(Chapter 4. The beach house, Emily's place, Steve's car. March 1, 2033.)

Ring…Ring…Ring…

It was seven o'clock.

With a groan, Steve rolled over to get the phone, but Maribeth grabbed his arm and said, "Officially, we're still on vacation for one more day. The world will not end if you let the machine get it."

"You've reached the Sloan residence. Please leave a message after the beep." *BEEP*

"Mom, Dad, it's me." Their son sounded nervous.

Steve reached for the phone, but Maribeth again grabbed his arm saying, "Wait and see what's up. If it's not urgent, we'll just call him back later. As long as we're awake in bed…"

Steve nodded, grinning, and listened to his son's message.

"I know it's early. Sorry. I, uh, I spent the night at a, ummm, friend's house, and I'm scheduled to work at nine, but my car battery's dead. I forgot my wallet in my locker, so I don't even have cab fare, and Em…uh…sh…uh, *my friend* has already left for work. I know it's somewhat out of your way, but could one of you give me a lift to the hospital? CJ and Jesse are both out of town at a conference, or I'd ask one of them, but you guys are my last hope. The address is 14783 West Dorothy Street in Brentwood. Like I said, I know it's out of the way."

Steve felt as if someone had just doused him with a bucket of ice water. He knew that address. He'd spent a lot of time there years ago. Just what was going on? And why the hell hadn't he found a time in the past two weeks to tell Maribeth about Emily?

Picking up the phone, he said, "Steven, it's Dad. Yeah, I'll give you a lift. I want to head in to Bob's today anyhow. I'll pick you up at eight fifteen."

"Thanks, Dad," the young man replied brightly. "You're a lifesaver. See you in an hour."

"You're welcome, son. See you then."

Steve hung up and slipped out of bed. After giving his wife a morning kiss, he said, "I'll start coffee. You stay in bed." The quicker he got out of the house, the less chance there was of her realizing something was bothering him.

Maribeth shook her head as she, too, got up, and said, "You take a shower. I'll make coffee and something for breakfast, that way you don't have to wait until you get to Bob's."

Steve grinned at her, trying to hide his uneasiness, and said, "You know, I'm wise to your game, woman. You want to feed me before I go to Bob's so you know I'm eating *healthy*." He made a face. It was easy to slip into their familiar joking routine about his eating habits. They'd had this discussion so often in the years since his heart attack that he knew the lines by heart. "The occasional plate of sausages, pancakes, and fried eggs never hurt anyone."

She chuckled and said, "Neither did the occasional bowl of multigrain cereal with skim milk and fresh fruit, whole wheat toast, and decaffeinated coffee."

"I don't know about that."

"Humor me and I'll get your dad to grill steaks for dinner."

"Deal."

He'd stayed in the shower as long as he dared so that he'd have to gulp down his breakfast without making much small talk in order to meet Steven on time. He usually enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with his wife and father, holding conversation and making plans for the evening, but this morning, he just wanted to get out of the house fast.

He slurped the last of the milk from his bowl, grabbed his coat and briefcase, kissed his wife, and jogged out to the car; calling over his shoulder, "Don't want the kid to be late. Give my love to Dad. I'll call about lunch. Have-a-good-day-Iloveyou." The last words poured from him in a jumble. He was desperate to escape, true, but now, more than ever, they were too important to leave out.

Apparently, Maribeth didn't suspect anything. She just smiled and waved and laughed at him.





As Steve tore out of the drive, tires squealing in his rush to get away, a bleary-eyed Mark came upstairs for breakfast.

"Where's Steve going in such a red-hot fury?"

"Morning, Dad," Maribeth said. "Your grandson needed a ride to work, and Steve wanted to stop by Bob's, so he agreed to give the kid a lift. He was running a bit late."

"Oh, I see."

When Steve and Maribeth had gotten married, Mark had given them his floor at the beach house and moved into the downstairs apartment. Of course, they had protested at first, but then when little Steven came along, they had seen the logic of Mark's arguments. As Steven matured into a teenager needing his own space, Mark had moved upstairs to Steven's room for a few years and let the kid have the apartment. When Steven had gone off to college ten years ago, Steve and Maribeth had offered to move back downstairs, but he had refused, saying with a grin, "I've been single for thirty years now. I think I like the idea of living in a bachelor pad."

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Is Steven seeing someone?"

"Oh, why do you ask?"

"Well, when he called, he stuttered and stammered and said he'd spent the night at a *friend's* house. I swear he almost said 'she' had left for work, and he called this person Em, which would have to be Emily or Emma or something like that."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Maribeth. Could be Emory or Emeril, Emerson, Emmett, Emile, Emanuel, Emilio…"

She knew he was playing her. Her father-in-law might be in his 100's but he still had the sharp mind of a much younger man.

"Dad, you know something, don't you?"

"What? Who? Me? Nooooo."

Maribeth glowered.

Mark smiled. His daughter-in-law was very perceptive, and he enjoyed matching wits with her on a regular basis. Steven had confided in him that he had been living with a woman since Christmas, and she was a cop from back east. He just had to tell someone, but he didn't want to discuss it with or introduce her to his parents until the whole LAPD-Mob scandal had settled and his dad had his bureau back up to full speed. Steven had promised to bring her home as soon as his parents got back from their second honeymoon. He'd already asked Mark about having a cookout the coming weekend.

Mark had agreed to keep his secret. He hadn't met the girl yet, and didn't know much about her, but she certainly seemed to make his grandson happy.





Steve pulled up to the house and stared. It looked just as it had thirty years ago. Potted marigolds sat on the steps leading up to the porch. An old-fashioned porch swing swayed gently in the slight breeze. Ferns hung from the edge of the porch roof. He wondered how she had cleaned it up after the quakes of '05 and '07. Had she come out here by herself and fixed things up without even bothering to call him? Did Keith come with her? Had she hired someone to take care of it for her? Maybe Meyer Goldstein had handled the details. Why the hell had she never sold it anyhow?

He climbed the steps nervously. Things had changed so little, he half expected her to still be there. He rang the bell and waited. No answer.

He rang again.

The door opened.

"Hey, Pops." His son smiled down at him. Steve was a big man, but his son dwarfed him. Steven was six feet six inches tall and had wavy black hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was the image of his grandfather at that age, magnified. "C'mon in. I'll be just a few more minutes. Didja have breakfast?"

"Yeah, if you can call it that."

Steve noticed the walking stick was still there in the corner of the alcove. The wood had darkened and reddened with age.

"What does that mean," the young man asked as he fixed his tie in the mirror.

Steve watched him, but he was really seeing a petite redhead admiring her great-grandmother's watch and the necklace he'd had made to match it. It was the same mirror.

"Your mother made me breakfast. Something that looked like tree bark with a few nuts and berries thrown in. She added something that passed for milk, and it all turned to mush. Even the coffee was phony."

Steven laughed again, "This from a man who actually *likes* hospital food."

Steve took a seat at the table. In his mind's eye, he could see it set for a Christmas breakfast. He could barely contain the urge to look in the china cabinet and see if the plates and everything were still there.

"I just need to brush my teeth and I'll be ready to go."

"Ok, son, whatever."

Steve wandered around the living room while he waited. God, it was as if nothing had changed. The same overstuffed leather couch, the posters from Europe, and the seed advertisements, the elephants here and there, were all exactly where he remembered them. The place even still smelled of lavender.

Slowly, though, he became aware of some subtle differences. For one thing, there were a lot more family photos around the place. Liv and Keith with a redheaded baby, an action shot of Emily, face contorted with effort, diving after a basketball at the baseline. Steve grinned. He had a hunch she'd made the save and Liv had been proud of her for it. One picture he knew had made both Liv and Keith proud was of Emily graduating from the police academy.

There was a Christmas picture taken in front of the dining room fireplace at Liv's old Victorian house. Emily sat on a chair in the center, bundled in blankets, obviously getting over some illness. He guessed the picture had been taken around the time she had wrapped up the BioGen case. He parents flanked her, each with an arm around her shoulders. Keith looked every one of his sixty-odd years, but Liv? To Steve, it seemed she'd hardly aged a day. Jud and May stood beside Keith and Liv, embracing the younger couple the same way they did their daughter. Kenney and a buxom blonde…Sue Redmond, Steve thought…sat on the floor beside Emily. She had a hand on each of their shoulders.

They appeared to be a very happy family. Steve wondered where Emily's ex- husband was.

"All ready, Dad." Steven smelled faintly of aftershave and mouthwash.

Steve tapped at the Christmas picture, right on the image of Emily.

"Is that your 'friend'?"

Steven sighed and blushed.

"Yeah, Dad. That's her. Her name's Emily."

"She's a beauty. Why haven't you introduced us?" For the moment, he chose not to tell his son they'd already met. He wanted to see what his son would say.

Steven looked at his watch and said, "She's a cop, and was looking to join the LAPD. I was concerned that if she knew who you were, she might get nervous; or worse yet, if she got hired, think I had talked you into giving her the job. Look, Dad, I don't want to be late. Can we continue this in the car?"





"She got hired a couple weeks ago," Steven said in answer to another of his dad's questions. "But you and Mom went to Maui right after that, and you both deserved the vacation, so I didn't mention anything right then. I've already talked to Gramps about having her over for a cookout this weekend to meet you."

"I see…Have any of your friends met her?"

The younger Sloan laughed. "Yeah. I met her back in September. She hurt her back moving in. She was so upset, because the furniture was all in place and she only had to uncover it, dust, and vacuum. It used to be her mother's house, and when her mom moved back east, she'd just closed the place up. Never bothered to sell it or anything."

"Ok, and your friends met her how?"

"Oh, sorry, lost track of my story, didn't I? Well, I prescribed some painkillers and muscle relaxants for her back, but they left her so dopey she couldn't drive home. She seemed so sad, I offered her a lift. On the way, she started crying. When I asked her if she needed more pain medicine, she started to bawl and told me how it was her thirtieth birthday and she had gotten hurt and she was all alone so far from home, going through a difficult divorce and looking for work. I just felt so sorry for her, I wanted to make it better."

Steve remembered the feeling all too well.

"So what did you do?"

"I got her settled for a nap, and then I made some calls. Lauren, CJ, and Hannah were the only ones who could make it on such short notice. Dion was on a stakeout, and Charisse had to work. Lauren brought food from Bob's, Hannah picked up flowers, balloons, and a teddy bear, and CJ brought some beer. When she woke up we threw her a surprise birthday party out on the deck."

"I see," Steve smiled, remembering. "Did she enjoy it?"

"Oh, yeah. She was thrilled."

"Sounds like you really like her a lot."

"I do, Dad. She's incredible. I've been staying here since Christmas to have more time with her because she's been busy with local law enforcement classes. She has a wild sense of humor, and she's very sweet." Steven blushed and said shyly, "I really hope you, Mom, and Gramps like her. I…uh…I think she might be the one."

They pulled up to the hospital, and Steve asked, suddenly concerned. "When did you meet again?"

Steven scratched his head and said, "Ummm, mid-September? Yeah, it was a few weeks after the charity dinner. Gramps and I had been following up on the contribution pledges that still hadn't been honored."

"And it was her birthday?"

"Yeah, Dad. Why?" Steven was confused by the questions.

Steve tried to sound casual, "No reason, just trying to make sure I have the story straight. I look forward to seeing her this weekend."

"Ok, Dad," his son replied. "I'll see you then. I'll call and we can plan a time."

"Sure thing, son. Have a good day."

Steven thought it an odd choice of words that his dad had said, 'seeing' her instead of 'meeting' her, and he'd seemed to suddenly get very disturbed at something. He was about to call his mother on the cell phone and ask her if she'd noticed anything odd, but shrugged it off and decided he was picking nits. He'd been worried about his dad since the Mob scandals had hit the papers two years ago, and he was still reading something in to everything Pops said, looking for signs of something wrong. It was proving a hard habit to break, but Steven was trying.





Steve pulled in to a parking garage a few blocks from the hospital. His heart was pounding and his thoughts were reeling. He dug around for his agenda and flipped it open to the full-year calendar. He didn't even trust himself to remember all the months of the year in order.

Liv and Keith had been married on St. Valentine's Day. He counted on his fingers as he read off the months. February to March, April, May, June, July, August, September… It wasn't nearly enough time.

He and Liv had made love for the first time in December. January, February… He stopped himself. Liv was so short, and Emily was so tall. He didn't remember Keith being that tall. It was enough time.

He knew.

As if from a thousand miles and a million years away, he faintly heard the strains of 'Dueling Banjos.'

What the hell was he going to do now?