Chapter Twenty-Six: Interpretation of a Theme

Interpretation: The expression
the performer brings when
playing his/her instrument.
Theme: A melodic or sometimes
a harmonic idea presented in a musical form.

November 26, 2009

Two or three dozen of the revelers had wished them well and headed for home, but they still had at least sixty people in tow (probably more, if he stopped to count)—and at least two thirds of them were planning to be on the ice.

Most surprising was his mother's insistence that she be included in the outing. When he tried to point out that it would be freezing at the rink, she shot back, "We live in Virginia. It snows here. I know what freezing feels like." (Amazing how she could track facts when they were decidedly to her advantage.) She slammed her cane against the floor, barely missing his foot. "I want to see my girls skate!" She glared at him, her feisty best.

Ah. No wonder she was marshalling all her faculties—she had a chance to see Rowena and Bronwyn on the ice instead of still photographs or blurred video.

"Mother—" Elizabeth stepped up, her cloak over her arms. "I have a lovely cloak that would keep you very warm at the ice rink if you'd like to borrow it. It's not heavy, either."

"How sweet!" She patted Elizabeth's arm. "I'm so glad he made an honest woman of you, dear," she whispered.

He could tell Elizabeth was trying not to burst out laughing, even as he sent a thank you to the gods above that Dr. Stewart wasn't within earshot. That could have erased all they had accomplished. "Well, that makes two of us, Mother," she finally managed.

Rowena, Victoria's preferred driver and eager slave, helped her from the room. Elizabeth gave in and whooped with laughter. "Honest woman?" she finally gasped.

"You always were," he teased, kissing her forehead. "Eventually, anyway."

Now, at the ice rink, his wife pouted up at him. "Aw, come on, once around the ice?" Music poured from the speakers, an eclectic mix of rock and roll from the sixties and seventies (with an occasional nod as far back as Glenn Miller and up to the eighties in the offing, he knew; Rowena had been mixing CDs for a couple of weeks).

"Elizabeth, it's been decades since I skated. The idea of these bones slamming into that ice—besides, when did you become such a fanatic? Tish had to all but drag you out of the stands."

She held up a finger. "Tori. Lessons. From the time she moved here until she was about fifteen. Still skated after that." A second finger. "Drew. Lessons from two until he was about seven. Still skated after that." Third finger. "Ronnie. Lessons until she was about ten. Need I go on? And who do you think drives them to and fro and usually gets to hang out on the ice with the kiddies? Mommy, Daddy or… hello, Grandma. I've had more accidental lessons than my mother ever paid for." She leaned close. "For a man who exercises, takes Pilates classes and is so energetic in other athletic pursuits…"

He felt his face flame. "Fine. Once. But if anything happens, you explain to the paramedics."

"We'll get him back to form," Ronnie called out from several rows down.

Her grandmother gave her a thumbs-up. She scooped up a pair of skates and plopped them next to him. "Your size. Gibbs!" She grinned in delight over Ducky's shoulder. "You're joining us on the ice! Wonderful!"

Across the aisle, Abby jerked her head up and looked around in astonishment. She turned back and held a hurried conversation with the people to her side. One leaned back to look behind Abby—Ziva. She gave them a "who'd've thunk it?" look and leaned back into the group.

"You're causing a nine days' wonder already, Jethro," Ducky said, slipping out of his shoes. Elizabeth had reserved the entire back sheet as a private party for the evening; no worry about a stranger making off with his footwear. "You really do know how to ice skate?"

"Would someone be wearing skates if they couldn't?" he said blandly.

"I know how to parachute out of a failing airplane, too, and it's not something for which I volunteer," Ducky muttered.

Gibbs gave him a cockeyed grin. "Ah, come on, Duck. It'll be… fun." Leaving him to lace up the skates, he clomped down the stairs.

"Here, Papa. Let me." Rowena sat on the bench in front of his, took his left boot in hand and started pulling the laces tight. "You're out of practice."

"Sorely," he admitted.

"You go out laced like that and you'll break an ankle." She whipped the laces around the hooks like the near-pro that she was and tied them off. "Next?"

He finished jamming his right foot into the skate and submitted it to her tender mercies. "You're very good at that."

"Don't need a lace puller," she said proudly. "All the peon decorating I do at the shop really helps."

Ducky thought of the wonderful massage he'd had the day before and grinned. "Guess so." He stood cautiously. "Have to get my sea legs."

"You go around with Ronnie and me a few times. It'll come back."

"Good God!"

"What?"

"When did Elizabeth learn to skate backwards?"

"You mean without falling on her ass-er-asterisk?" Rowena stumbled. "Ah, quite a while ago. With Drew. That's the best way to help little kids learn to go forward, those frames are useless."

Elizabeth was holding hands with, of all people, DiNozzo, gliding backwards while he held her hands and tried to go forward with a minimum of down time. "He'd better get the hang of it pretty quickly," Ducky groused. "That's my wife he's holding hands with."

Rowena giggled. "Oh, trust me. Mom knows all about Anthony DiNozzo." She held Ducky's hand as they cautiously walked down the steps. "Ronnie!"

Bronwyn poked her head up from several seats down. "Coming!" She carefully climbed to the row behind Sassy, Dr. Stewart, and Mrs. Mallard and hurried to the aisle. "Ready?"

"Hang on." They had gotten to the bottom step, where Mrs. Mallard sat at the outermost edge of the bleacher. "Grandmother? Are you comfortable? Is the seat too hard? I can get you a cushion."

"No, dear. Are you going to skate?" she asked hopefully.

"Yep. Ronnie and I are going to take Papa out and get him reacquainted with the ice."

"That has ominous tones to it," he muttered.

She looked astonished. "Donald can't skate!"

"Well, it has been quite a while, Mother." He grimaced. "So you may be more accurate than you know," he added, half to himself.

"Hey, Duck! There ya go!"

He glowered at Gibbs. "Why aren't you on the ice?"

"Waitin' for Faith." He took a sip of his coffee. "She had to change," he said with a wry smile.

Ronnie was looking up the stairs. "Boy, did she."

Gibbs glanced up—then did a classic double-take. "Ready, Jethro?" Faith sailed up to him in a glittering white body suit that left no doubt as to her gender. It wasn't too tight, but it sure was snug. A knee length skirt made of about ten miles of chiffon only added to the appeal.

"Aren't you gonna freeze in that?" Gibbs managed. He looked her over repeatedly—and apparently with new eyes.

"Not once I warm up a bit." She grabbed his shoulder and hiked up a foot. "Thanks." She slipped the blade guard off first one skate than the other and set them aside.

Ronnie leaned over to her sister. "She's got her own skates," she muttered with a little chortle. She didn't try to hide her comment.

"We call that 'a ringer' in these parts," Rowena muttered back. Faith just smiled at them.

Each of his granddaughters took a hand, both saying encouraging comments as he stepped on the ice. There was the momentary terror as he felt the floor slip away as though he stood on a bank of rollers; you've done it before, you can do it again, he thought grimly. He pushed off tentatively, gaining confidence with each stroke.

"Oh, you faker! You don't need our help!" Rowena teased.

"You're keeping me on my feet," he retorted.

"Well, Grandma just abandoned her student—aw, looks like Abby is going to give him a hand," Ronnie laughed.

Rowena gave an evil grin. "He may live… he may not. Shall we set up an odds chart?"

"Sure!" Ronnie let go of his hand, but before he could panic he felt a glove trimmed with kitten-soft fluff take her place.

"You silly goose, where are your gloves?" Elizabeth laughed.

"At home," he admitted with a wry smile.

"Spare pair in my right jacket pocket. Want to try to get them out?"

"No," he said, firmly but politely. "Could you? I'd cause a traffic accident."

She let got of his hand, neatly swung over to the side Rowena had vacated and took his right hand. She dug in her pocket and handed over a pair of plain tan gloves. "Not stylish, but functional."

"Thank you." He glided to a stop at one of the gates, out of the flow of the other skaters and pulled them on. "You've really improved."

"You'll catch up. I see Rowena taking her Papa out on the ice every chance she gets."

"Thank you for the warning."

She looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Of course… you could just go skating with Gibbs."

He turned and looked where she was focused and gasped. "Jethro…?"

Gibbs was skating. Very well. Exceedingly well. Faith was doing neat crossovers and half-turns while she moved around the perimeter; Gibbs wasn't doing anything fancy, just… smooth. Easy, measured strokes, hands clasped behind his back, watching Faith while talking to her and instinctively moving around the other skaters. Occasionally, when the area ahead was open, he'd switch to skating backwards.

"No wonder he was so calm when I told him about the after-dinner activities."

Gibbs caught his scrutiny and grinned. As he came around the corner, he called out, "Grew up with frozen lakes and ponds, Duck. You can't always go ice fishing!"

Ducky sighed. "I should have known."

Elizabeth laughed and took his gloved hand in hers. "Come on, spouse. Skate with me."

It was a much easier go of it when he concentrated on Elizabeth and just let his feet find the rhythm of the ice. He passed (and was passed by) friends and relations new and old, some doing far better than he and some still struggling to give up the safety of a death grip on the wall. Not surprising, Abby was fearless on the ice. She had definitely mastered forward (if she wanted a new career, he was sure the Olympic speed skating team could use her) and backward and had even learned a simple turn and spin (almost as fast as she sometimes chattered). Ziva—well, Ziva actually looked like she was having fun. Smiling, joking—laughing. He smiled; it was nice to see Ziva relaxed and enjoying herself. Her friend from her citizenship class, a shy young woman named Tovah, was at about the same skill level. They were circling around the ice with, of all people, Jimmy Palmer (whose date had had to leave as she was general manager of Gattleson's, the new chi-chi department store in D.C., and Friday was her first Black Friday at the store). He looked… relaxed. Would wonders never cease?

Sam and Elena and her relatives were all wobbling around the ice and having a good time. (Sam, probably from taking the kids to lessons as much as Elizabeth or Tori, was actually doing pretty well.) Sam's cousin Tom—and his five children—had joined the party. Ducky kept an eagle eye on them (especially the chocolate-lobbing twins) but apparently their behavior improved when the level of activity increased. Granted, they were skating around like little demons, but their speed was no worse than, say, Abby, and their harried father frequently brought them down with yells of, "Hey! Freeway speed, okay?"

"I have to admit—this was a wonderful idea," Ducky said.

"Well, it's not a lake and we aren't dressed appropriately—but it has this nice Currier and Ives feel to it. Very holiday." Elizabeth laughed. "Though, usually we don't have quite this crowd!"

"This must be costing you a fortune."

"Not really. The ice would have been empty anyway, so I haggled the manager down to half price if I paid for all four hours. I was already taking two, so why not? Figure if we were on the front sheet it would be, what, ten bucks a head including skates. So that's about seven hundred. Five-fifty or so at group rate."

"Ow."

"I'm paying the same amount for private ice. If we want to clear it for the show-offs we can. And, we will—the girls have something planned, Mother really wants to see them skate. Plus, they gave us big urns of coffee and cocoa and cider for free."

"You know how to drive a bargain."

"It helps when you've been paying into the system for the past thirty-five years. I've been here longer than any employee—and the owners have changed hands twice!" She squeezed his arm. "Come on… time to go backwards."

"Oh, no—no, no, no, no, no." He shook his head emphatically. "I wasn't good even back in the day, I'm not—"

"Aw, come on," she wheedled. She slipped behind to change sides, leaning close to tease, "Let's see some of that great hip action of yours, mmmh?"

"That's for private shows only," he shot back.

"Promise?"

He looked at her glittering eyes and grinned. "Promise."

"It is our wedding night…"

"And if I'm spending time with you, I would much rather be in bed than on the ice." To his chagrin, at that moment Abby went whisking by and clearly heard what he said. She whipped her head around, eyes wide, then a grin quickly spread across her face. As she skated off in reverse, he found himself the recipient of a very broad wink (causing Elizabeth to giggle uncontrollably)… just before she collided with the wall. (It was better than colliding with Sandy and Ray, who missed the impact by barely a foot.)

Ducky skidded to a stop and held out a hand. "Are you all right, my dear?"

"Yeah, yeah… thanks. Mostly embarrassed." She scrambled to her feet, dusting ice shavings from her rear.

"Yes, well… that's what comes from listening in on other people's conversations." He gave her an arch look.

She grinned. "And that's what made smackin' into the wall worth it. Mrow!" She merged into the flow of skaters and tore off, pigtails flying.

Ducky shook his head, laughing. "Would you mind if we took a bit of a rest?"

"Not at all." She skated to the next gate and stepped off.

"Cocoa?" he suggested, following her.

"Sounds good." She held up a hand as he pulled two cups from the stack. "If you'd prefer tea, I brought a thermos."

He smiled. "You're so sweet. But I think cocoa is a bit more traditional."

"Would your mother rather have tea?"

He snorted. "She'd rather have a hot toddy, heavy on the rum."

"Ah. No can do."

"Thank God. Oh, cider would be fine, I think. Your dad?"

"Coffee. Doctored to death."

Carrying large Styrofoam cups they carefully walked to the other side of the rink. Sassy was sitting next to Dr. Stewart, chattering away; his mother had a look of confused disbelief on her face. Between them, Dr. Stewart was carefully studying his gloved hands, a smile playing about his mouth.

"—never made a wrong turn, caught on so fast, even drove the freeway that night but Eddie, poor Eddie, I thought he was going to end up in the cardiac ward, he just jumped every time a car passed us, poor boy, cars were on the wrong side, he kept saying, I knew he should never drive, but Ducky, I mean Donald, he was such a good driver—"

His mother snorted in a most unladylike way. "He drives too fast."

"Really?" Sassy looked astonished. "Well, that was California, everyone drives fast—"

"Cocoa?" Ducky offered. He hated to interrupt people, but with Sassy it wasn't rudeness—it was necessity.

"Oh, no, thanks, I got a Coke at the snack bar."

"A Coke?" She held up a cup the size Abby usually used for her Caf-pows, something close to two liters. "Aren't you freezing?"

Dr. Stewart laughed and shook his head. "She's pouting because it isn't snowing. She wanted to play in the snow. We moved back to the beach because if it cracks eighty she has a conniption—but snow at the holidays is something else."

"Oh, pooh," Sassy teased. "Like I had to force you."

"True."

"Andy… coffee?" When Dr. Stewart peered up at him. "Cream and—" he tried not to wince. "Twelve sugars?" It was larger than a standard coffee cup; he hoped he had the ratio correct.

"Why, thank you, Donald." He took the cup with a smirk. "At least you don't bitch at me."

Please. You could have a pint of cream, a cup of sugar and three drops of coffee and I'm not saying one word.

"Mother?" Elizabeth leaned close. "Would you like to try some hot apple cider?"

His mother beamed at her. "Do you have any rum?"

"Ah… no, I'm sorry."

"Oh." Her face fell. "Thank you," she said politely. She took the cup, probably to warm her hands if nothing else. "When will my girls skate?"

"They're skating right now." Ducky leaned over her shoulder. "Ah… there. See? There's Rowena. And Ronnie just skated up next to her. They're in the middle—oh, they're holding hands and spinning in the middle, look at them!"

"Oh, Donald!" His mother looked delighted. "That looks such fun! I want to skate!"

Oh, brother. "Ah… Mother… you don't know how to skate. I'm sure Rowena would love to teach you on another day, but—it's awfully crowded."

"Oh." She looked disappointed. "Another day?"

"Another day." Over my dead body.

"All right." Rowena and Ronnie were having an animated discussion, fingers pointing, hands spinning, arms swinging in arcs. He knew they were planning something, but he wasn't sure what.

"Donald?" His mother hissed his name and wagged her fingers.

He leaned closer. "Yes, Mother?"

She glanced at Sassy, who was talking on the left with a fringe relative or friend whose name he couldn't remember. "Is she your granddaughter?"

He looked at her in shock. Sassy was actually a year or two older than he was. Granted, her hair was well dyed and she was meticulous about her make-up—but still…! "Ah—no, Mother," he said cautiously.

She shuddered. "Thank God. Poor thing makes no sense at all."

He turned slowly and met his wife's gaze. "Cocoa?" she asked sympathetically.

"Is it spiked?" he whispered.

"Later."

/ / /

A sharp whistle split the air. "Okay! Everybody outta the pool!" Gibbs jerked his thumb toward the exits. "Don't complain to me, I'm following orders."

Grumbling good-naturedly the other skaters slid and fumbled their way off the ice. Gibbs looked up toward the sound booth and held out his hands; well?

Barry Manilow cut off in mid-note. After a moment there was a scratch and a pop; "Hello? Hi? Hi!" After a minute Ronnie skated to the middle of the ice, a microphone in her hand, passing Gibbs on the way. "Thank you, Uncle Jethro." Gibbs rolled his eyes melodramatically. "Okay, just waiting for my sister, here… oh, sorry for the mike, everyone, but in this place, it's a necessity. Okay, Rosie, where are you…"

"Don't call me that!" Only the first few rows could hear Rowena as she skated out to join her sister. Ducky was struck again at the difference between the girls—Ronnie, tiny, delicate and, under all that hair dye, a pale blonde; Rowena, tall, athletic and such a brilliant shade of copper hair… but absolutely identical smiles.

My granddaughters. My precious girls.

"Okay… Ronnie and I have been trying to coordinate this for a couple of weeks—"

"Yeah—try getting practice time together three thousand miles apart," her sister groused.

"We tried sending video feed—"

"I'm going to be in therapy for that one."

"So we decided we'd just each do our own thing. The first time I went out to visit Grandmother, I promised we'd both skate for her today—and we had also planned something for Nana and Papa to celebrate their engagement." Rowena put her hands on her hips and looked out over everyone sitting in the bleachers. "See?" she complained. "You weren't the only ones they kept in the dark!"

"And the only reason we found out was because they needed someone to guard the doors!"

Elizabeth slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. "True enough," she admitted.

"But… we aren't going to hold it against them, and hope you won't, either. So… after this afternoon's festivities, Ronnie and I decided to switch around our lineup and you'll understand in a minute why." Rowena took the microphone from her sister, skated over to set it on the ledge and quickly got off the ice while her sister headed in the other direction. When Bronwyn returned to the ice she had divested herself of her jacket and fleece pants and now wore an outfit suitable for a skating competition, dark maroon with forest green accents and glittering crystal beading. Very festive, very Christmassy.

She struck a pose in the middle of the ice and waited patiently. After a few moments the music began and she pushed off into a loping spin.

Elizabeth sighed. "Always thought she was psychic."

Ducky recognized the music from that afternoon—a group called Trans-Siberian Orchestra, performing something they'd titled Christmas Canon… a holiday version of Pachelbel's Canon complete with a boys' choir. Psychic, indeed.

Bronwyn flew about the ice faster than he could have imagined possible. Tiny though she was, her jumps would have had Tish cheering with the rest of the crowd.

Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder. "I know it's crazy, but… seeing her on the ice like that, I feel like she's finally come to peace with herself."

Ducky slipped his hand beneath hers so that he could see her rings sitting on her finger. "Not crazy at all."

Ronnie finished with a dramatic spin and sudden stop. She curtseyed to the generous applause, then skated off the ice.

"Blast!"

Elizabeth sat up. "What?"

"Why didn't I think to tape this—"

Laughing, she pointed off. Following her indication, he saw Drew with the camcorder he had used during the wedding, filming Rowena entering the rink. "Believe me—we head out to the rink, someone grabs a camera. It's in our DNA."

"Thank heavens." As soon as he heard the opening notes he stole a glance at his mother. As she had with Ronnie, she was following Rowena's skating with a careful eye, but she hadn't seemed to notice the music. He shook his head; Ro had been playing a Christmas CD in her car the first time he'd taken her to see his mother (and then taken them out to dinner on Rowena's suggestion); she had fallen in love with the O, Holy Night track, asking Rowena to play it over and over… and over… and over. Rowena had made a copy of the CD as well as a copy of the song some fourteen or fifteen times in a row.

"That's Josh Groban," Mother announced to Dr. Stewart and Sassy.

Well, damn. She was paying attention.

"Yes. I'm quite a fan of his music," Dr. Stewart said with a smile.

"My great-granddaughter… is going to marry him," Mother continued smugly.

Oh, well. Back to her own universe…

Rowena ended by gracefully half-kneeling on one leg, the other foot extended behind her and sliding to a stop dead center on the ice.

"This does make me feel guilty for not being much of a churchgoer over the years," he said.

Elizabeth sighed. "I, ah, know what you mean. I'm good at sending in my pledge envelopes, but I don't even make it in for 'Merry Christmas and for those we don't see very often, Happy Easter, too' services."

"St. Dunstan's?" He remembered she had grown up a lackadaisical Episcopalian, near twin of the Anglican Church he had attended in his youth.

She shook her head. "St. Thomas's." He frowned, not recognizing the name from the area, and she shrugged her shoulders. "It's in D.C. They tend to be a little more… liberal in their thinking. And it was very convenient when I was taking culinary classes, and not that far from the store, they were a big help when it was just Tori and me…" She tipped her head. "You?"

"St. Anne's. You might like it. I've missed services more often than I've managed to attend—but I do still manage to help out at a clinic they run…"

She nodded. "Tuesdays." He looked at her sharply. "You're usually busy Tuesday night. You never say where you're going, I never press… but everything else is, 'I'm going to see Mother,' 'A lecture at Georgetown' or whatever." She bumped her forehead against his. "I had a feeling you were doing something… good."

He smiled. It was nice to be with someone who automatically ascribed positive thoughts to you in your absence.

"Now… Grandfather and Sassy have always liked one particular song at Christmas—" Rowena said into the microphone, still breathing hard.

"Never mind that we haven't skated this since I was, jeez, ten?"

Rowena waved a hand. "Eight, for me."

"So… be kind?" Ronnie pleaded.

Rowena replaced the microphone on the ledge, and Ducky realized that her outfit was a mirror-image negative print of her sister's. Where Ronnie wore maroon, Rowena wore green and vice versa. It worked perfectly, the dark green more attractive against Rowena's coloring and hair and the maroon looking stunning on Ronnie. "What's your dad's favorite Christmas song?" Ducky whispered.

Elizabeth was shaking her head and trying not to giggle. "Watch."

The girls posed in the center of the ice, hand on hip, elbows almost bumping, outer arms upraised and hands sharply splayed.

"Oooooo—
Merry Christmas, Saint Nick…
Christmas comes this time each year…"

Ducky began to laugh. "The Beach Boys?"

"California born and bred—what else?"

The girls skated a fairly simple routine—Elizabeth whispered that it was from a Christmas show years ago, when they were at much lower levels—but they still had fun, and it was interesting watch them do identical moves and time it out perfectly so that they stopped and started and moved in synch despite the vast difference in height. Particularly intriguing was when they ended by linking hands and spinning in a circle in the center, first one holding them down and the other leaping while going in the circle—then changing their positions. "That looks like fun."

"Wanna try it?"

"Ah—no. At this age, like roller coasters, I shall admire from a distance."

Rowena reclaimed the microphone. "Wow. Just goes to prove, you learn something early, it sticks with you."

Ronnie put her arms up and began to 'walk' in place on the ice. "Twinkle, twinkle, little—" was picked up by the mike.

Rowena put a hand on her hip and gave her a baffled look. "What are you doing?"

"You're right, you really do remember the old stuff. Little star, how I—"

Ducky could see Cherie, Ro's old coach, laughing loudest of the crowd. She probably remembered when Ronnie had learned that as a child.

"Knock it off. You have a song cue coming up."

Hands still up, Ronnie stopped in mid-step. "I'm already singing. How I wonder what you—"

"To skate," Rowena said patiently.

Ronnie smiled brightly. "Oh. Yeah." She stopped marching in place and dropped her arms.

Ro skated off, shaking her head. "God pity the country, people, she's old enough to vote, now."

"And, yes… they grew up on old Smothers Brothers and Laugh-In tapes," Elizabeth said around her laughter.

"Those must have been interesting years."

Ronnie pointed to Ducky and Elizabeth then gave them two thumbs up gestures, grinning widely. Waiting for the music to start, she struck a pose that made Ducky almost wince—standing on one skate, the other foot crossed over and toe on the ice, body arced to the side and arms upraised like a ballerina, it was making his back hurt just to look at her. On the first note she spun in an imitation of a music box figurine, did a small jump and quickly began skating in earnest.

"There's a new world somewhere
They call the Promised Land
And I'll be there some day
If you will hold my hand
I still need you there beside me
No matter what I do
For I know I'll never find another you—"

Holding Elizabeth's hand tightly, he smiled through the tears in his eyes. Silly child… she couldn't have found a more perfect song. (Elizabeth gave up her fight and used her glove to wipe her cheeks.)

"But if I should lose your love, dear
I don't know what I'll do
For I know I'll never find another you,
Another you, another you!"

She ended her final spin with one hand flung into the air, the other pointing straight at Ducky and Elizabeth.

"Okay, I am officially a watering pot." Elizabeth dug in her coat pocket for some crumpled tissues. "Oh… bless you." She gratefully took the handkerchief from him. "Sure you don't need it?"

"Ach. Men are stoic," he said firmly, blinking hard.

She caught the determined look and rapidly blinking eyelids and snorted. "Bull." But she didn't give up the handkerchief.

Rowena was skating slowly to the middle of the ice, microphone in hand. "Well… hi." She had a funny smile on her face; Ducky wasn't quite sure if he should trust her. (From Elizabeth's expression, she was wondering the same thing.) "Family communication at a holiday dinner being faster than the speed of light, by the time everyone made it from the front door to the back yard, everybody knew everything about Nana and Papa." She nodded slowly. "Except that they were getting married today, neyh, neyh, neyh!" she said quickly, sticking out her tongue. Everyone laughed good-naturedly at the teasing.

"But… I have a story for you all," she continued, the smile sneaking back in. Uh-oh. "A lonnnnnng time ago—"

"In a galaxy far, far away!" someone yelled.

"Close—California," she shot back. "So—once upon a time… a… prince… came to the far-off land of California." She waved a hand toward Ducky. There was a run of applause and someone yelled, 'Prince Ducky!' Probably Abby.

He almost groaned; why am I sitting where my father-in-law can kill me if he doesn't like this story? God knows there are enough sharp objects around.

Elizabeth dropped her head into her hand and moaned. "I thought she'd stopped looking at those pictures and making up stories," she hissed in an undertone. "Argh!"

"And there… he met a beautiful princess." Rowena continued in a dramatic, storybook voice. Her wave included Elizabeth, who just shook her head resignedly, feebly waving a hand to acknowledge her share of applause. "The prince took the princess… to a concert." She nodded sagely, encouraging the 'ooooohs' from the audience. "Okay, it was the Moody Blues," she admitted, dropping out of character. There were a few scattered cries of, 'Whoo!' "Yeah, lotta old hippies in our family tree," she said in the same tone. She resumed her storyteller pose. "As I said… the prince took the princess to a concert. And there… they fell in love." Well… close enough. What's one week? "The prince asked the princess to marry him—and she said yes." She waited for the spattering of applause to die off. "But, as a great philosopher once said, 'Life is what happens while you're off making other plans.'"

"John Lennon," he said, grinning when Elizabeth said it at the same moment.

"So the prince and the princess were separated… for forty years." She stared at the audience dramatically.

"Donald—that's just like you!" His mother looked up at him in astonishment, even as people within the sound of her voice laughed. In the silence, her voice had carried quite far. Rowena stared at the ice, shoulders shaking, her lips pressed together, trying to regain her composure.

"Yes, Mother." He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze and dropped a kiss to her temple. "It is."

Rowena pulled herself together—barely. "Ahhhh… Yes. Forty years. But—!" She held up a finger. "The princess had a fairy godmother—mmmh, no, godsister—keeping an eye on things." Elizabeth laughed softly and shook her head, staring at her lap. "And, working her magic from beyond, the fairy godsister brought the prince and princess back together again. And, forty years later, the prince took the princess to… another concert." She looked at the audience; no answer. She looked at them more expectantly; still no answer. She shook her head sadly. "Man, you gotta spell it out for some people," she muttered into the mike. "M…" she coached. "O… O…"

About a dozen voices yelled out, "MOODY BLUES!"

"I was staring to worry. Yes. The prince took the princess to another Moody Blues concert, he asked her again to marry him… and, thank heavens, she said yes and all of you joined us today—or we'd be eating wedding cake until Groundhog Day."

Ducky laughed along with the rest, shaking his head.

"Told you," Elizabeth laughed. "She reminds me a lot of you."

Ducky started to object, but there was a chuckle from behind them. "Oh, yeah." Gibbs was grinning. "Definite family resemblance." Faith, Gibbs' jacket over her shoulders, laughed and nodded in agreement.

"And… I swear I chose this without talking to my sister and it was long before I mugged Nana for all the details when I saw the sparkly on her finger. Honest." She tucked the microphone on the ledge and hurried back to center ice.

"Story in Your Eyes?" Elizabeth suggested.

Ducky shrugged. "Question?"

"Oh, good idea. Fits."

But it only took a few notes, Rowena swooping like an exotically colored swan on the ice, for Elizabeth to burst into tears.

"I know you're out there somewhere,
Somewhere, somewhere—
I know I'll find you somewhere,
And somehow I'll return again to you."

He held Elizabeth as her tears again fell on his shoulder…and was glad Drew was taping everything, because his eyes were frequently too blurry to see Rowena on the ice.

"And if you wake up wondering
In the darkness I'll be there
My arms will close around you
And protect you with the truth."

He knew his cheeks were as wet as his wife's, but there was little he could do about it. A gentle hand on his arm startled him; he looked up and saw his mother smiling at him with a lifetime of understanding. And she was holding out her favorite lace-trimmed handkerchief. He accepted it gratefully. "Thank you, Mother."

She patted his cheek. "I love you, Donald."

He smiled. "I love you, too, Mother."

"You really should remember to carry a handkerchief, Donald."

There was a sniffling laugh from his other side. "I'll try, Mother."

"That's a good boy." She turned back to the end of Rowena's skating. She grasped Dr. Stewart's arm excitedly. "That's—that's my great-granddaughter!"

He didn't bat an eyelash. "Yes. She's my great-granddaughter, too."

The music came to an end to rolling applause and she looked at him in horrified astonishment. "Are—are you my ex-husband?" She gave him a close inspection. "I thought he died!"

Elizabeth's face slipped behind his arm, where her shaking shoulders were slightly hidden. "God, I love your mother," she whispered. "Only she can send me from sobbing sentimentality to laughing my ass off in the same minute."

He smiled as Dr. Stewart patiently explained that no, he was not Charles Mallard and he was not romantically interested in her sister Gloria. For all he worried about her, for all she drove him to the brink of distraction and then pushed him right over the edge—he adored his mother. "Mother is… special that way."

She bumped her forehead against his. "So are you."

26