first Saturday of every month we still have the midnight showing of Rocky Horror. There are flyers on the concession stand and at the entrances. And we sincerely hope you’ll join us again after today.
“Now, if you’re wondering how a house like this got a reel of a big-name blockbuster like Les Miz on opening day, the answer is … I don’t know. I imagine there were felonies involved. I’m not asking.
“Anyhow, you all know who our hostess is today. I’ve been warned that if I mention her by name or attempt to make any kind of speech about her, she’ll f-screw me over with the IRS for the rest of my life. And since you all know her, you know she can do it. So I’m going to say simply this, I think for all of us. Merci, mademoiselle, and Joyeux Noël.
“And now, madames and messieurs, Les Miserables.”
He stepped down from the platform to a serious round of applause, and the movie began.
Donnelly settled deeper in his chair. He put the bucket of popcorn on the arm of the chair between them, and after a moment Theresa reached for some. He smiled over at her, and she smiled back.
He’d lost track of Christine, though they were fairly far back in the theater. He twisted around and looked up toward the box, but he couldn’t see her. He wondered if she’d slipped out. Her party, but she wasn’t there. She was an odd one; there was no doubt about that. He felt sorry for her. And then that struck him as odd. She had enough money to rent out a theater, and enough friends to fill it. And yet having those things didn’t make her happy. He’d known from the first that she hated to be in the spotlight. But this was something else. Faced with a sea of friendly faces, she’d chosen to retreat.
He glanced over at Theresa. They’d spoken twice on the phone since their blind date lunch. Both times he’d planned a simple detail-checking conversation, and both times they’d been drawn into a much longer talk. They were very compatible, in many ways. He liked talking to her, and he liked being with her. There was something about her that made him feel at ease. He was pretty sure she felt the same way.
Christine was alone on Christmas, even with her crowd of friends. But because of her, he and Theresa were not.
Theresa looked at him again. He raised an eyebrow in question. She leaned closer and whispered, “We could go find her.”
He considered, than shook his head. “It wouldn’t help.”
“No. I suppose not.”
He reached out and touched her popcorn-buttered fingers with his own. Just the fingertips for now, but it was enough. There was nothing he could do for Christine Fitzgerald, he thought regretfully. But he could enjoy her gifts nonetheless. He smiled once more at his unexpected date, and turned his attention back to the hopeful, tragic movie.
***
The woman came out the back door of the theater, propped it open with a brick obviously left there for that purpose, and sat on the fire escape stairs. She lit a cigarette. Reese shook his head and walked up behind her.
He was still five steps away when she said, “Merry Christmas, John.”
He paused, then continued around in front of her. “You know, I can sneak up on most people.”
“Most people don’t have access to Random’s apps.” He cocked his head, curious. “He had this custom app on his phone,” she explained, “that lets him know if he gets too close to certain phone numbers. I re-wrote part of it, so it lets me know if certain numbers get too close to me.”
“So any time I get within a hundred meters of you … “
“My butt starts to tingle,” Christine confirmed.
Reese grinned and sat down beside her. “Does he know you have it?”
“I assume so.”
“You’re missing your own movie.”
“Yeah.” She blew out a stream of smoke. “It seemed like such a good idea at the time. See all my friends at once, give them something they’d enjoy, make the gifts really easy to wrap and deliver. I didn’t think it all the way through. That they’d all want to talk to me.”
“Overwhelmed by the human interaction?”
“Little bit. And also, everybody’s crying. I hadn’t thought about the crying.”
Reese smiled sympathetically. “Want me to leave?”
“No. You’re okay.” She got out a second cigarette. “But thank you. Want one?”
“I haven’t smoked since I was in boot camp.”
“Yes, but do you want one?”
He considered for a long moment, and then took the cigarette.
“Ahh,” Christine breathed. “So you can be lead astray. Good to know.”
She lit both cigarettes and they smoked in silence for a moment. Reese inhaled very lightly and managed not to cough. He felt a little buzz as the unfamiliar nicotine went straight to his brain. It was not unpleasant, but nothing he wanted to get used to.
“I’m still thrashing about the building,” she admitted.
“Don’t,” John assured her. “Harold owns buildings all over the city that he never even sees. This makes him happy. Just go with it.”
She shrugged, smoked, unconvinced.
“And believe me, he knows perfectly well that you don’t need no man to take care of you.”
Christine chuckled wryly. “Is it that obvious, that I needed to hear that?”
“You’re pretty transparent on that issue.”
“Wonderful.” She gestured toward the theater. “You could come inside and watch.”
Reese shook his head. “A few too many federal agents in there for my taste.”
“Donnelly won’t notice you. He’s too busy falling in love.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I set him up with someone who’s pretty much my polar opposite.”
“So he’s falling in love with someone stupid, mean, and ugly?”
“Awww, you’re so sweet.”
He tipped his head back and blew a stream of smoke out. “You’re finally cutting him loose, huh?”
“Never had him wrapped up to begin with. Although, in my considered opinion, a little light bondage play would do that man a world of good.”
“If he ever catches me, I’ll be sure to mention that.”
“Do that. Let me know how it goes.” Christine stubbed out her second smoke ” it was already burned down to her fingertips ” and field-stripped it and her first one. He smashed out his own cigarette, only half-gone, and gave it to her. She stripped it, too.
“Ingram’s here,” John said, gesturing toward the theater. “I thought he’d be half-way to Denver by now.”
“He’s flying out late tonight, last I heard. Do you know him?”
“I know him. He doesn’t know me.”
“Ahh. “
“I know Julie Carson, though.”
“What’s she like?”
Reese considered. “She’s good people. Tough. Smart. Used to be a hell of a runner. I let her put me in handcuffs once.”
“Speaking of a little light bondage,” Christine teased. “Think they’ll end up together?”
“Probably. Last I saw, they were catching bullets for each other.”
“That’s romantic. I think.”
“Sure you’re not going to miss running all over town with him?”
“Ahh.” Christine looked at him. “So now I know what you sound like when you’re fishing for information.” She smiled. “He found out Corwin got killed. He wanted to know if what she’d told him about IFT was true. So he went looking for an outside consultant to go over Nathan’s stuff.”
“And conveniently found you,” Reese guessed.
“I am uniquely qualified, actually.”
“Sure. To tell him anything Finch tells you to tell him.”
“That’s kind of the name of the game, isn’t it?”
“It is,” he agreed. “Better than letting him find out the truth.”
“Seems like that might be kind of a perpetual challenge with him.”
“Probably. Finch likes his secrets.”
She shrugged. “Anyhow, it’s a chance to go through all the documents, make sure there’s not anything there that shouldn’t be.”
“Harold’s actually going to let you look at them?”
“He hasn’t said I couldn’t.”
“Interesting.”
“Isn’t it, though?” Christine nodded. “I have something for you.”
The little plastic object she handed him was a quarter the size of his cell phone, thicker and much heavier. It had three buttons on its face, one large and two small, and an infrared scanner on one end. He turned it over, curious. “What is it?”
“It’s a code scanner. For keyless entry cars. Get close, press the big button, wait until it vibrates that it has the code. It will open and start almost any domestic car. And most of the foreign ones except Volvo and Jaguar, bless their deviant electronic hearts,”
He looked up from the device. “Thank you.”
“I know you have a fondness for other people’s cars,” she teased gently. “The new ones are a bitch to hotwire.”
“Not if you only plan to start them once.”
“True. Anyhow, it’s illegal as hell, so don’t get caught with it.”
“I’ll do my best.” He tucked the device away, brought out an envelope and handed it to her. “This is for you.”
Christine peered into the envelope, then frowned and brought out the plane tickets. “You’re sending me to North Carolina?” she asked curiously.
“Home of NASCAR.”
“Have I been very bad?”
Reese grinned and pulled down the tickets to reveal the paper behind them. “You’re going to driving school.”
She unfolded the sheet and studied it. “Ahhh.”
The school trained security and limo drivers for the private sector. The instructors were all ex-military and ex-intelligence. “They can’t make you a pro in two weeks,” John said, “but they can make you a talented amateur, and that’s a place to start.”
“A place ahead of her, if it comes down to it,” Christine answered.
“Exactly.” Reese couldn’t think of a precise scenario in which Christine would need security-grade driving skills to get Finch away from Root. But then, he couldn’t imagine why she’d need to shoot Root, either. If it came to either one, he wanted her prepared. Her small arms training was coming along nicely; she didn’t have any particular aptitude with guns, but she never needed to be told the same thing twice.
“I could be away from the city in February,” she mused agreeably.
“Good.”
She pocketed the envelope. “Thank you. Are we set for tonight?”
“Will be, by the time you get there.”
“Cool.”
“You going to be okay?”
Christine nodded. “I’m better. Thank you.”
He rolled to his feet, pulled her up. “See you later.”
***
“That was so good,” Theresa said. She was still dabbing her eyes as they walked out.
Donnelly nodded. “I enjoyed it very much. Although Russell Crowe …”
“Definitely out of his depth.”
“Yes.” The crowd leaving the theater all seemed to be headed in the same direction, toward Chaos. “They’re going to have a party for the ‘Doctor Who’ show tonight. I’d be happy to go with you, if you want.”
The woman hesitated. “I do like the show very much, but I’m not sure I’m up for a Chaos party. Honestly, I like it better when it’s mostly empty.”
The agent nodded his understanding.
“But if you want to go …” she amended quickly.
“No,” he answered. “I’m not really into science fiction. Although apparently I’m missing something with this whole ‘Doctor Who’ thing.”
“It’s really about the human condition. And the worth of the human race. You might like it.”
“Well, okay …” Donnelly paused on the sidewalk, offering to turn toward the café.
“No. I didn’t mean that.”
He offered his arm and headed back toward his car instead.
“I’ll write Scotty a thank-you note tomorrow,” Theresa said. “From both of us, if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine. Thank you.” And then, quite suddenly, Donnelly said, “Ingram!”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I just … there was a young man at the movie, and I’ve been trying to remember where I’ve seen him before.” They reached the car and he opened the passenger-side door for her. As he walked to the driver’s side, he pulled out his cell phone. “I think I may know who he is.” He started the car and turned on the heater. “I’m sorry, give me just a minute.”
“No problem.” Theresa seemed bemused, but patient.
A car horn honked repeatedly. Donnelly looked up from his phone and realized that the driver was stalking his spot. He scowled.
“Here,” Theresa said, taking the phone. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”
Donnelly pulled out of the parking space, gave the impatient driver a little annoyed wave. “Nathan Ingram.”
“The computer billionaire?”
“Yes.”
“He’s dead.”
“I know.”
Theresa shook her head, but scanned the phone. “Okay. Now what?”
“He had a son. Edward. No, William, I think.”
She looked a little further. “William. Got him.”
“Is there a picture?” He narrowly avoided a car that pulled out in front of him.
“Yes. No.”
“No?”
“There’s a link, but it’s 404. File not found. Let me see what else I can find.”
Donnelly drove with one eye on her. Theresa worked his phone like a pro, flying through files, shaking her head. Finally she growled out loud. “I don’t think there’s a single picture of him on the internet.”
“Not even from the funeral? I know I saw a picture in the paper.”
She shook her head. “It’s been scrubbed.”
“That’s odd.”
“Not really. If you have a billion dollars, you can pay someone to keep your pictures off the Web.”
“Well. Thank you for trying.”
“Not done yet,” she said firmly. “He’s got to have a driver’s license or a passport or something. Do you have access to those files?”
Donnelly glanced at her. “That’s totally against regulations.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“There’s a laptop under the seat.”
She leaned forward and got it, turned it on and then, at the next stop light, held it for him so he could log in. He showed her where the database was.
“Got him,” she announced after a minute. She flipped the laptop around again. “This guy? I think I saw him.”
Donnelly glanced at the picture. “That’s him. I knew I knew him from somewhere.”
“You’ve got a good eye.”
“Helps, with this job.” Donnelly shook his head. “I’m sorry. I get these little details stuck in my mind and they just nag at me until I figure them out. I didn’t mean to make you join in this wild goose chase.”
“It’s okay. That was fun.” She powered down the computer. “If you’re going to chase obscure details, maybe it would be good for you to date a reference librarian.”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way, but you’re probably right.” He nodded, satisfied. “So Scotty knows a billionaire. That’s interesting.”
“Maybe she’s the one who keeps his picture off the internet.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me. I wonder who the guy with him was.”
“Bodyguard?” Theresa suggested.
Donnelly laughed. “No. He was just a little guy. Looked like a professor. Maybe a financial consultant.”
“Or just a friend.”
“True.” He glanced over at her. “I am sorry. It’s just trivia. And I do it all the time, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t mind. It’s interesting.” She took what sounded like a very deep breath. “Do you have any plans for dinner?”
“Uh … not really. We could try to find someplace open, if you like.”
“Well, if you like.” She hesitated again. “Or I have some really nice pork chops I could make for us. If you wanted to do that.”
“That sounds very nice.” Donnelly sighed happily.
“Oh.”
“Was I supposed to say no?”
“No. But you sighed. If you’d rather not …”
“No, no,” Donnelly said quickly. “I sighed because I was trying to remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. I think it was two thousand and … eight?”
Theresa laughed, reassured. “You don’t cook, then?”
“I’m extremely good at taking things out of the freezer and putting them in the microwave,” he admitted. “I would very much enjoy having you make dinner for me. If you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I minded cooking.” She shook her head. “We’re both being way too careful, aren’t we? I just didn’t want to be too pushy. Or ” forward was actually what I was thinking. But I don’t think anyone’s used that word in this century. Or most of the last one.”
Donnelly grinned. “You’re not being pushy or forward.”
“Sometimes I wish I was a little more like her. Scotty. I don’t think she’s ever thought she was being forward in her whole life.”
No, Donnelly agreed, but she has certainly been forward. He remembered how she’d kissed him at her back door, and then invited him upstairs. He wisely kept his mouth shut about it.
“I feel like such a cliché sometimes,” Theresa continued. “The modest librarian. Sometimes I wish I was just a little less …”
“Reserved?” Donnelly suggested.
She looked over at him. “Ooh, nice. That’s a much kinder term than ‘old fashioned’.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a little old fashioned,” he said. “I like it.”
Theresa went silent. When he glanced over at her, she was looking out the front window and her cheeks were a little pink.
“I’m sorry,” Donnelly said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“No, you didn’t. I like … that you like it.” She smiled. “But she was right about us, wasn’t she?”
“Scotty?” Donnelly nodded. “Of course she was. Did you ever have any doubt?”
“Not really, no.”
They stopped at the next light. Theresa unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned forward to put the laptop back under the seat. “Maybe I could manage to be just a little forward,” she said quietly. She leaned across and kissed him quickly on the cheek.
“A little would be lovely.” He turned his head and their lips met very briefly. Then the light changed and she settled back and put her seatbelt back on.
Donnelly steered around yet another driver who ran the light. He didn’t mind. It was turning into the best Christmas he’d had in a very long time.
***
Harold Finch glanced down at the cell phone he held on his lap. It remained stubbornly blank.
For the second time, Will Ingram put his fork down. “We really should get going, Uncle Harold.”
“We have time, Will. Finish your dinner.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
Harold smiled gently. “Getting to the airport early won’t make your plane leave any earlier.” The young man had booked himself onto the redeye to Colorado, with the intention of being in Aspen as soon as the sun rose on Boxing Day.
“I know.” The young man ran his hand through his hair. “But at least I’d be there. On my way, you know?” He brushed his fingertips over the tiny scar at his hairline, then smiled self-consciously.
“I know. Finish your dinner.”
He stalled him for another ten minutes. But by then the boy was ready to burst. “We really have to go, Uncle Harold.”
Harold nodded and gestured for the check. He made the process of paying as slow as possible, but it didn’t buy him much time. The phone remained silent. He had a contingency plan, of course. He gave it two more minutes before he needed to implement it. But finally, as they were claiming their coats from the coat check, the screen lit up.
Harold glanced at the message, smiled to himself, and tucked the phone into his pocket. He followed Will out to the sidewalk and gave his ticket to the valet. Then he took his nephew’s arm and turned him toward him. “Will, I need to tell you something.”
“You can tell me on the way.”
“I’m not taking you to the airport.”
The boy blinked at him. “I … um, okay, I can get a cab, that’s no big deal.”
“Will. You don’t need to get to the airport tonight. “
“Uncle Harold … “
“There’s nothing in Aspen for you.”
Will froze, staring at him. His face fell. “You heard from Julie.”
Harold felt the corners of his mouth twitch and fought to keep it under control. “I did,” he said, as solemnly as he could.
“She doesn’t want to see me.”
There was so much heartbreak in his voice that Harold immediately abandoned the rest of the teasing he’d planned. “She does want to see you, Will. But the idea of having you meet her in Aspen, with her entire extended family around, struck her as, in her own words, the worst idea she’d ever had in her life.”
A vague hope lit in the boy’s face. He looked so much like his father with that expression that Harold felt his heart lurch. “I can meet her somewhere else?”
“Yes.”
Will moved toward him. “Where? Just tell me. I don’t care, I’ll be there if I have to crawl.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Uncle Harold, just tell me when and where. Please.”
“Here,” Harold answered, with relish, “and now.”
“What?”
He looked past the young man’s shoulder. “Here and now,” he repeated.
The boy still didn’t get it. Harold took his shoulder firmly and turned him around.
Julie Carson was standing five feet behind him.
Her hair was still short and still blonde. Her cheeks were red with cold and excitement. She was smiling, a little uncertainly. The last time Harold and Will had seen her, she’d been badly injured and unconscious. Now she was on her own two feet, steady and healthy and very much alive.
And waiting.
Will froze like a deer in the headlight. “Julie …” he said, so softly that from behind Harold could barely hear him.
The woman smiled and nodded. “Will.”
“You’re … here.”
“Yes.”
“In New York.”
“Yes.”
“I thought … I couldn’t see you until tomorrow.”
Her habitual confidence fluttered visibly. “I could … go away and … come back tomorrow. If you want.”
“I …”
Finch leaned to his left and looked past Will to Julie. “A little help?” he offered.
“Yes, please.”
He released his grip on the boy’s shoulder, slid his hand down to the center of his back, and shoved. Will staggered forward two steps, and Julie moved forward and caught him, and from that first touch it was easy. Will simply gathered her in his arms and she clung to him.
“That’s better,” Harold said with satisfaction.
After a minute, Will twisted his head around without releasing the woman. “You knew? How long did you know?”
“I called him on Sunday,” Julie answered. She wriggled loose just far enough to stand upright. “Having you come to Aspen was a terrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were a bit broken when you came up with it,” Harold allowed.
“True. But seriously, the family thing …”
“I want to meet your family,” Will protested.
“Later. Much later.”
“Okay,” Will agreed. He just looked at her, still utterly flummoxed.
Harold moved closer to them. “I’ve booked you into a suite at the Mandarin through New Year’s.” He handed them two room keycards, gestured behind them to the hotel. “I know it’s not your first choice, Will, but I’m told it has the best lap pool in the city.”
Julie smiled at him. “You do your homework, don’t you?”
“As well as I can.” He smiled at the two of them. “Well. I’ll be off, then.”
“Wait,” the woman said. “I have something for you.” She reached into her bag and brought out a smaller gift bag, red and green and quite heavy. “We make it ourselves. The family. But don’t drink it until you’re where you need to be. It’s got some kick.”
Harold drew the dark, heavy bottle out. It had a simple label, green with a gold ‘C’ on it and a date. “Thank you,” he said, touched.
“Uncle Harold.” Will freed one arm and reached for him. Harold moved closer and found himself suddenly the third part of their embrace, with Will’s arm around him from one side and Julie’s from the other. He hugged them both, as well as he could. It was clumsy and awkward and incredibly fulfilling. “Thank you,” Will whispered.
The valet pulled up with his car. Harold drew regretfully out of the little cluster. He smiled at the two of them. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” they answered in unison.
Even before he got into the car, they were looking at each other again and had completely forgotten he existed. Harold shook his head, smiled again. That was exactly as it should be.
***
q95;
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