The thought occurred to Olivia that if this were twenty plus years ago, they could have been just another family returning from a family trip. Driving along the tree lined highway in their station wagon, child and grandpa in the back seat, mom and dad in the front; just another family. Sure, just a nice, normal family of fugitives fighting to save the world. Olivia smiled slightly as she scanned the horizon and roads for any unexpected vehicles.

"Feeling better?" Peter had noticed her smile.

Olivia turned to Peter and instantly felt her body release the tension she didn't even know she was holding.

"Maybe." She said.

She leaned back into the musty smelling seat and relaxed. The feeling didn't surprise her. He could have that effect on her, if she chose. If she let herself, no, allowed herself, she could venture a little further out on the tight wire that was her life because she knew he was there to catch her. It was making the right choice that was the key.

She thought back to the conversation they'd had in the van. When they lost Etta, what was the right choice? Believe your child is dead or believe she's alive? Peter had chosen, alive, she the other, because that's what she felt she deserved. It was her punishment for the times she looked at Etta and thought, "What if can't do this?" instead of just loving her. For Olivia, it had been easier to choose to believe she was dead. Her choice was some sort of debt appeasement to the gods that gave her a sense of peace and a relief from the torture of believing in hope.

And that's what those first few weeks had been; torture. When Etta had first disappeared, she chose to follow Peter and believe that there was a way to succeed in their mission to find her and get her back safely, but those weeks were absolute agony because there was nothing to investigate. There were no clues to follow up on, nothing tangible to find, only a lot of stories and rumors of refugee camps and displaced people, or worse, reports of children fitting Etta's description that turned out to be nothing more than devastating disappointments. But Peter never wavered; he followed every clue, listened to every urban tale of lost children being found and returned safely to their parents, and never stopped believing they would find her. But it was too much, too hard for her and it was in that diner, looking at all those missing person flyers, that she'd chosen to believe that Etta was gone. She's dead, she thought, and I will not find her dead. And with that choice came a dreadful calm as her punishment was completed. But she wasn't dead.

Olivia took a sidelong glance over her left shoulder and checked the back seat. She knew Walter was asleep because they'd been listening to his distinct snores for the past half hour, but she wasn't sure about Etta. A quick peek showed Etta sleeping, her golden head leaning against the car door window. She's all right. Etta is all right. She turned her head back towards the road.

"She's beautiful, huh? We did good." Peter's voice was soft. He didn't want to wake Walter or Etta.

Olivia nodded and took another quick look at Etta. There was very little difference between the twenty four year old in the back seat and the memory Olivia had of a two-year-old Etta asleep in her arms. Both slept with their mouths slightly open, their long lashes just brushing the tops of their round cheeks. No difference, just twenty years or so. Twenty years of memories lost.

Olivia shook her head. Make the right choice, she thought. Peter had told her, "Our family's been given a second chance, Olivia, and I'm taking it." He'd made his choice. Our child is alive. Olivia let out a long breath and with it, her tension released. She turned towards Peter. I love him, she thought. Olivia reached out and touched Peter's hand on the steering wheel.

"She's perfect. Ten finger, ten toes." She said.

Peter turned and looked at her and she knew he loved her too. Olivia smiled and turned back towards the window and continued watching the roads.