Henry Winslow's apartment. Friday evening. November 11, 2005.
As much as Neal Caffrey liked his loft's vintage kitchen, he had to admire the modern appliances in his cousin's apartment. On a crisp autumn evening it had been a pleasure to hang out there and prepare dinner.
Even more fun had been bossing around his cousin, treating Henry as his sous chef. Although he grumbled, Henry had paid close attention. He was finally coming to the realization that he needed more than pizza delivery and Indian takeout in his diet.
"Not bad," Henry admitted, leaning back from the table and pushing aside his empty plate. "I get to keep the leftovers, right?"
"They're all yours, and they reheat easily. Think you could make cottage pie on your own next time?"
"You know, I'm still disappointed that something with pie in the name isn't a dessert."
"Once you can handle this dish, I'll think about teaching you how to make a dessert pie. So back to my question. Do you think you can prepare it without my help?"
"Yeah, probably, if you leave the instructions."
"It's called a recipe."
"Whatever."
"And you can't leave out the vegetables. They add to the flavor, and they're good for you."
Henry looked ready to argue that point, but paused when they heard a muffled tune. He stood and started patting his pockets. "Where is it?" he muttered.
"Since when is your ringtone the Macarena?"
"Since I lost the company pool tournament this afternoon and the winner got to pick ringtones for the rest of us." Henry looked around the apartment. "Have you seen my phone?"
Neal took another bite of cottage pie and shrugged.
Henry's eyes narrowed. "You bumped into me when you took off your coat." He dashed to the row of hooks next to the front door and dug a phone out of Neal's coat. "Hello?" he answered. He listened a minute and said, "Right. Sunday would work." He scribbled a note on a message board beside the door, and then read a time and address back, waiting for confirmation that it was correct. "See you then."
Neal carried their plates to the dishwasher while Henry was on the phone, and he turned around to see a stern expression on his cousin's face.
"You picked my pocket," Henry said.
"Well, yeah. Gotta stay in practice." Neal grinned. "You should have seen yourself, checking all your pockets." He did an exaggerated imitation. "It did look like you were trying to do the Macarena."
The stern expression vanished into laughter. "You've got such a splash-happy look right now."
"That's something I haven't heard in years." Splash-happy was a phrase they'd invented when Neal turned eighteen, and it brought back good memories. "You ever think about that place? I wonder if they're still open."
"We can look it up later. That call was from the rescue organization I told you about. I'm finally at the top of their waiting list."
Neal looked around the apartment. "Are you ready?"
"I thought so, but maybe I should try a test. Think we could borrow Satchmo?"
"Probably. Peter didn't mention any plans, so I don't think we'd be interrupting a date night. Let's give them a call."
"Warn them?" Henry complained. "Where's the fun in that?"
"If we don't call, we risk driving to Brooklyn to find they aren't home."
"That's even better. If they're away we'll sneak in and take Satch."
"We aren't kidnapping Peter's dog," Neal insisted.
Burke townhouse.
A super-sleuth lived in the Burke townhouse. He was a yellow Lab named Satchmo.
It wasn't a job for slackers. He was constantly listening, in order to warn his humans of approaching strangers. No one crossed the threshold until he'd verified if they were friend or foe. In his spare time, he kept track of the stash of toys, finding any missing ones, as well as making sure his humans took breaks to walk and play.
They seemed completely unaware of the interesting scents along the streets and in the park, so he drew their attention to things they would have missed.
They would be lost without him.
Tonight his pack had gathered on the sofa. Peter and El stared at the big glowing box, and Satchmo wriggled whenever he thought it had been too long since someone had petted him. El was scratching his ears when Peter's little glowing box chirped. Whenever it did that, he held it to his ear and talked to it.
This time after he put the little box away, Peter and El talked to each other and then they gathered toys, food, and a leash into a bag. Usually that meant Satchmo was going to stay with El's sister and her litter of human pups. Last time he'd stayed with them, he'd chased away an annoying squirrel. Maybe it had returned and they needed him to chase it again.
El mentioned a walk, and Satchmo sprang to the door to show his delight with that idea.
"I guess you're right," said Peter, and he took the leash out of the bag to attach it to Satchmo's collar.
They were walking back home when they noticed a car nearby. People were stepping out of it, and Satchmo caught the familiar scents of Neal and Henry. They were extended members of his pack. The two humans smelled a lot alike, as if they came from the same litter. Neal was his favorite, but Henry had more experience with dogs and gave the best belly rubs. They were young and energetic, which meant they were pups, and Satchmo knew that pups needed lots of love.
He strained against his leash so he could lavish attention on them, wagging his tail to alert Peter that these were friends.
Peter chuckled. "Who's that, Satch?"
Good thing he had a super-sleuth along to recognize their pack. Satchmo barked to get their attention, and they paused at the front steps. When he and Peter caught up to them, Satchmo sniffed the hands they offered in greeting.
He waited impatiently in the vestibule while they removed their coats. Humans were so silly, taking coats on and off. Dogs didn't waste time with that.
Henry made a happy sound as Satchmo scampered around him. "In a minute, fella," he promised, and they proceeded to the living room where he sat on a chair and gave the super-sleuth an all-over body rub. "Happy to see me, huh?"
Satchmo wagged his tail in appreciation and then turned his attention to Neal, trying to lick his face.
"Thanks for letting me borrow him," said Henry.
"Good idea to make certain your apartment is dog-proofed before you adopt," El said in her good-boy voice. Satchmo loved that voice. He moved to sit beside her and placed his head on her knee to show his adoration.
"I've got an appointment at a rescue shelter on Sunday, and it sounds like they have what I'm looking for."
"Are you excited, or nervous?" El asked.
"Both. I love dogs, but I haven't owned one since Lulu died, back when I was in high school. For a long time I wasn't ready to replace her, and then with all my traveling it wasn't practical. Now I've committed to staying home more and letting others on my team have opportunities to follow cases to the ends of the earth."
Peter reached over to scratch Satchmo's ears. "Do you want to take Satch along to the shelter on Sunday?"
Henry nodded. "I'd like to see how the dogs interact with him. That could tell me a lot. I can drop him back home afterward."
"Oh, you don't have to do that," El said. "If all goes well, you're going to have your hands full with a new pet. Why don't we meet you at the shelter?"
"You don't mind? Neal's volunteered to come along, so I won't be trying to wrangle two dogs on my own."
Neal made the happy sound that humans called laughter. "C'mon, Henry. Can't you tell she's angling to come along and play with the puppies?"
Peter spoke up. "Just playing, right? We're not planning to adopt another pet."
"We have our hands full with Satchmo," El agreed.
Long Island Water Dog Sanctuary. Sunday afternoon. November 13, 2005.
After two days of playing and romping and snoozing with Henry, Satchmo was visiting an exciting new place. It had a large yard — almost as big as a park — and it was near the water. There were lots of other dogs here, and he joined them in playing fetch and chasing each other along the shore.
The humans stood in a cluster, watching and talking. If he brought them a stick or toy, they'd throw it for him. Mostly it was Peter who played with him. Henry was interacting with the dogs who lived here. Elizabeth and Neal were talking to the humans who smelled like this place was their home.
The alpha human for the pack here said, "We take in abandoned Water Dogs — both the Spanish and Portuguese varieties — and occasionally a spaniel. Some are strays, and the city shelters send them here. Others are brought to us by owners unable to keep a pet — anything from changes to a lease that won't let them keep a dog, to realizing they don't have the time and energy required. These are smart animals who need attention and regular exercise. We train them, rehabilitate them if needed, and then find them new homes."
No one else seemed to notice the pup who was following her nose away from the house. When she was nearly out of sight, Satchmo barked to alert the humans and then leapt after her.
He could hear a commotion among the humans.
"He's tracking another dog," said Peter. "I can see glimpses of dark brown fur in the bushes ahead of Satch."
"I count five on the beach. The only one missing is Splash," said the woman who was the alpha. She started walking and the other humans followed. "She can't seem to resist exploring. Splash!" she yelled. "Splash, come back here!"
"I'll stay with the ones on the beach," volunteered the other female from the local human pack.
"Thanks," said the alpha.
"The puppy's name is Splash?" asked Neal.
"That's right. An international job transfer made keeping her impractical, so her owner brought her here three weeks ago. She's a Spanish Water Dog, about six months old. She looks purebred, but doesn't have papers."
"Is she trained?" Henry asked.
"Somewhat. She'll heel and sit and rollover. She'll play fetch for hours. Coming when called is still an area where she needs work."
Satchmo followed Splash into an area thick with bushes and dead vines. She yelped as she slid into a hole and struggled to free herself. He pawed at the bushes around her, and then barked at his pack to hurry up.
###
"Good boy, Satchmo." Henry patted the yellow Lab and crouched down to study the situation. Splash had slid into a shallow, rocky crevice, nearly hidden by a tangle of thorny bushes. If she were relaxed she might figure a way out, but she was in a panic. The voices calling out to her only made the puppy more anxious.
Henry stood and faced what probably felt to the puppy like an approaching hoard of people. "She's stuck and scared. Give us some space? I think I can get her out once she settles down."
El and the woman who ran the rescue shelter nodded and turned back toward the house. Neal and Peter stayed, about ten feet away. It wouldn't hurt to have them ready to catch the puppy if she tried to run. He wouldn't be surprised if she had a flight instinct.
Crouching down again, Henry crept a little closer.
Splash's flailing grew more frenzied.
"It's okay," he said in his most soothing tones. "No one's going to hurt you. Just calm down and let me help."
The flailing slowed.
In the distance, he heard Neal take a sharp breath. No wonder. What he'd been saying to Splash was eerily similar to what he'd said when he'd found a runaway Neal sick and shivering in an abandoned warehouse with a bunch of other homeless kids. Neal had needed help but was too feverish and scared to accept it at first.
"My name's Henry. I've been living alone for a while, and I could use a friend. I think maybe you could use a friend right now too, huh?"
She howled in frustration.
"You're a singer? Me, too. The right song can make you feel better. There are some great songs about animals. Do you know this one?" He started singing Blackbird. He wished he had his guitar, but did a decent rendition without accompaniment. After the first verse, Neal joined in, harmonizing softly.
Henry stayed still, simply singing, and after a couple of minutes the dog ceased struggling. Whether she was soothed by the song, or simply exhausted, he couldn't tell.
She had a lot in common with Neal when he was seventeen. He'd needed to be rescued but didn't make it easy.
"Hey," said Neal just loudly enough to be heard.
Henry turned around, and saw Peter winding up for a pitch. He threw a pair of heavy work gloves that someone from the shelter must have brought over. Henry caught the gloves and put them on, grateful for the protection against the thorns he needed to reach through. With slow, steady movements, he pushed the branches apart and reached down for Splash.
A last-minute bout of nerves had her struggling again, but he kept a firm grip, picking her up and holding her against his chest. "Good thing it's me and not Neal. He wears stuff like cashmere. My jacket's plain old cotton. All this mud will wash right out."
Her shivering turned into wriggling. At first Henry thought she wanted to be set down, but actually she was trying to climb up. He laughed as she licked his neck.
"You zoomed right in on my weakness," he murmured. "Most people take longer to figure out I'm ticklish." Tightening his grip, he stood and carried Splash toward the house.
###
Peter and Neal followed as Henry carried Splash. Once they cleared the rocky terrain, the puppy resumed wriggling. Henry said something to her, and then placed her on the ground. She stared up at him until he resumed walking, and then she pranced along at his side, matching his pace.
It took a moment for Peter to get Neal's attention. "Something wrong?" he had to ask a second time.
"I didn't expect this to bring back so many memories," Neal said. "You've known Henry what, two years now?"
"We're a couple of months from that anniversary," Peter agreed.
"You've seen him in protector mode. I'd taken for granted that's who he is now. But back when he found me as a runaway in Chicago, I knew him as a nurturer. He got me to the hospital when he realized I was sick. He made sure I ate healthy meals, which was not his natural inclination."
"His words to Splash resonated with you?"
"Big time. When he was calming her down, he repeated some of the things he'd said to get me to trust him. I can imagine the adventures he was promising her when he carried her back, and it worked, just like it did with me."
"You think he's going to adopt her?"
Neal nodded. "I think she'll insist on leaving with him."
"You have any concerns about that?"
"What? No." Neal paused. "No, I think it's a good match. I guess more than anything I'm annoyed at myself. How could I forget that side of him? I'm glad Splash is bringing it out again. And her name, that's the icing on the cake."
"I noticed your reaction to her name. What's the story behind that?"
Eight years ago…
Hotel room, San Antonio, TX. Friday morning. March 21, 1997.
When Neal woke, he stretched and looked around the room. He'd been traveling with his cousin Henry for a week now, and they'd spent each night in a different place. Once it had been in their car. This was by far the most luxurious accommodation they'd had. Two beds — no need to flip a coin to see who slept on the floor.
His heart raced when he realized he was alone. Was this it? Had Henry wised up and abandoned him? He'd wondered if Henry would get tired of a kid cousin tagging along, slowing him down.
He calmed when he noticed Henry's stuff was still in the room. No way would he leave without it. Neal slid out of bed and strode toward his cousin's duffel bag. Halfway there, he paused to peek out the window beside the door. Henry's car was gone from the parking lot. That meant there was time to snoop without getting caught.
After taking a moment to pull on jeans and a t-shirt, Neal reached into the duffel bag for the envelope of photos. Henry's mom had sent them to prove that they were related. He spread them out on the carpet, seeing his mother and his aunt Noelle as young women. They were in each other's wedding photos, and in the christening photos for both Henry and Neal. He saw himself as an almost three-year-old child in holiday photos with his parents and aunts and uncles. There was even one of him with his grandparents.
Turning the photos over, he read the handwritten notes, listing dates and names. His dad was James. His mother's pre-WITSEC name was Meredith. Each time he read them, the names became a little more real.
The growl of an engine warned him that Henry's car had returned. Neal slipped the photos back into the bag. Not that there was anything wrong with looking at them. Henry said he was welcome to. It's just that Neal didn't want to appear needy. He was dependent on Henry for nearly everything, and he wanted to prove that he could pull his own weight. Especially now. They'd made a deal in the hospital. As long as Neal was still seventeen, he was a minor, and he'd do what twenty-year-old Henry said. On his eighteenth birthday — today — they'd renegotiate.
"Happy birthday, kiddo!" Henry said, holding up two bags from a fast-food restaurant. "Breakfast in bed, more or less."
The breakfast they consumed picnic-style on one of the beds wasn't a gourmet meal, but in combination with Henry's cheerful chatter it was a hell of a lot better than the pizza and beer his mom had provided to celebrate the birthday of Danny Brooks — his WITSEC identity — two weeks ago.
Neal crumpled up the wrappers and tossed them into the room's trash can. "Where're we going today?" he asked. They'd been heading south from Chicago in a zigzag pattern for the last week, but they couldn't go much farther south unless Henry planned to go to Mexico. Neal had the forgery skill to create passports for them, but since Henry's Spanish was limited to a few words he'd picked up in Tex-Mex restaurants, Mexico didn't seem like a destination his cousin would pick.
"It's a surprise," said Henry.
"Huh?" Neal looked up from stuffing his things into a bag that matched Henry's. Every morning Henry had made a big announcement about the day's destination — usually a city with highlights Neal would enjoy and rich tourists to con into buying them a couple of meals.
"It's your birthday," Henry said. "Eighteen is a big deal. We gotta celebrate."
"But. . ." The breakfast was more than Neal had expected. No one other than Ellen ever made a fuss over his birthdays.
"Yeah?"
"We don't have any money," Neal objected.
"I've got a stash," Henry said. "It's not much, but I keep a secret bank account for emergencies."
"A birthday isn't an emergency."
"My last birthday landed me in a hospital for a few days."
"You, too?" Neal asked. After the pizza and beer, his previous birthday celebration had ended with him learning he was in WITSEC, that his name wasn't Danny Brooks, and that his father wasn't a dead hero but instead a dirty cop accused of murder. Neal had driven away to clear his head, skidded on a slick road, and flipped his car into a lake where he'd nearly drowned. A stranger had pulled him out and resuscitated him. Waking up in the hospital, Neal made the decision to run away from home.
As a result, he'd written off his eighteenth birthday as a lost cause.
"I keep telling you," Henry said, "we have a lot in common. C'mon. We've gotta get there before the lines get too long."
Shopping center, New Braunfels, TX.
"You're taking me shopping for my birthday?" Neal asked as Henry disentangled a cart at the entrance of a big box store.
"Smart ass," Henry replied. He scanned the signs suspended from the ceiling and pushed the cart toward aisle three.
"Like you keep saying, we have a lot in common."
"We need supplies. Sunscreen, first. And yell if you see cheap sunglasses."
"ZZ Top," Neal said. They'd made a game of inserting song titles or lyrics into conversation and seeing if the other would notice. Naming the artist got you a point. If he'd remembered the album name that would have been two points.
Right now Henry was ahead, but only by a handful of points. Neal had been in the lead yesterday and had no doubt he'd catch up again.
When they checked out a few minutes later, they had sunscreen, sunglasses, swim trunks, and sandals. Henry paid in cash.
"Where are we going?" Neal asked back in the car.
"We're going to Splash! ! !"
"What, like in the ocean?" They weren't far from the Gulf Coast.
"No. Splash! ! ! With three exclamation points. It's an amusement park with mostly water-themed rides."
Neal smiled. Then a moment later he tried to look more serious. Maybe just kids were supposed to be excited about amusement parks. He'd only been to one once, when he was twelve, and he'd loved it. But he was eighteen now. A grown up.
Henry merged into the traffic and mentioned, "I went there on spring break my freshman year at UT. I had a blast."
Neal relaxed. "How'd you guess I'd enjoy it? Just because we 'have a lot in common'?" He put the oft-repeated words in air quotes.
"I was majoring in psychology, you know. And I was an apprentice investigator at Win-Win. I have skills." Henry said it with such grandeur that Neal had to snort in response. "Over the last week I've carefully led the conversation and gathered information. It seemed random, but I was building a profile that told me exactly what you'd like for your birthday."
"Uh-huh." Neal peppered his tone with doubt but didn't bother to hide his grin.
Several hours later, soaking wet, and on an adrenaline high from the rides, Neal thought he'd laughed more in one day than he had in the last year. He pushed away the hair that was hanging over his eyes and scrambled out of the pool at the bottom of a waterslide designed to emulate a rollercoaster. "Awesome," he said.
"Time to eat," Henry declared, leading the way to a row of food stands. Up until today, Henry had been conscientious about seeking out healthy food, concerned about keeping Neal well after his bout of pneumonia. Birthdays appeared to be a day off from balanced meals.
Garish signs advertised cotton candy, funnel cakes, shaved ice, corn dogs, and deep-fried everything. It was more junk food than Neal had ever seen in one place. The scent of a roasted turkey leg made his mouth water.
They carried their food to a seating area, eating near a platform for performers. Jugglers, actors and singers provided entertainment while the guests consumed their meals. Henry pointed out which musicians were the best and why.
A guitarist overheard him. "Sounds like you know a bit about music. Do you play?" she asked.
Henry shrugged. "Took piano lessons as a kid, then moved on to guitar."
"Want to give it a try?" The musician patted her guitar.
"Sure." After strumming a few chords and humming a tune, he started playing "Hold My Hand," by Hootie and the Blowfish. As he wrapped up the intro he grinned at Neal and burst into song.
Neal already knew that Henry had a strong voice when it came to singing along with the radio, but hadn't realized his cousin would sound so professional singing solo. People around them stopped talking to listen. It was a warm, happy day, and his usual cares and concerns had melted away in the sun. Neal wanted to have as much fun as Henry clearly was. When Henry reached the chorus, Neal harmonized, as he'd often done in the car.
At a break before the next verse, Henry asked in a low voice, "You want to try the guitar?"
Neal nodded. He'd learned to play this song when it was a hit three years ago. Henry handed off the instrument and started drumming on the picnic table while Neal picked up the melody. Two more of the entertainers joined in, adding their voices and another guitar to the mix. When the song ended they received a generous round of applause. Neal returned the guitar to its owner and thanked her for letting them borrow it.
She complimented their performance and added, "If you want a reference for a job here, tell them Zhilan sent you."
After she left, Henry looked thoughtful. "Going to take her up on it?" Neal asked.
"Maybe later. We've got some other stuff we need to do first."
"Like what?"
Before Henry could answer, a group of musicians and dancers started performing the Macarena and coaxed guests out of their seats to join in.
Neal had already heard Henry's opinion of the dance. "Looks like someone checking their pockets for their car keys," he'd scoffed a few days ago. But it was his birthday, and the dancers looked joyful, and Neal stopped worrying about what his cousin might think of him and joined the dance.
To Neal's surprise, Henry jumped in and obviously knew the moves.
Laughing as they returned to their table, Neal said, "You told me the Macarena was silly."
"Totally," Henry agreed. "There's a time and place for being silly, and then you really gotta go for it. No holding back." He took a swig from a water bottle. "Plus, our grandmother danced in her Hollywood days. She'd have dragged us out of our seats to dance with her if she'd been here."
"What were some of her movies?"
"Oh, man. You don't know? You've heard of Irene Randolph, right?"
"Wait. She's our grandmother?"
"You've got a lot to learn, kiddo."
Back in the car a few hours later, Neal said, "Thanks, man. That's the best birthday since…" Thinking over the last several years, he said, "Ever. That was fun."
"Oh, you liked it? I couldn't tell. I was distracted by all the smiling and laughing and shouting."
"Yeah, you were making so much noise I wasn't sure if you noticed me."
Henry chuckled. "Hard to miss. I invented a new term for it: splash-happy. On my measure of fun and happiness, splash-happy is now the top of the scale."
"Definitely top of the scale," Neal agreed.
After a few moments of driving in silence, Henry said, "You're officially eighteen. An adult. What you do now is up to you, but I hope you'll stick around." He paused to let Neal think about it. "You up for it? I can promise you a year of chaos and a few splash-happy moments along the way."
"Bring it on," Neal said.
Long Island Water Dog Sanctuary. Sunday afternoon. November 13, 2005.
After Splash had a bath, Peter volunteered to help load supplies into Henry's car. El and Neal kept the dogs out of their way.
Peter stuffed a dog bed on top of the bags of dog food in the back seat. "Neal's been telling me about his eighteenth birthday, and going to Splash! ! !"
"Hell of a coincidence that I'm adopting a dog named Splash, right?" Henry closed the trunk.
"Not really. You came to a shelter known for rescuing Water Dog breeds. It's a good bet she loves to swim and splash around." Peter grabbed hold of Henry's arm to keep him from walking back to the others. "And here's another thing I don't believe is a coincidence: you took Neal to a waterpark a couple of weeks after his car went into the lake."
Henry stopped watching his new pet scampering with Satchmo and gave Peter his full attention. "I'd learned that Neal thought swimming was relaxing, but he never seemed inclined to hang out at the hotel pools. I wanted to give him happy memories of being in the water, to counteract any phobias he might have been developing."
"Did he ever realize that's what you'd done?"
"I avoided making that connection in our conversations back then. I doubt he's thought about it much recently."
"It's been eight years. I think you should tell him." Remembering Neal's comment about Henry as a nurturer, Peter added, "He'd like to know."
Henry shrugged.
"Did you take the musician up on her offer to give you a reference?"
"Yeah. We dropped in the next two summers. Made some good money, and got a discount on the rides." Henry crouched and clapped his hands. "Splash! Here, girl!"
She dashed over and he scooped her up. Satchmo followed and ran a circle around them.
El and Neal arrived at a more leisurely pace. "She's a sweetheart," El said.
Peter smiled. "Let me guess, you've offered to dog sit if Henry needs to travel?"
El took her husband's hand. "You know me well."
"Henry, I've been wondering about something," Peter said. "That accident you had bungee jumping on your twentieth birthday, where the rope snapped and you nearly drowned, that was about six months before you tracked down Neal. Had you gone swimming since then?"
It was subtle, but Henry tightened his grip on Splash. "No."
"Why not? Shouldn't you have faced that fear right away?"
"Probably, but it's easier with a friend."
Neal's eyes widened as he started making connections. "You picked a waterpark for my birthday celebration to make sure I was okay after the drowning. And to face your own fears at the same time."
"We had a lot in common." Henry leaned against his car, Splash resting in his arms. "I'd been worried I might freak out. My accident had been at another waterpark, and up until then I'd loved swimming and whitewater rafting. I knew with you along I'd be distracted from my own fears."
"And braver," said Neal. "You always made a point of being unfazed by anything when I was watching."
"You tend to think I did you a big favor, bringing you along on my travels back then. You didn't realize how much you were helping me. I grew into a better, stronger version of myself because of you. And not just because we were competitive."
"Is the water park still in business?" Peter asked.
Henry nodded. "It's changed hands and names a couple of times, but yeah, it's still there."
"Have you been back?" Neal asked.
"The summer after you headed off to Europe, I tried to recapture that splash-happy feeling. Didn't work, though. It wasn't the same going alone."
"Maybe we should go next summer," Neal suggested. "For old times' sake. Gotta give Elizabeth an excuse to keep your new puppy a few days, right?"
"For Elizabeth," Henry agreed. "I'll sacrifice my dignity and be splash-happy."
"Dignity. This from the guy who was doing the Macarena in his loft last week."
"I was looking for my phone!"
Peter called out a goodbye to the cousins and a command for Satchmo to follow, and they walked to the Taurus.
El squeezed Peter's hand and asked, "What's splash-happy?"
He squeezed back. "I've got a story to tell you when we get home. You know all those times Neal's joked about sharing the photo of me with that scruffy beard I wore undercover last year?"
El giggled. "You mean your team still hasn't seen that?"
"I thought it was just a matter of time, but now I have a plan to counter any blackmail threats. We need to find a recording of the Macarena to play, and then get photos of him dancing to it. Henry, too, for that matter."
"You should consider making a video. That would capture the dance better than photos."
Peter laughed. "You're hired as my accomplice."
"Accomplice?" El pretended to scowl at him. "I'm insulted. I'll have you know I'm the brains of this operation."
"You're in charge," Peter promised. And seeing her expression he added, "You're looking splash-happy yourself right now."
Satchmo barked.
"You, too, boy. We're all a splash-happy bunch today."
A/N: Long ago, Silbrith requested stories about Neal and Henry's travels before Neal met Peter. I'm happy to oblige at last, and grateful for her assistance as beta reader and editor for this story.
The waterpark is purely fictional, but I found inspiration in photos of Schlitterbahn.