Fenton and Laura Hardy loved their granddaughter. They were seated close together on the couch, bent over, watching her. Sam was in the middle of their living room, surrounded by piles of crumpled wrapping paper and shiny new toys. Nancy called out her name and Sam turned in time to see the flash on the camera, smiling up at her mother, the Christmas tree blinking slowly in the background.

Over dinner Nancy fed Sam, making sure her food was sliced small, finding her juice. Frank was making wide arm movements and describing something Nancy hadn't seen. She chimed in when the table responded with laughter, without knowing why, without hearing.

Joe was across the table, next to Vanessa. From the way Frank's parents kept glancing between the two of them, Nancy was expecting Joe to stand and tap his water glass, interrupting his older brother, and announce that he and Vanessa had set a date and bought a ring, but that shoe never dropped. Nancy found herself staring down at Sam's empty plate, hastily wiping her hands before she toddled off into the living room again, bringing destruction and chaos in her wake.

"So when do you two move to the new place?"

Frank glanced over at Nancy, smiling. "Two weeks."

Nancy returned it and glanced over at Sam. She had picked up a crumpled sheet of wrapping paper and was flapping it over her head.

"Laura, did you say you needed some milk?" she found herself asking.

Nancy didn't even pull out her cell phone until she was on the way back from the grocery store. She had looked at the business card so many times that she had the number memorized, could see his handwriting when she closed her eyes. She punched it in and held her breath, counting the burred faint rings, waiting for his voicemail to pick up.

But Ned's voice came over the line, rich and tinged with laughter, and she jerked the steering wheel hard to the right and pulled off into a deserted parking lot, on Christmas day, staring out at dead winter fields with her phone pressed against her cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Nan."

"Merry Christmas to you," she said, and her hand was trembling as she shifted the car into park, twisted the keys toward her and sat in silence. The cold metal ring hanging from the key brushed against her knee.

"So you found the card I left in your pocket."

"I did," she said. She traced her fingers down the steering wheel. "I'm really sorry. You're probably with your family."

"It's fine," he said. "It's nice to hear from you."

She squeezed her eyes shut, hard. Her breath was fogging in the air and the milk was slowly warming on the passenger seat. "It's nice to talk to you. I was... I was wondering. I don't know when I'll be in River Heights again."

She had been able to hear music and laughter behind his voice. Now it was all quiet, over the brushed hum of the wind. He was outside too, alone, apologetic smile, hand probably shoved into his pocket.

After a long pause he finally spoke, hesitant. "I'm going to be at the airport, near you," he said. "The morning of New Year's Eve. I'll have a few hours to kill."

"Okay," she said.

--

Frank was making dinner. Making in the sense that he had taken the ground beef she had bought, smacked it loosely into patties, and slapped it on the indoor grill, sipping a beer. Nancy made the fries, warmed the hamburger rolls, sliced the tomato, set the table. She had already started packing up the nonessentials in the kitchen, along with the summer clothes and the wildly assorted sports equipment they had managed to assemble. Sam had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the television watching a cartoon and Nancy switched it off, watching as Sam scowled in her sleep, an echo of her father's expression. Sam had also managed to, before passing out, unpack half a box of her less favorite toys. Nancy sighed and swept them back in, securing it with tape before she rejoined her husband in the kitchen.

"So what are we doing for New Year's?"

She recognized his expression even before he turned to her. "I'm really sorry, babe."

She bowed her head. Her heart was pounding. "How long this time?"

"Just under a week," he said. "Sooner, I hope."

She nodded. "I thought you were going to talk to them about being a desk jockey," she said.

He smiled, and she read in his face what she herself had thought, before. Only once she couldn't run after a suspect would she allow herself to be chained to an office building, a telephone, a time clock. He had always felt the same.

But he was the one who could leave.

--

Nancy woke and immediately rolled out of bed, padded to the kitchen in her socks and poured a glass of juice, as she did every morning. She shook the marked pill bottle she'd swiped from the bathroom on the way. Lined up the arrows and popped it with her thumbnail.

Sam was coming with them. Sam would be their chaperone.

Nancy shook the bottle over her open palm. Half-empty. Usually she put the pill on the back of her tongue, washed it down with the juice, dressed and woke Sam, like every morning.

Nancy tilted her palm up and let the pills slide back into the bottle, capped it. The pills weren't like birth control and skipping a day wouldn't hurt.

She finished her juice, woke Sam and dressed her. She spread all her makeup on the counter, lipsticks Bess had recommended and foundation she hadn't used since high school. Sam, curious, swiped a shiny bottle of mascara, and Nancy laughed as her daughter tried to pry it open, finally wailing in defeat and frustration.

"No, honey, that's what your Aunt Bess is for," she told Sam, picking her up. "You're right, though, why bother with all this makeup when it's just breakfast."

Ned had a newspaper in his hands, coat on but unbuttoned, waiting in the unspeakable din at the entrance of the pancake house. He smiled when he saw them, both of them, Sam's hand securely in hers as Nancy walked up to him. When Ned looked at her, Sam gave him a shy smile and hid behind Nancy's leg.

"I'm sorry I got you out of bed so early," he said by way of greeting.

Nancy shrugged. "Pick a more convenient layover next time," she told him, softening her words with a smile.

He nodded. "I think they have our table ready."

Sam was the perfect icebreaker. The waitress cooed over her and gave her a set of crayons with her paper placemat. While the two of them spoke very generally about their lives and what they had done since, Sam would alternately stare, entirely unselfconsciously, at Ned, or color vigorously, often leaving streaks on the tabletop. Nancy lingered over her coffee and a bowl of fresh fruit, while Ned put away most of a huge stack of pancakes, obliging when Sam made grabbing gestures in his direction with a bite of syrup-dampened pancake. Sam tried it and squealed happily.

"Great, now I'll never get her down for her nap," Nancy said, smiling.

Ned ran a hand over Sam's hair and she ducked away from him, giggling. "Much as I hate to admit it, she's beautiful," he said, then looked back at Nancy.

"She is my life," Nancy replied simply.

Ned's mouth half quirked in a smile and he ducked his head. "Yeah," he said softly. "Must be nice."

"Does your girlfriend not want to have kids?"

The expression on Ned's face after that question would have been unreadable to almost anyone else, but Nancy had the answer she was looking for before he opened his mouth. "I'm not seeing her anymore, actually," Ned replied. "Just met someone else, though." He shrugged.

The sun caught the facets in the diamond on her finger and the wall was momentarily awash with the reflection. "Keep trying," she told him. "You'll find someone."

"I keep hoping," he said, and his smile was bittersweet. Sam helpfully threw all of her silverware onto the floor just then, and Nancy was able to signal for the waitress instead of avoiding his eyes.

After a promise that they would meet again the next time he was in town ("Soon," he assured her, and despite her declining spirits she believed him), they climbed into separate cabs. Nancy strapped Sam in and found a napkin in her purse, wiped her daughter's chin as she gave him the address.

The cabbie had put a no smoking sign up in the back. Nancy didn't smoke around Sam anyway, but the urge was strong. She didn't believe him, that he would let her know when he was in town again, but she still had his number. Her momentary insanity had been staved, her wild impulse to call him finally satisfied after almost three years of waiting. He was not so much changed. Still the guy she remembered. But there was distance between them now, distance she had helped create and maintain.

It was enough to know he was there, that she could still call. But she probably never would again. Between them was too much of everything, too much had changed, too much time passed, too much history, and too much awareness that what they had been, they would never be again. Too much for her to overcome. She would keep the warmth she had felt on seeing him, and she would close the book, at last.

When they finally arrived she paid the cabbie with a generous tip and he came around to help her wrestle the carseat onto the pavement. Sam smiled up at Nancy, their hands joined.

"How about we," Nancy began, then trailed off.

The door of their house was half-open.

After five seconds' deliberation Nancy turned and knocked on the cabbie's window. "Wait just a minute," she asked him. "I might need you to take me somewhere else."

Nancy swept Sam up into her arms and approached the house, slow, quiet. She had locked the door, she always locked the door. It was half-open, her eyes hadn't deceived her with a trick of light or shadow. The boxes she had begun packing were slashed open, strewn over the living room floor.

Nancy put her other arm around Sam and walked quickly back to the cab, where the driver waited, his meter ticking. "I need to go to the airport," she told him. "As fast as you can make it."

--

There was protocol, of course.

Nancy called the local police station from her cell phone and explained that her house had been broken into and that she strongly recommended at least bomb-sniffing dogs on the detail sent out on the call. She called the number Frank had made her memorize in case of emergencies, talked to half a dozen bland passionless voices before one consented to take her message. She called the cell phone number he had given her for his trips abroad and left him a voicemail on that. She called her in-laws.

Then she called Ned.

"Lucky you caught me, I was about to turn this off," Ned said. "What's up?"

"I'm almost at the airport," she said. "I need you to wait for me."

"Sure," he said, with no question, no hesitation. "I'll be at the front doors."

Nancy hung up and watched her fingers tremble slightly against her knee. She glared at the no smoking sign. Sam whined in the car seat for a toy, and Nancy handed her a ragged doll she found in the bag. When Sam began chirping happily to herself, Nancy stared out the window, her pulse high and hard. Glancing behind her every few seconds, looking for aggressive drivers, vaguely familiar cars.

He was as good as his word. He came around and Nancy handed Sam over to him. Sam was upset for a minute, but calmed down as Nancy pulled her bag and the car seat out of the cab.

"Thanks," Nancy said, and he trailed behind her as she ran into the terminal.

"Nan, what's going on," he said, looking over at Sam, who had looped her arm around his neck and was heavy on his shoulder.

"I need-- I--"

He looped his hand around her wrist and pulled her up short. "Why are you here."

"I need to," she said, and she looked at Sam, brushed Sam's hair back, her fingers trembling. "They were in our house. They broke into our house. We could have been there. I need to get somewhere safe, I need to get her somewhere safe. I need to get to Bayport. Until Frank gets home. I need to get away from here. They could be following us. They could have had Sam. They could have." Her breath was shallow, and he curved an arm around her waist and held her up when her knees began to fail her.

"I'm coming with you."

She looked at him, actually focused on him, for the first time since she had walked into the airport. "Just make sure we get on the plane okay."

He shook his head. "Come on, right now."

She smiled then, despite herself, but her smile faded quickly and the longing for a cigarette was almost impossible to resist, as they stood in line waiting, waiting for tickets, for the plane to board. She had no idea who she was looking for. No idea who among them could be working with the wrong people. Sam fell asleep across Ned's lap, his hand on her back, but Nancy still couldn't stop touching Sam, resting her fingertips across her daughter's red-gold hair, thanking God she was alive.

"Weren't you going somewhere?"

His smile held no humor. "It can wait," he said. "For this."

His frequent flyer miles bought them two first-class seats, adjoining, and Nancy sat at the window, her daughter on her lap. Ned wasn't relaxed. He watched every passenger intently, memorizing faces, calculating risk. The way she'd taught him.

"Do you remember the last thing I said to you," he said. "Before."

She smiled, even though her heart was sinking, even though the steel in his voice bit into her. "You said you needed time," she recited from memory. "Time and space. To figure out what was going to happen."

He nodded, still not looking at her. "Why didn't you tell me. Why did I have to read about it in the paper."

She looked down. "Maybe... there are some words so terrible you can't say," she whispered. Sam stirred in her sleep and Nancy let her palm rest on her daughter's cheek.

"Well," he said softly. "Rest, you need it."

She did manage to sleep. Once the adrenaline wore off she felt numb, exhausted, waking every few minutes, when Sam moved or when she remembered. Once she woke and found that she had, in her sleep, rested her head against Ned's shoulder. She pulled away from him, startled, embarrassed.

"It's okay," he said. "Go back to sleep."

She laid her head back on his shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed. A flight attendant had been smiling in their direction. To anyone else, they were a family, a protective father and his two girls.

A tear slipped down Nancy's cheek and she swiped it away, blaming it on her frayed nerves.

Ned was as good as his word. Fenton was waiting in the airport lobby for Nancy, his forehead creased with worry. When she arrived, Fenton rushed to her and took his granddaughter, and only then did Ned step back, leaving Nancy and her daughter outside his armspan, outside the sphere of his protection.

Nancy gestured for Fenton to wait, then went back to Ned. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice low. "I mean it. You didn't have to do this, but I appreciate it."

He ducked his head. "Don't mention it."

"Ned..."

He did meet her eyes then, and shook his head. "It's all right," he said. "We're friends. You'd do the same for me."

"Yeah."

He sighed. Finally he said, "Be safe."

"I will," she told him, and he was the first to walk away.

The car ride to Fenton and Laura's was a blur. Sam was fussy, angry that their schedule had been disrupted, angry that she'd had to be on a plane and she wasn't in her own room at home and most of all that she didn't have any juice or a blanket. Laura was prepared with both, but the furrows between Sam's eyebrows, the Hardy expression of anger, still stayed on her face. Nancy left Sam downstairs, once the protective detail had come to the house. Fenton was taking no chances with his granddaughter. She went into Frank's old room and climbed up onto the bed, in her socks, looking down at the violet button-down and charcoal slacks she had picked out a lifetime ago, when the only plans for her day had been breakfast with Ned and a bottle of wine at midnight.

Her cell phone rang and she picked it up. "Frank."

"What happened," he asked.

"They broke into our house," she said. "I don't know who. I was out at breakfast, thank God. Who have you pissed off?"

He exhaled, explosively. "Where are you now?"

"I'm at your parents' house," she said. "I got on a plane as soon as I could. Tell me you're coming home soon."

"I will," he said. "I promise. But, you're safe."

"We are," she said. "Frank, if we'd been home..."

"It's okay, it's gonna be okay. I love you."

After their conversation ended Nancy flipped her phone closed and tossed it onto the carpet, then turned over and buried her face in the pillow. She was shaking. The sentence kept starting in her head but never finished. If they had been home. If she and Sam had been home.

She heard the door open and turned over to see Laura standing there, Sam toddling up to the bed, much happier. Nancy pulled her daughter up with her and Sam snuggled against her. Nancy brushed a hand over her own face, smiling faintly at Laura's concerned expression.

"It doesn't look like anyone followed you," Laura said. "But they're going to stay around until you say."

Nancy nodded. "Thank you," she said.

"Anytime," Laura replied. "Hey, maybe between the three of us we'll be able to keep Fenton awake until midnight."

No kiss to ring in the new year. Not this time.

Nancy smiled at her mother in law. "We can try."