Wayfarers

by TheCollieLady

Robert Goren and Alexandra Eames, along with their adopted daughter, Olivia, have left on a book signing tour via tour bus, accompanied by Olivia's tutor Donna Hogarth. On the open road come new friends, old foes, fresh experiences, overdue amends, and always...possibilities. THIS IS THE 21ST STORY IN THE "MILBURY" SERIES.

2. Conclusion

.
CONCLUSION
.

- Washington, D.C.; June 13, 2023 -

Bobby started feeling uneasy not an hour into that evening's book signing.

The session had otherwise gone flawlessly-people had come early to see Sam, who Alex put through his paces, and they handed out brochures for a therapy dog charity in Georgetown. Then Michael had returned the collie to the bus, and the book signing had begun. They positioned Olivia between them where the little girl played at being grown up, asking, "Do you want my Mama or my Papa's autograph or both?" then had to bite back a laugh when a woman said, "Just your mother's book, dear," and Olivia had fixed big eyes on her and said, "But you'll hurt Papa's feelings!" When the woman had returned with Bobby's book, he'd apologized to her and said she wasn't required to buy it, but the woman had blushed and answered, "I usually just read true crime and mysteries, but for this little one I'm willing to try something else."

(When Alex told Holly Lewin about it later, Holly had joked, "Should we put Livvy in charge of sales?")

"Eames-" he said quietly, over Olivia's bent head; she had her drawing pad and pencils that night and was sketching a stack of books in the front window.

Alex looked over at him. "What's up?"

"I don't know," he said, "but something's not right."

It was Alex who spotted him first. She hissed, "Bobby!" then excused herself to the man whose book she was autographing, tapping in Michael's number on her cell. When he picked up, she said two words: "Come now," and he hung up. Five minutes later, Michael sidled sideways through the crowd, a deft move that always amazed Alex; it still surprised her how someone so massive could move so quickly. Bobby noticed him enter, then surveyed the crowd and immediately spotted what had alerted Alex.

Now the driver sidled behind their table. Marc Thuringer had solved their "tour bus driver needs a clearance" problem quickly when he suggested hiring a former agent. Michael was an inch shorter in height than Bobby, but was built like a WWE star with imposing broad shoulders; his grey-and-umber hair was cropped in a buzzcut and his dark eyes stared inoffensively but implacably from a square, grave face with a scar just under his right eye where a grazed bullet had marked his warm tan skin. His forearms and chest were as massive as a professional wrestler's so that when he crossed his arms and gazed at the crowd, people noticed-he'd been a Marine before he joined the FBI and it showed.

The intruder noticed him as well, and a little smile played on his face. Donna, who was helping them out that night instead of keeping Bandit and Sam company (Tim, their Washington, D.C., liaison for this particular stop, had been left at the bus), leaned toward Alex. "What's the deal?"

Alex lowered her head as she signed the next book and whispered, "See the big dude with the thinning blond hair and the bay window? He's bad news. If something happens, grab Olivia and get the hell out of here."

"Will do," Donna said soberly.

The first thing they noticed when Harry Cavanaugh reached the front of the line was that his Armani wardrobe and swagger were no more. However, he had not lost the sour expression, nor the accompanying sneer, which appeared to be unchanged from March of 2022. They saw his eyes shift to observe Michael.

"Hello, Harry," said a male voice to his left as a slim, balding man in his sixties stepped up to him.

"Hello, Mister Cavanaugh," said a female voice to his right, and a tall redheaded woman with dark blue eyes boxed him in on the opposite side.

Tobias Fornell smiled at him. "Long time no see, Harry. Thank goodness."

Veronica Heller narrowed her eyes and said, "That makes two of us."

"Got guard dogs here, eh, Goren?" Cavanaugh said insolently. "That is, besides having both Saltonstall and Loughran doing your bidding now?"

Bobby said evenly, "Nice to see you, too, Harry."

"Now leave," Alex added, standing up.

Cavanaugh looked directly down at Olivia. "And who's this sweet little thing?"

Bobby's face flushed, but to their surprise, Olivia roused the first spark of anger they had seen in her since she'd accompanied them home, sat up ramrod straight, and her eyes flashed in an eerie echo of her mother's. "I am not a 'sweet little thing.' You're being rude to my parents, and you need to leave, as Mama said!"

Donna was behind her in an instant. "Simmer down, kitten." Then she turned her teacher's voice on the interloper. "Mr. Cavanaugh, you are out of line. Get out-or I will make sure you do."

He could keep eye contact with her for only a minute, then he barked, "Enjoy yourselves," and sauntered out of the store. Agostino followed him a moment later. When the bus driver didn't return, they assumed the coast was clear, and that Agostino had returned to the bus. An "all clear" text popped on Alex's phone about five minutes later.

Olivia was breathing so hard that Bobby put his arm around her comfortingly. "It's okay. Thank you for defending us."

"He's a bully," Olivia said, half in tears, "just like Madame. You could see it on his face."

Donna whispered to her, "Want to go back to the bus, kiddo?"

"No!" Olivia said firmly, then amended pleadingly, "I mean please, no. I want to stay with Mama and Papa." Then her eyes widened. "Papa-you and Mama will be all right?"

Fornell bent down. "Ronni and I will take care of them, kid."

"Me, too," said a third voice as a slender woman with bright, lively eyes and long red hair sauntered forward. "Saw Mr. Asshole-ooops, sorry, pardon my mouth, Ms. Olivia-as I came in. I've been here sixteen years and the creep still calls me 'Agent Fellini.' On purpose, of course." She extended a hand to Olivia. "I used to work with your folks. Nola Falacci. Call me Nola."

Bobby had already managed a smile, and Alex rounded the table to hug her. "How are you?"

"Twenty dollars poorer, I understand," Falacci laughed, and she fished in her pants' pocket to retrieve two bills.

"Don't worry about it," Bobby countered. "Donate it to a charity if you like. Mike's been working with teen boys-'guys like I was, a prick,' in his own words-if you've got something in mind like that. Or pick your own. So what's the good word?"

"The best word is that all my chicks are out of the nest, on their own, and doing well," Falacci said jauntily. "David got a great job six months ago, and Ash and I just finished helping him move into his first apartment. It's a little tiny, but he'll adjust." She grinned. "Next month Ash and I can go off on that cruise to the Maritimes we've been planning since Cassie was in diapers."

Bobby looked around, "Where is Ash?"

"Ah, well, he has to sing for his supper," she replied lightly. "If he's going to take a month off in July, he has to work overtime in June. I've been requested to bring home both books and to take a selfie with you guys and pass it along." Her eyes sparkled as she added, "C'mon, guys, gimme a break and tell me about Carla! I didn't think Logan would ever settle down with anyone-"

More than an hour later, the signing complete, the bookstore employees having helped them pack up their things, they formed a talkative phalanx back to the tour bus, parked only a few blocks away. Falacci was recounting the previous week's problems from the smoke drifting south from Canadian wildfires when the group rounded the corner.

Harry Cavanaugh leaned cockily against the curb side of the bus, supported by his outstretched left arm, watching them with heavy-lidded, mocking eyes.

Fornell halted in his tracks. "Now, wait a minute. This is too..." He paused, considered Olivia's presence, then censored his next word. "...damn much."

"Is it?" Cavanaugh asked sarcastically, his eyes fixed on Bobby, raising his voice. "You tell me, Goren, why I shouldn't beat in your smug, self-satisfied face."

Heller had yanked out her cell to call 911 and Cavanaugh's near-bellow brought Michael to the door of the bus, his face like thunder when he realized he'd been flanked, but Bobby merely regarded him with a strange mixture of weariness and thoughtful insight. And then he asked steadily, "What happened, Harry?"

It was not the answer his antagonist had expected. "What happened?" he barked. "You got me fired. You and Ruiz and the others, not to mention that bitch Loughran-"

"No, Harry," was the firm response as Bobby stepped forward, one foot after the other, in deliberate slow motion. Olivia balled her hands into fists and started to follow him, but Alex put her hands on the child's shoulders, stopping her. "You got yourself fired. Instead of working with the people who would have been happy to work with you, you demeaned them, treated them as little more than disposable pieces in your climb to the top. If you'd worked with Karin, Ben, and me, instead of against us, it would have been fine. We would have helped you. But-" and here he paused, regretful. "I do owe you an apology. Ben pointed out to me that I made an effort to always understand every UNSUB that came across my desk. I never made that effort with you, and I'm sorry. I thought after two therapists and one firing I'd gotten myself out of the habit of automatically pigeonholing people, but apparently I hadn't."

Alex swallowed and rubbed Olivia's shoulders, but Cavanaugh only scowled. "So now you think that's made it all better, like kissing my boo-boo?"

"No," Bobby said, "but Alex pulled my ass out of the fire too many times because of my own impulsive decisions, and she never deserved that responsibility. Now I have responsibility for a child. I don't want her believing that making snap judgments is ever a fair option."

Olivia looked up at Alex, her lower lip pinned under her teeth.

"I read your file, which I should have done in the first place. What I want to know," continued Bobby quietly, "is what happened. A friend of mine-" and here his cheek twitched, "-described your voice as 'he could have been one of Dolly Parton's neighbors.'" Startled, Alex recognized the quote as information Nicole Wallace had given her the previous year. "You started out only one step up from Dolly; in a Tennessee coal town where your father owned the company store-"

Cavanaugh snapped to attention, flushed, hands clenched at his sides. "Ran, you son of a bitch. Ran the company store. There's a difference. He did what the owners told him. He had to."

Fornell and Heller were already on alert, and Michael quietly cleared his throat, but Bobby nonchalantly stretched out his fingers behind him as if physically pushing them back. Then he relaxed his shoulders and finally his body, keeping his full attention on Cavanaugh. "Sorry...my mistake," but Alex knew by experience that he had made the "mistake" deliberately. "Your father ran the store. He danced to the company's tune to make sure his family was provided for. Especially with...a wife struggling with silicosis. No use endangering what pittance of medical coverage the family had. She must have coughed a lot, found it difficult to breathe. It must have been a frightening sound for a boy who feared he might lose his mom. And there were six kids for your parents to get through school on a miner's salary-and your dad sure as hell didn't want you in the mine. Not a kid as bright as you-"

Cavanaugh was listening now, his hands relaxing, watching Bobby expectantly.

"You were the eldest," continued Bobby, almost hypnotically soft. "Your mom was ill a lot, like m-mine was. I had a big brother to look after me. You had to look after your sisters, your...little brother. And since your dad ran the company store, the miners' kids probably didn't like you very much."

Cavanaugh growled, "Hated us. Followed us, taunting us. Threw dirt at us. Rocks. Rotten vegetables. Once my eldest sister wore her one good dress in her favorite color to accept a school award. They threw mud on her. Mother spent hours over a washboard to get it clean, but finally had to dye it to make it look decent again."

Alex felt Olivia stir under her hands. "Shhhh," she whispered.

Bobby tilted his head. "Funny, the guys at school always said having sisters sucked. That they always bossed you around."

"Not Bel. We were a year apart, almost like twins. We took care of each other. The kid who did that to her, I pushed his face in the mud good, made sure it got in his mouth."

"My brother used to help me like that," returned Bobby reflectively, smiling. "When I was eight and nine I was an altar boy."

Cavanaugh snorted. "You?"

"Yep. Used to serve at nine o'clock M-Mass. My brother had to follow me, even though he wouldn't go to church himself, so the bigger kids wouldn't...uh...beat me up." He paused. "Doesn't sound like a great place to grow up. You must have worked hard to make it out of that nightmare."

"Three jobs," Cavanaugh said, eyes flashing again. "Plus schoolwork. Three hours sleep a night if I was lucky."

"It worked out, though. Your recruitment evaluation made you sound...well, like the next Eliot Ness. You were good, Harry. All those commendations in your jacket. You and your team even recovered a toddler who'd been kidnapped and missing for three months, taken over two state lines. Stuff like that...so often ends badly. Everyone was convinced he was dead but you."

Now Cavanaugh blinked. "The Richardson kid. He reminded me of Danny, my kid brother. Curly blond hair...couldn't let the mother down." His eyes flicked to Bobby and spit out sourly, "Yeah, like all that effort worked out in the end. Sixty-hour weeks to get to the first level of responsibility. Wife tired of being 'abandoned' for months on end. Kids I usually saw only after they were asleep. By the time I had time for them, they had no time for me, especially Tina. Next thing I knew I was divorced and 'fancy-free,' with alimony and child support out the nose."

"So you resolved that no one would take advantage of you again? No one would ever make you feel as low as those kids in the coal camp did, or that divorce lawyer? Not your wife, not your kids-especially not the sm-smartass agents they stuck you with? You'd make it to the top without help, like you always had to."

The two of them locked eyes, Cavanaugh's pale blue and Bobby's a melancholy brown, and the street was as silent as a street in nighttime Washington, D.C., could be. In the distance came the wail of a siren, the faint swish of traffic, a staccato beep of a horn, the screech of air brakes, and an 18-wheeler blasting its horn. When a sluggish, humid breeze stirred the air, still heavy from the previous day's rain, wafting overhead was the faint, faint scent of the Potomac, overlaid with car exhaust, rubber tires, asphalt.

"You son of a bitch," Cavanaugh said stiffly. "You got it all figured out, didn't you?"

"Just doing my job, Harry, the one I neglected to do three years ago."

Harry Cavanaugh regarded them one at a time: Fornell, Falacci, and Heller still looking cynical; Alex with a watchful but softened expression on her face; Donna with her head tilted thoughtfully; Michael's suddenly relaxed stance-and Olivia watching both him and her father with solemn eyes.

He finally looked squarely into Olivia's face as if seeking an answer.

"I'm sorry I bothered you folks," he said tonelessly, lifted his chin, and made a move to turn away.

"Did your father get his wish, Harry?" Bobby asked quietly.

Cavanaugh paused, snorting. "C'mon, you don't really want to know."

"Try me."

"All right, then, smartass...Bel...Belinda became a nurse. Got my mother through the final stages of silicosis. Shelley and Elsie both became teachers," and here, briefly, Cavanaugh inclined a thumb at Donna. "You're Saltonstall's kid. You have to be. You have her face...and the same look in your eye."

Donna nodded at him, biting back a self-conscious smile, and he finished, "Helen married and had three kids." He jerked his chin at Olivia. "She reminds me of the youngest one, Alvia, named after my dad Alvah. Speaks up for her family, just like that one. And Danny works in the public defender's office in Lexington, Kentucky."

"So they all made it out," Bobby said with a tilt of his head, catching Cavanaugh's eye again. "What about the oldest...um, the smart one, the next Eliot Ness? Will you let him out again, Harry?"

"Too late for him," Cavanaugh said with a tiny curl of his lip.

"Fourteen years ago I woulda told you the same thing about me," Bobby answered, rocking back and forth on his heels. "But here I am."

Then Harry Cavanaugh did something several of them would not have expected: he smiled this time, a weary one, but one that looked genuine instead of sarcastic, and shook his head. "I'll take that under advisement, Agent Goren," he said wryly, then this time did turn on his heel and walk away.

They listened in silence until his footsteps had retreated into the ambient summer sounds of the district's street, then Nola Falacci walked up behind Olivia and patted her shoulder. "And that, Olivia, is what your daddy does."

The girl faltered, "I thought...it involved guns."

"Firearms are the last resort for any responsible person in law enforcement-your mother will tell you that," Bobby said, rejoining her and Alex. "You always try any other option first."

Olivia nodded, her eyes still on his pale face, although he wasn't certain she completely understood, when Fornell growled, "I still say he didn't deserve the apology."

Alex said quietly, "He didn't do it just for Harry. I asked him once if he'd forgiven someone who'd hurt him badly, and he said he hadn't, 'But I've moved on,' he said, 'because hating them didn't hurt them; it only hurt me.'"

"Ben was right," said Bobby, taking Olivia's hand. "It was time to let go."

. . . . .

Date: June 13, 2023
To: Renata L. Sandoval (renatasandoval at brentwood .co .uk)
Subject: Papa
From: Olivia Pepin (m. olivia. pepin at xfinity .net)

...and then Ms. Falacci said that is what Papa does. It gave me chills.

We are spending most of our time indoors at museums due to smoke from the forest fires in Canada. They say it will reach England-have you any sign of it yet? I didn't know it could blow so far.

Did you know that along with a Mother's Day in America there's a Father's Day, too? It's coming up on Sunday. But two days ago Mama and I went to a wonderful bookshop that is in the Smithsonian Institute's American History Museum. It was very easy to find something for Papa there!

Love,
Min

. . . . .

— Grace Chadwick, Robert Goren
...MMS
...June 18, 2023

Tobias told me you and Cavanaugh had it out last week when you and Alex were here for your book signings.

What the hell did you do to him? Today he walked in and APOLOGIZED TO ME.

Is this on the level or do I need to do major-level Apocalypse prep?

Enjoy the peace, Grace. Missed you at the signing. Two books should be on their way to you via our agent. I'll mail you a couple of signed bookplates to go with them.

. . . . .

Date: July 5, 2023
To: Renata L. Sandoval (renatasandoval at brentwood .co .uk)
Subject: Happy Independence Day!
From: Olivia Pepin (m. olivia. pepin at xfinity .net)

...had a jolly time in Atlanta yesterday! Papa asked if I wished to go to the zoo or to the aquarium, and I chose the latter. You walk in a perspex tunnel amongst the fish! There are sharks and beluga whales, and also penguins, otters, and sea lions (which are different from seals; sea lions have ears and bark). I was able to pet a manta ray, which do not sting you. They feel sort of silky. In the evening we went to Centennial Olympic Park (built for the 1996 Olympic Games). They had a fireworks show and music by the Atlanta Symphony. I played in the fountains that look like Olympic rings with the other children, and got quite wet, but it was so hot-it was 33C here!-no one cared. I lost count of how many times Mama put sunblock on us.

There are photos and a lot more details in our blog!

Must stop before Mama catches me!

Love,
Min

. . . . .

Date: July 21, 2023
To: Elizabeth E. Hogan (eehogan at nycnet .net)
Subject: Mom Milestone!
From: Alex Eames (alexandra. v. eames at xfinity .net)
CC: Olivia M. Benson (olivia. m. benson at nypd .org)

I said something so très évident to Olivia this morning that she rolled her eyes at me. I feel like I have arrived!

;-)
Alex

. . . . .

- Outside Cheyenne, WY; July 27, 2023 -

"So what do you think?"

Alex was in her usual seat on driving days, the passenger seat of the bus, which came equipped with a pull-out desk for her laptop. But that evening, she was more preoccupied with the weather ahead of them than with writing or surfing: the western sky was full not with the flame-colored glow of a setting sun, but with a boiling mass of dark clouds, steel gray and dark gray swirled with black, lightning flashes darting cloud-to-cloud in closely-timed rhythm.

"Not to alarm you," Bobby said dryly from behind them, "but the last time I saw a sky like that I was in Korea and a typhoon was bearing down on us."

Michael nodded, shifting the bus over one lane. "I'm taking the next exit. There's a Walmart there. If the tornado sirens go off, you can go inside to take shelter."

"Tornado sirens?" said Olivia behind them. She and Donna were standing in the doorway to the bunk room, and the latter said, "It's looking pretty ominous out there."

"Where tornadoes are common, they have neighborhood sirens," Bobby explained to Olivia. "If a tornado is sighted, the siren will go off warning people to get to shelter."

The girl's eyes fixed on the roiling grey-and-black sky ahead, and she stiffened when lightning forked in a brilliant arc across the horizon. "A shelter? Like a storm cellar? Will there be a twister like in The Wizard of Oz?"

"The Walmart might have some type of storm shelter," Donna said, understanding.

"That's what I figured. Of course, it's probably just a bad storm," Michael said smoothly, pulling off the highway. "I lived out here for seven years. They come up very quickly, then rumble away. Still, it's safer that we stop awhile until it lets up. How late does the KOA office stay open?"

"I'll text them," Alex said, pulling out her phone. "Let them know we'll be late due to the storm and what we should do if we arrive after hours."

Olivia walked forward until she was next to Bobby, and he placed a light hand on her shoulders. "Do thunderstorms bother you, Olivia?"

"No," she said, but she sounded uncertain, leaning against him.

"This one will probably be loud," he advised, "but everything will be okay."

The bus shuddered as a blast of wind caught it broadside. Bandit, who had been fluffed up like a little bird brooch just above Alex's collarbone, looked up, startled, slicking his feathers down, eyes enormous. She gently covered his wings with her hand. "Time to go back inside, little bug." The bird squirmed and bit at her thumb, then froze as thunder rumbled overhead.

"Better put him in his box, Eames," Bobby said shortly as they exchanged glances. Then he turned and extracted the blue carry box from under the sofa cushions, tipped a small scoop of seed into the food bowl in the box, and finally transferred the water dispenser from its cage mount to the carry box. In one smooth motion, Alex placed the budgie safely inside, where he immediately hopped over to peck at the bell toy in the opposite corner from the food.

"Kitten-" Donna said softly. Bobby pivoted, saw Olivia shivering; Sam was already beside her, shoving his head under her hand, his reassuring bulk pressing next to her.

"Guys, I have to make a tight turn up ahead," Michael said tensely. "Sit. Now."

He steered the bus through late afternoon traffic on the exit road lined with fast-food establishments and shopping centers, every parking lot light already illuminated in the rapidly-consuming darkness of the storm, then slid into a left turn lane just as fat drops of rain began to plop against the windshield, exploding outward in circular splatters as they took seats on the long sofa. Alex and Bobby bracketed Olivia like a protective barrier, with Donna on Bobby's right, and Sam shifted his position so that he rested his head in Olivia's lap, his watchful eyes on Bandit, whose carry box was set in Bobby's lap, as the bird reached between the bars trying to get to Sam's whiskers.

When the traffic light changed, Michael gunned the engine and twisted the steering wheel. The bus jerked forward so quickly that Olivia gasped. Alex put her arm around her and held on as the bus jounced over the uneven surface of a portion of road being repaved and threaded its way through orange-and-white barrels into the Walmart parking lot.

Now the rain began to lash down, but Michael emitted a low chuckle. "Well, that was actually helpful. Now I know which is the lee side."

With a few deft movements of the steering wheel, he had backed into the alley to the right of the Walmart, and the shaking from the wind abated, but thunder roared overhead. Olivia buried her head against Alex's shoulder while Bobby rubbed her back.

"The sound of thunder is j-just from overheated air caused by lightning," Bobby said conversationally, "and the lightning itself...um...from static buildup in the clouds."

Alex flashed a look at him, but Michael switched off the ignition, turned casually, and said with a small smile, "When I was tiny and thunder bothered me, my mother always said the angels were bowling."

Alex was amused imagining hulking Michael as "tiny," and Donna gave a little laugh just as lightning forked overhead, illuminating the drenching rain that drummed a frantic, metallic beat on the roof of the bus. "My mom had the same story. Charlie hated thunder, even at Olivia's age. He'd sit next to Mom if she was home, and when there was a big clap of thunder, she'd say, "'Now that must be a strike, don't you think, Cubby?'-she called him Cubby until he started high school-and he would nod."

The next report of thunder sounded like a rifle shot so that even Bobby jumped; Sam whined and pushed his nose under Olivia's hand. "T-That was definitely a strike for the angels."

There was a small coat cupboard between the door of the bus and the sink, and Michael reached in to fish out the rain slicker he'd stashed there and pulled it on, tugging the hood snugly over his head. "I'm going to run into the Walmart and see what they know about the storm. Hang tight. Someone close the door behind me."

Donna, the only one with free hands, sprang up to comply; when he opened the door, a whoosh of cold air swept inside, accompanied by wind-driven rain that sent wet spray across the width of the bus. Olivia flinched as the droplets struck her cheek. He plunged into the gloom with a flashlight while Donna pressed the button to close the door behind him. It didn't want to shut, and Bobby started to set Bandit's box down to help her, but she shouted over the wind, "I have it!" and grabbed the manual lever and pushed the door closed in that manner.

"Brrrrr," she said, shivering, snatching her hoodie from the cupboard to put over her rain-splashed body. As she returned to her seat, she picked up Bandit's flannel cage cover and handed it to Bobby, for the little bird was crouched frozen, wide-eyed at the rattling of rain on the roof and the keening sound of the wind, and Bobby murmured, "It's all right, buddy," and put the flannel partially around him so that he would calm down. Alex felt behind her with her left hand and pulled out one of the soft throws Donna used at bedtime from their storage area, draping it around herself and Olivia.

Even in the lee of the building, they could hear the wind begin to wail around them; feel the bus juddering from side to side in its blast. Then Michael pounded on the bus door; Donna leaped to her feet once more to let him in-he had to throw his bulk against the manual lever to get the door to close. The bus driver sloughed off the rain slicker, the lower part of his pants and sneakers drenched.

"Big storm," he finally reported, "but no signature hooks on the radar yet. There's a tornado watch in effect, and if the sirens go off, it means there's a tornado warning and we need to take cover. The Walmart has blankets and hot beverages ready for anyone who takes shelter."

Olivia said timidly, "But they won't allow Bandit and Sam inside, will they?"

Alex opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Michael said swiftly, "I'll be staying with them, Olivia. They'll be fine."

"They're our responsibility-" Bobby protested.

"Agent Goren!" Michael remonstrated brusquely. "I am not just your driver, I was tasked by Special Agent Saltonstall to protect you and your family and her daughter. I let my guard down in D.C. and won't do it again. If the siren goes off, you will leave the bus with your wife and your daughter and Ms. Hogarth. Or I will make you do it."

Another double blast of thunder rattled the bus. Olivia gave a little scream and burrowed into Alex's arms, and he laid a comforting hand between her shoulder blades. "We're here, Olivia. It's all right."

The sound of rain on the roof changed from drumming to clattering, and Michael, calm once again, sank into the driver's seat to switch on the bus headlights. "Thought so. Hail."

Even Olivia was curious enough to peek from the shelter of Alex's arms; they watched mesmerized as the tiny chunks of ice struck the asphalt parking lot, bouncing like small white rubber balls that increased in size by the second. The thunder exploded again, and the parking lot lights snuffed; the lightning flashed brilliantly once more; the bus swayed a little, the wind howling against it, and the combined rain and hail began to move horizontally, scouring the left side of the bus. A police car's bubble lights blossomed in the Walmart parking lot and its siren wailed as a flash of blue streaked in watery blurriness in front of them. Sam howled, and Alex murmured, "God keep them safe."

Perhaps four or five minutes later, Bobby cocked his head. "Is it me-"

"No," Alex said in relief, "it's moving away."

The hail had already slowed, then stopped, shining like drifts of glass shards in the headlights of the tour bus. Gradually the drumming rain slowed, reduced to pattering, and the sky lightened around them. Michael turned off the headlights, and they could see the rain slow, spit, then stop. Five minutes later, the darkest clouds had moved away, and above them spread vivid blue sky.

Alex tenderly scooped her hand into the carry box and returned Bandit to his cage. "There you go," she whispered, and the budgie hurried to his mirror to peck it. After she transferred the water dispenser, the five exited the bus. The storm clouds, lightning still forking through them, were racing east as if late to an appointment. The sun soon melted the hail, and steam rose in white mist above the pavement.

Olivia finally felt safe enough to take two steps away from Alex and Bobby, tilting her head back, regarding the seemingly endless expanse of blue sky above them. A sparrow chirped from the roof of the Walmart and then swooped past them, just as shoppers began to emerge from the store, laughing or talking on their phones.

"I think I shall leave traveling to Oz to Dorothy," she said soberly.

Bobby rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. "I'm glad. We'd miss you if you were gone."

. . . . .

- Lizzie, Alex
...MMS
...August 17, 2023

Hurricane?

Michael's keeping our options open. We may have to cancel or change. Stay tuned...

. . . . .

- San Simeon, CA; August 18, 2023 -

She couldn't sleep. Finally, she arose, gently brushing his arm with light fingers, then padded silently past the bunk room where Olivia, with luck, was having sweet dreams. No nightmares, not even insomnia for several weeks-but then they were always on the go. Until this morning even she had been down for the count until breakfast time.

In the main room, Michael was still isolated in his upper bunk with the curtain closed, and Donna was snuggled deep under blankets on the plush sofa. Sam raised his head, but she whispered, "Shhh" and the dog huffed, reversed his position, then settled back to sleep. Alex tiptoed to the pantry, extracted a packet of PopTarts, then returned to the bedroom, fitting herself cross-legged into the narrow floor space between her side of the bed and the bathroom partition. Next she switched on her laptop, screen faced away from the bed. For a second, she was tempted by the birds shrilling their song outside, and peeked through the window blinds at her left elbow. It was just dawn, and the sky was washed pale blue-grey in the east with a watercolor line of pale yellow limning the horizon despite clouds building up south of them.

They were parked at a campground near Hearst Castle, which they would visit later that day. The PopTart package rustled faintly as she extracted one, then she plugged headphones into the laptop and surfed to CNN's website for a quick news update via a slightly erratic wifi signal. Finishing there, she settled on a current favorite go-to site and scrolled up and down.

After ten minutes, she was aware of eyes on her; when she looked up, she found Bobby lying on his stomach horizontally across the bed, chin resting on his crossed arms, watching her with amusement. "Eating junk food and spending too much time on the internet. Isn't that what we're supposed to keep Olivia from doing? What have you found, Princess Ozma, a shoe outlet?"

He hadn't called her that in weeks; trivia nights seemed so long ago. "Smartass. Go back to sleep," she said, waving her hand.

"Nah," he said, then rolled over and carefully slipped from the bed to sit beside her, awkwardly arranging himself in the narrow space, "the view here is nicer."

After he kissed her, he retrieved the laptop which had slipped from her hands. "You're re-reading our blog."

"Astute observation, Agent Goren!" she responded mischievously. "Do you realize it's been over thirteen weeks since we left home, and we'll be heading back in a little over a week?"

"Yes, Captain Eames, I have kept track of time. May I have the other PopTart?"

"Feel free."

"So," he said, taking a bite out of it, "homesick or already sad the tour is nearly over?"

"Both, I think." She leaned against him as he scrolled through the blog from the beginning. Donna had posted a photo of them inside the tour bus when they arrived in New York, Olivia sitting between them on the sofa looking a bit anxious, Bandit nibbling on the collar of Alex's blouse, Sam asleep at Bobby's feet. And then she was quiet suddenly, and he watched her eyes drift to the scar on his right calf and her right finger trace it. He tilted his head to meet her eyes, commented, "Been quite a year, hasn't it?"

She sighed in affirmation, then continued, "I wasn't very enthusiastic when the girls suggested this, but now keeping the blog is almost the favorite part of the trip for me. It's like the photo album you always look through at your aunt's house. You can almost watch Olivia grow week by week. And look how her writing confidence has improved! Ah-Korean place in Chicago."

"Also known as post-New-York Zes visit number three."

"Currently on sixteen."

"I think he'll skip Vegas, but I'll wager even money on L.A. Did you catch the watermelon-stone stud in his ear the other day?"

"Doesn't work as well on him as on Donna, though. Olivia with a Clydesdale in St. Louis. Olivia at Opryland...did she even know what that was about?"

"If she didn't, she knows now. Who would have guessed Michael was a country and western fan? And the zipline in Pigeon Forge-"

"Why did we even agree to that?" Alex put her hands over her eyes, then grinned at him. "It was fun."

"But never again. Their Titanic exhibit was interesting." Now he scrolled, then laughed at one of the photos from Virginia. "I didn't think Ari and Kaye were going to let her leave!"

There was one photo that Donna had posted which had been e-mailed to them from the bookstore in Washington, D.C.. Harry Cavanaugh hovered clearly in the background. "You sorry you did that?"

"No," he said, swallowing the last of the PopTart. "He apologized to Cris, too, did I tell you?"

"Yes. But how long will this fit of repentance last?"

"And I thought I was a cynic! It's been his choice. Were you surprised when Olivia said she'd rather do Universal than Magic Kingdom?"

"Because she wanted to see the Wizarding World more than she wanted to see Mickey Mouse? I'm hip."

"At least they got it right and sorted her into Ravenclaw. And we made it to EPCOT, which is the best part, even with the annoying movie inserts they've put into the rides. Why did we let her pose with a monkey in Tampa?"

"Donna told me the monkey at the 'Animal Encounter' picked her out." She pointed. "Ah, here's you 'flying' the Space Shuttle model at Cape Canaveral. It was as bad as the time you got in the Ferrari." He chuckled. Another scroll, and she laughed. "And Bandit hanging like a bat from the curtains. I hope they don't mind that they're going to have to replace that curtain near the dining table. He's gnawed the hem ragged every time I wasn't looking."

"C'mon, Eames, the average sports figure who rides this thing probably does twenty times the damage of Mr. Flirt."

"I love the photo Donna got of Olivia at the edge of the cornfield in Nebraska, with her looking upward. She just couldn't believe how much sky there was."

"It made me agoraphobic."

"City kid," she teased. "And Salt Lake. Olivia had to get a picture of the salt flats and send it to Renata, Laurent, and Luisa. Poor Luisa probably doesn't know what to make of the United States."

"We followed it up with a Space Needle picture," he pointed out, "and the long line at the original Starbucks."

"Why in God's name would you wait on line that long for such terrible coffee?"

He pointed to a shot she had taken of Olivia, her arms outstretched like a tree, dwarfed by redwoods at Muir Woods. "I think I'd like a print of that."

"It's a wow picture all right. And our photo at Fisherman's Wharf and then at Coit Tower. How many things have we actually gone 'up' on this trip?"

"I've lost count." He smiled at her. "I can tell you something I haven't lost count of."

"What's that, Oscar Diggs?"

"We have about seventy-five minutes left until breakfast..."

She laughed, then shut off her laptop. "I'm open for alternative ideas, my Wizard."

. . . . .

- Las Vegas, NV; August 21, 2023 -

Alex finally left Bobby chatting with a former colleague, checked that her visitor's badge was secure on her sleeveless blouse, then stepped briskly from the badging area into the building proper.

Bobby had enthusiastically taken up the invitation to the Las Vegas crime lab, the second largest in the United States save for the FBI's own at Quantico, which he'd visited multiple times. Alex had dryly observed that one crime lab pretty much looked like another, but indulged him, only to have a silver-haired, craggy-faced gent waylay them with a pleased exclamation of "Bobby!" just as they had left the visitor badging desk. Alex was used to it by now: everyone knew Bobby, or he knew everyone; she wasn't sure which. But after being introduced to the man-"Steven Erskine," he had told her when shaking her hand, and Alex was given to understand he was second-generation FBI-Bobby had perversely decided to gab about old times. She had finally surrendered and gone on ahead. The guard had mentioned a display area to the left, so she headed in that direction until a woman whose pleasant face looked familiar walked briskly toward her from a corridor on the right. She was in her mid-fifties, Alex estimated, with shoulder-length dark hair and introspective eyes-she knew her from somewhere...

Just as the woman came abreast of her, then slowed, stopped, and finally gave a sunny smile of recognition, it clicked. "You're Alexandra Eames, aren't you?" the woman said first. "Gil and I saw you on Good Morning, Las Vegas today. You've got a book out, Ice Blue, about the NYPD."

"Guilty as charged. And you're Sara Sidle," Alex said. "I recognize you from the back cover of the book you co-wrote with Dr. Grissom."

"Last Stand of the Hammerhead is Gil's book," Sidle answered, looking slightly abashed.

"But the photos were yours," Alex countered. "And the introduction."

"Yeah, well, that's true." Sidle gave a grin. "But the heart of it is Gil's." Then she added, "I loved your husband's book."

Alex raised her eyebrows, guessing shrewdly, "And I'll bet you were the one who talked Dr. Grissom into reading it."

"Also guilty as charged," Sidle said with an impish look, shrugging. "But the review really is Gil's. He enjoyed it once he'd begun-he was up until two a.m. finishing it. Most of his reading tends to be work-oriented, and he's very single-minded about it."

Alex snickered. "You have no idea!"

"I was about to pick up coffee for me and bring some back for Gil. Walk with me?"

Alex spared one more look down the corridor, but Bobby had still not appeared. "Why not?" Then she asked, "I'd read that you and Dr. Grissom were pretty much out on your boat full time, doing research and conservation of marine life. What brings you back to Las Vegas?"

"There's a forensics symposium this week at UNev, which is still on despite the storm! Gil's doing a presentation, and we stopped by to say hello to an old colleague of ours, Catherine Willows. She's been filling in..." and the two women ambled in the direction of the cafeteria.

A few minutes later, Bobby, scanning the corridor ahead of him, arrived at the spot where Alex and Sidle had met, checking out the wall to his left where mounted three-dimensional lettering pointed to several destinations, including the cafeteria, then glanced right, where a tall, white-haired man with a full beard and eyeglasses was approaching, looking slightly perturbed. Bobby knew him immediately. "Dr. Grissom?"

It was almost as if in his brown study the second man had not even noticed another person in the hall. "Yes?"

Bobby recalled reading that Grissom was usually reserved, so simply outstretched his right hand, saying briefly, "I'm Robert Goren. I enjoy your books."

Grissom shook his hand, a puzzled expression flashing across his face, then recognition dawned. "Goren. You were on Good Morning, Las Vegas earlier today-you promoted your book, The Refuge."

Bobby nodded. "A book you very generously did an advance review for. Thank you."

Grissom shrugged. "I have to be blunt, Mr. Goren-my wife talked me into reading it." Then he added, "Oh, the review is my own. Once I was a few pages into it, I did enjoy it. Sara-not to mention most of my colleagues-will tell you I tend to get immersed in my work-related reading to the exclusion of all but a few favorites."

"I've...heard the same from my wife. No problem," Bobby grinned. "Speaking of Ms. Sidle-you haven't happened to have seen my wife in the last few minutes, have you?"

"Except for you, I haven't seen anyone here that I didn't know, but I'm presently in the same straits. Sara left our office almost thirty minutes ago to get some coffee and-"

Alex's voice, half laughing, floated up the hallway, "So Bobby said to the commissioner," and then her voice lowered, followed by a peal of laughter and an "Oh, no!" from Sara Sidle, then "He didn't."

"He certainly did! I thought Captain Ross was going to murder him on the spot!"

Now both men could see the pair ambling toward them, each carrying a large covered paper cup in one hand and sipping out of a second one as they walked.

A smile suddenly animated Grissom's face. "You know, Mr. Goren, I have the oddest feeling our wives have bonded."

"'Bob,'" was the response. "And it certainly looks like it."

"It's 'Gil' or 'Griss,' whichever you prefer." He regarded the two women enjoying their chat. "Should we join them?"

Bobby caught Alex's attention, and she smiled. "I don't think we can avoid it."

Fifteen minutes later, they were seated in a disused office as Las Vegas CSU personnel bustled to and fro outside the full-length glass windows, trading "war stories" when Donna appeared with Olivia trotting next to her, both properly badged. The latter, wearing blue shorts with a purple tank top and matching sandals, now had an LVPD CSU baseball cap perched upon her head and was chattering about the "strange objects" exhibit at the front entrance when she spied them. "There are Mama and Papa...who's that with them?"

"That's the infamous Dr. Grissom that we've been talking about, the one who studies insects. And that must be his partner, Sara Sidle."

Olivia danced away from Donna and pushed open the door. "Hello...may we come in?"

Alex smiled not only because it was Olivia, but because Bobby's face lit up when he saw her. What he always wanted: a home, a family, someone to love, to be loved. And she realized she felt it just as fiercely.

"Come on in-did you get your ice cream?"

"Oh, yes! I tried the red bean flavor. It was...interesting-" Her questioning eyes were on the two strangers in the room. "Donna says you're Dr. Grissom and Ms. Sidle."

"Yes, we are," Sara said with a smile. "And you're Olivia and this is Ms. Hogarth, your tutor."

"Bob was telling us, Ms. Hogarth," Grissom said with interest, "that you're a high-school teacher who used one of my forensics books with your students?"

"My AP seniors. It's hard to keep their attention sometimes-they're either distracted by their phones or the school social dramas. But they all love a good murder mystery," Donna said with a smile.

Olivia asked seriously, "What is the oddest insect you've ever seen, Dr. Grissom?"

Grissom bowed his head, regarding her over his glasses. "Have you ever heard of a Madagascar hissing cockroach?"

"No," was the child's response. "Have you made a study of them?"

Sara stifled a laugh. "Even better, he has a live one."

Alex made a face when Olivia looked intrigued. "How big is it?"

"Ten centimeters long."

Donna and Olivia said in one breath, "Wow!" and Olivia asked, "Is it here? May we see it?" Then she paused and added hastily. "It's in a box, isn't it?"

"It has its own little display tank," Sara answered for him, sketching the dimensions with hand movements. "It's in Catherine's office."

"That's good." Olivia looked sideways at Alex. "I don't mind if it's in a tank and I think it would reassure Mama."

Alex chuckled, "A four-inch long roach? It certainly does."

Grissom was already on his feet. "I'll show you then. Sara...do you think Alex...might prefer to visit one of the labs?"

"I think both of us would," was Sara's teasing response, then asided to Alex, "Thank goodness he didn't want it on Ishmael with us!"

"She's no fun," Grissom said with an unexpected broad grin.

"What about you?" Donna said to Bobby. "Forensics or exotic wildlife?"

"The best of both worlds? I'll...um...take a brief peek at the roach and then wander along to forensics."

"You're no fun either, Papa," Olivia said, trying not to laugh.

. . . . .

From "On the Road with the Gorens"
August 22, 2023

Bobby: I spoke very little of my father in The Refuge. We had a contentious relationship, especially as I grew older. At the same time, he was a gregarious man-everyone knew Billy Goren and liked him: raconteur, bon vivant, life of the party. Among the things my dad favored were horses, primarily the kind you could pick for win, place, or show, but we also watched a lot of Westerns when I was growing up. I remember him noting the "points" on Trigger and the rest of the film horses.

I wonder how many Eastern kids discovered the natural beauty of the Western United States by watching Western films and television series: Monument Valley, the Grand Canyon, Zion National Park. If you were like me, you looked those places up-saw the majesty of the landscapes, hoped maybe that someday you'd get to see them, so you could truly comprehend them.

I saw the Grand Canyon today. I still can't comprehend it.

You see photos-and years ago, all you had were snapshots, postcards, and the odd travelogue with fading proto-Technicolor, now there are high-definition photos everywhere online. Drone flyovers now see what your eyes do, and note the sprawling width, the varied colors of the layers of earth, the play of the shadows as the sun shifts across the sky and turns those layers different colors. In person, the depth, the breadth, the various hues: your eyes see it, your brain registers it, but it's still difficult to process. I have a geology textbook at my fingertips and can tell you from what material every one of those layers is composed, the color, how far down from the rim it is, what plants grow on the rim, and what animals live here.

But describe the Grand Canyon? I've never been to a location where I couldn't find descriptive words. It's...humbling.

Alex: If he can't find the words, I won't even try. Even between rainshowers it was magnificent. Check out my photos, it's the best I can do.

Olivia: I kept thinking if there wasn't an English word to describe it, there must be one in French. But there isn't. Oh, Ana, Renata, Laurent, Luisa, I wish you could have seen this!

Donna Hogarth: [speechless]
(My best friend Irené will tell you this is not how I roll.)

. . . . .

Date: August 22, 2023
To: Elizabeth E. Hogan (eehogan at nycnet .net)
Subject: Without Words
From: Alex Eames (alexandra. v. eames at xfinity .net)

Dear Liz,

You can see today's blog entry about the Grand Canyon visit.

What Bobby said. I can only give you impressions: colors-all shades of greens, reds, yellows, browns, whites. Sculpted rock protruding, or inset. Some smooth-edged, some sharp. But if you ask me bluntly, 'Allie, what's it like?' My brain fails me, my tongue...inadequate.

I'm surprised we made it at all, but that was Michael's doing-his family was originally from "back East," but his father moved them to Arizona for work, later to Wyoming, so he's visited GC at least a dozen times. He was determined that Olivia see it, even if it rained, and after we got ready for bed last evening, he pulled all the plugs and drove through the night to get us there-good thing since later the South Rim entrance flooded and closed for over six hours.

We had a couple of rain-free hours and at least one rainbow, which I missed getting a photo of.

Then there was tonight.

Michael kept checking the sky and the hourly forecast while Bobby made burgers for dinner while I whipped up some salad, and as we ate, Michael asked, "Would you like to see something else mind-blowing today?"

Donna blurted out (and then apologized afterward), "Don't tell me you have something better!"

He smiled at us-if one didn't know Michael you could call it 'sinister looking,' but that's just his face-and shrugged. "Said it was something else mind-blowing. Not necessarily better."

We were curious and agreed. He advised us to nap, that we would drive there later on, and it would take a while, and he finished his burger and salad, then clambered into his bunk, and fell asleep.

Donna shrugged and sacked out on the sofa; I spent some time with Bandit, then noticed Bobby and Olivia had vanished. Found them in our bedroom, Olivia asleep on my edge of the bed, Bobby leaned against the headboard having nodded off over a book; I crawled next to Olivia and, like them, was out like a light. When we heard the bus start up, and the three of us wandered into the main area just as Donna asked, "Where are we going?"

Michael just grinned at the lot of us. "You'll see."

We left the boundaries of the Canyon and the tourist-related mishmash until there was nothing around us but scrubland, just as the sun was setting. He parked at a rest area that was simply an open stone building where you can picnic, facing the windshield west so we could watch the sunset-there were enough clouds so that it looked like fire (more pictures coming)-and we ate dessert there.

When it was completely dark, he said, "Olivia, please make sure there are no other lights on in the bus, will you?" She was fidgety enough by that time that she went at a run, turning out the light in our bedroom and her bunkroom. When she came back, he lowered the main lights until we could just make our way to the door. "Don't look up yet," he said, as he gestured us outside. So there we stood in a bunch-when Olivia peeked upward, Donna laughed and put her hands over her eyes-and Michael came to the foot of the stairs with a flashlight in one hand, just in case-and extinguished every light.

Outside, darkness was...absolute. I was reminded of the bathroom we had in Inwood, the windowless interior one. We'd go in and shut the door and scare ourselves in the dark, remember? But this was darkness. A dark that enveloped your face like a warm black towel. That swallowed you-but at the same time-

"Oh, God," said Donna. "Look up."

Remember Mr. and Mrs. Trimble's rickety beach cottage-the place Dad rented the summer before Jack started school? All alone on the beach, nothing close to it, just the lights of the Hamptons in the distance, and we looked up and saw all the stars, dozens of constellations, nothing like the dozen or so faint stars we could make out from our backyard, so clear that we could even vaguely make out the curve of the Milky Way?

More stars than that, Liz. Layer upon layer of them, overlapping, shining, blazing. In science class they talk about red dwarf stars and blue stars and yellow ones, but here you could see every tint a star could be, with the whole Milky Way like fine mist curving over our head. You've always said, 'Thank goodness for Allie, at least we have one person with a sensible head.' Well, your sensible sister is telling you now that I will swear some of those stars were dancing.

There is a little altar boy left yet in Bobby; behind me, I heard him quote, "'When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?'"

Donna came back with Shakespeare: "There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

Michael quoted, "'Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd, I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell.'" (Walt Whitman, Bobby told me later.)

"What do you think, Min?" Bobby asked Olivia, using the nickname her best friend at school called her. When she didn't answer it frightened me. "Olivia?"

Michael immediately turned up the bus lights, and we all realized why she didn't answer; she was still looking up, tears streaming down her face; when I touched her arm, she could only say in French, "C'est si beau. Si beau. Très beau."

I tried all sorts of settings on my camera after Bobby walked her back inside-digital cameras are such a blessing; you can just delete all the trash pics!-and managed a few with my tripod that I think are adequate before the clouds returned and it began to drizzle. I urge you to find some Hayden Planetarium pics; maybe that will get it across, and I'll post the ones I took. They can't duplicate what we saw.

Olivia cried in Bobby's arms for almost a quarter of an hour; he finally sang "Touch and Go" to her and she quieted. Michael headed back to a campground we had passed a half-hour earlier, and she took her shower and got ready for bed, and Bobby read her the rest of My Friend Flicka, which left all of us teary-eyed.

Donna said to Michael, "Mind officially blown."

Dearest Lizzie, I wish you-and Steve and Eddie, and Jack and Patty and Ellie and Sophie-love like all the stars in the sky.

Allie

. . . . .

From "On the Road with Gorens"
August 24, 2023

Olivia: We went to Disneyland today! My maman took me to Euro Disney last year, but I loved visiting Walt Disney's original park. Papa told me that originally Frontierland had stagecoaches, and I was sad not to be able to ride in one. Ana! I had my photo taken with Elsa!

Alex: Bucket list checkoff-got to ride the teacups!

Bobby: We dared each other to ride Space Mountain, and all have survived. But this Brooklyn boy still prefers the Cyclone at Coney Island. ;-)

Olivia: Papa, you sound like Mr. Hogarth!

Comments:

Matthew Hogarth: And so it begins.

. . . . .

- Los Angeles, CA; August 25, 2023 -

"Bobby!"

Penelope Saltonstall, sitting next to Bobby as the clerks finished setting up for their book signing in Burbank, laughed. "There she is at last."

Alex gave a little quirk to the stack of copies of Ice Blue on her side of the table, then followed the sound of the enthusiastic female voice that had just called out. A smiling face was disappearing and reappearing behind the crowd at the bookstore, her long plait of black hair swinging as she moved, and then her whole face appeared, beaming with joy. Bobby stood up to meet her just before she threw her arms around him for a hug, her brown eyes alight. She was not much taller than Alex, wearing a bright red tank top, burgundy shorts, and red Crocs. "Oh, man, you're a sight for sore eyes. Jennie, hurry up! Wow, Bobby, you have a tan. I've never seen you with a tan!"

Behind her, a slightly taller young woman with a tawny complexion and black hair done in an almost 40s-era Victory Roll approached at a more leisurely pace, grinning at her partner's enthusiasm. "Kare, I think Ms. Eames will have something to say if you suffocate him."

Karin Hirahara laughed in delight. "Jennie, this is my former partner-if you haven't guessed-Robert Goren. Bob, this is my wife, Jennifer."

"Congratulations in person, Rocket Lady," Bobby said fondly as she finally freed him from a strangulation hug. "Glad to meet you, Jennifer. And as Karin already knows, this is Alexandra Eames-"

"Who looks much less faded than in her Polaroid," Karin teased, shaking Alex's hand.

"Older, too," Alex said with tongue in cheek, knowing Karin was referring to the photo Bobby had kept on his desk during his eight years with the FBI.

Karin looked at her fondly, chuckling, "Not that much at all. Still a very pretty lady. But then I always tried to look at you through Bobby's eyes."

Alex smiled warmly. "'Rocket Lady'?"

"Masters in Chemistry," Karin answered. "Told people I'd either work for NASA or the FBI. You can see which I chose. Worked with the bomb squad for awhile. My uncle used to call me 'Rocket Girl' and I mentioned that when I introduced myself to Ben and Bob. Bobby said I wasn't a girl, I was a woman, and he started calling me 'Rocket Lady.'" She inclined her chin toward the poster behind the signing table, which announced in large letters: TONIGHT'S SALE PROCEEDS GO TO MAUI RELIEF. "Nice idea."

Alex nodded. "We did it in Vegas, too. People even gave us casino chips. Made over two grand that way."

Now Karin waggled fingers at Saltonstall, who smiled at her indulgently. "Hi, Boss Lady. Oh, and you'll never guess, Bobby-I got an e-mail of apology from Harry Cavanaugh. Did you blackmail him back in D.C. or have you tried something new of that voodoo that you do?"

He shook his head, smiling broadly. "I'll explain later. Let me introduce you to the rest of the entourage first," Bobby said, but Karin answered happily, "No need. Jennie and I have followed the blog since the beginning-glad to meet you, Ms. Hogarth!" she enthused, offering a freshly-manicured hand toward Donna.

Olivia's eyes opened wide. "You have dolphins on your fingernails! Swimming in the ocean!"

"I know!" Karin replied, eyes dancing. "My stylist found the design."

Olivia pivoted on her feet to meet Alex's eyes, but she shook her head. "But Mama-"

"Your fingernails aren't the right size for this design, Olivia," Karin sympathized. "But while your mom and dad are signing books I can show you how to do the ombre effect in the background that makes the ocean," and she met Alex's eyes with a question in her own.

"That I can go for." Alex agreed.

Bobby said with a sigh, "She's only nine-"

Karin rolled her eyes and and did an exaggerated facepalm. "Fathers, I swear! Bobby, it's 2023. Kindergarteners use fingernail polish these days. May Jennie and I take her to get the polish for it?"

Bobby bit his lip as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, Rocket Lady, I can't say I don't trust you. Go on." He eyed Olivia. "You are required to behave well for both Karin and Jennifer."

"Yes, sir," Olivia said, but her eyes were glowing.

And then he smiled at her. "Now, shoo-and have fun!"

. . . . .

The final book signing was complete. Bobby had been reunited with his cousin Molly that evening, and all of them-including Zes Hastings, to Bobby and Alex's amusement-had a lively seafood dinner on Saturday night. On the following day, Michael would point the bus toward Interstate 15, to connect with I-70 west of Denver and follow that route to Philadelphia, thence to New York City, and finally home to Milbury. They might do a little sightseeing along the way, but chiefly would wind down in preparation for the first day of school, autumn, and Olivia's first Halloween in the States. In e-mails, Ana was already talking about costumes.

At the book signing the previous evening, Penelope Saltonstall had referred them to a favorite beach. "Way before Disney thought of breaking ground in Orange County," she'd told them, Fortunato's Landing had played host to a small amusement park, but all that remained of the attraction was a parking lot, threaded with crazy-paving cracks, weeds struggling to eke out an existence between them. The shore was rocky, so sunbathers eschewed it, and due to the vagaries of ocean currents, the surfing was poor. It still had an old boardwalk paralleling the shoreline, which ragtag volunteers called "Friends of the Landing" kept up as well as possible, and a string of small shops-fair foods, shell shop, and several others-still did business at the location; families looking for a calmer time than at the crowded, more popular beaches, and old-timers who remembered the sunshine days of the postwar era and 1950s still liked to spend time there.

This particular Saturday night, the venerable parking lot was partially occupied by a traveling carnival, and the air was redolent with the scents of popcorn, cotton candy, and machine oil. Although it was Saturday, the tropical storm earlier in the week had resulted in a thinner crowd; however, a band had still set up to play music: two jean-and-tie-dyed clad men with guitars, a woman drummer in a sunset-colored caftan and turban, and the short-haired vocalist in rainbow tunic and bellbottoms, who sang in a pleasing alto. Like the band that played at the Dark Crystal, they had a varied repertoire that ranged from classic show tunes to techno; when Alex, Bobby, and Olivia had arrived, they'd been playing an instrumental version of "Purple Rain" which segued into "Daydream Believer," and, as they stopped to get funnel cakes for dessert (Zes having treated them to dinner at a Brazilian steakhouse earlier), the vocalist began crooning a smoky version of "Begin the Beguine."

In the lights illuminating the shop windows of the faded pastel wooden structures, Alex had to smile at their appearance, dressed in nondescript shirts and shorts and tennis shoes like everyone else. Would anyone even recognize the trio as the three Easterners "dressed to the nines" in Burbank yesterday? As Karin had noted at the book signing, Bobby was more tanned (even with constant application of sunscreen) than she'd ever seen him, and Olivia's hair had lightened a shade. Indeed, when Alex had looked into the mirror that morning, she'd discovered long-forgotten freckles dotting her cheeks. The air had cooled the moment the sun went down, and she removed the cloth scrunchie from her hair, leaving it free to ruffle in the comfortable breeze.

After the Disneyland visit, the carnival rides seemed old hat; still, Olivia found a caparisoned fox to ride on the wheezy old merry-go-round, and the three of them tried out the Ferris wheel as well as something called The Octopus, which had "tentacles" that whirled around while rising and falling, flashing green and violet lights into the darkness. Next, they had visited the funnel cake stand for dessert, and now they strolled the line of shops, some showing signs of recent repair, sprinkling powdered sugar all over themselves and the worn wooden sidewalk, checking out reproduction "Nantucket Valentines" and animal and seashore-themed figures made from seashells, a shop where hand-cut silhouettes were made, a cheesy photo gallery where you could stick your head through a hole in a fantastically-painted wooden flat which made it look as if you were encountering a mermaid, a stand of inexpensive seaside-themed jewelry, and next a pretty shop whose windows were decorated around the edges in Japanese pictograms.

"Look!" Olivia said, finishing her funnel cake and attempting to rid her hands of confectioners' sugar. "Foxes!" She had stopped carrying her stuffed fox everywhere some weeks ago but had retained her affection for the animals.

Bobby followed her gaze into the shop window, which had signage in Japanese and English: "Ishibashi Creations." "I believe those are kitsune, not foxes."

Olivia asked in her way, "What's a kit-soo-nay?"

"It's a type of magical fox whose powers increase as they get older and w-wiser." Bobby was back in librarian mode. "They're associated with Inari, a Shinto kami-a spirit-and serve as messengers. As they get older, they grow more tails, up to nine. Very smart and long-lived. They usually have a hoshi no tama, a round white ball...um...like a pearl, which some say holds their magical power."

The girl pointed to a watercolor-and-pen drawing of a mischievous-looking red fox possessed of three tails with what looked like a large pearl between its forefeet. "Like that?"

"Looks like it," Alex said with a smile. "Here, wipe your hands-" and she pulled wet wipes for all from her crossbag, feeling more like her mother than ever. "We'll clean up and then we can check it out."

They spent over twenty minutes browsing the store, admiring the items sold by Mr. Ishibashi, his wife, and their bubbly teenage daughter Joyce Kaori, which included imported porcelain Japanese figures in traditional dress along with calligraphy in both Japanese and English framed by delicate watercolor-and-ink drawings, which were Mr. Ishibashi's specialty. Bobby saw Olivia's eyes fix on a small porcelain white-and-silver kitsune with three tails, and soon it was secured in bubble wrap and tucked into the reusable string bag Alex had carried with her. He noticed that something else briefly caught Alex's attention, but she said nothing, so they continued to check out the three other shops (a taffy store, a souvenir place with knockoff Disney products, and a small closet of a store that sold postcards), then had taken scant steps on the boardwalk when Alex halted.

"You two go on," she said. "I saw something-I'm going back for it," and, before Olivia could say anything more, added, "It's a surprise."

She turned back, and Bobby took Olivia's hand as they continued down the boardwalk. The railings were old iron pipes painted with silver enamel that had bubbled and cracked from the corrosive effect of the salt air, and, fascinated by the texture, Olivia ran the tips of her fingers lightly over the surface, feeling the sharp, ragged edges. Their pathway was strung with swags of lights with faux-vintage "Edison" light bulbs, and an elderly man with a smudged canvas bag slung over his shoulder slowly made his way down the opposite side of the railing, replacing burned-out and storm-shattered bulbs.

"Look," Olivia said, pointing out two figures strolling out near the surf, walking hand in hand. "Aren't those Donna and Zes?"

"Looks like it," Bobby said with a faraway expression in his eyes.

Olivia observed, "Zes has turned up in a lot of the same places where you and Mama have had your book signings."

"He has," Bobby said, straight-faced.

She halted, crossing her arms in front of her and tilting her head in unconscious imitation of one of his standard positions, regarding him soberly. "I'm fairly sure he likes her."

"A lot," he agreed, biting off a smile. "And I'm pretty certain she likes him a lot, too."

The two figures continued walking down the beach, and the man and child strolled for a little longer along the boardwalk, Bobby glancing back at the illuminated shops occasionally.

Out of nowhere, Olivia declared matter-of-factly, "You and Mama fibbed. Or at least you did."

Startled, he asked, "What?"

"You fibbed," she said, walking on, halting when she noticed he hadn't followed. "In Paris. You said you and Mama were worried about adopting me because you were old. That isn't true. I thought on it a long time after we finished at Disneyland. Look at all the things we've done. You both rode Space Mountain. And went on the Matterhorn. We had the helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon. And the...zip line? You know, in Tennessee. Old people don't do that. And hiking when we visited Ari and Kaye. And climbing the Washington Monument and-"

Bobby chuckled and motioned "Stop!" to her before she went into a complete retrospective of every active moment in the past four months, then replied soberly, "Well, maybe it was because we were...afraid. Bringing up a child is a b-big responsibility."

"You and Mama are never afraid...especially Mama!" she returned, surprised.

He lowered his voice. "We certainly were in Wyoming."

She made a face in recollection. "Me, too."

He took her hand again, and they continued along the boardwalk, but as it came to an end, the rotted final ten feet roped off and buried in drifted sand and seaweed, they stopped to lean on the railing and gaze at the Pacific Ocean, both lost in thought.

"Back home soon," Bobby finally said.

"School," Olivia responded almost glumly.

"Oh, you like school. And you know you've got this," he said, patting her shoulder.

"I know," she answered, then she smiled. "I can see Carlos and Ana again." The mischief in her eyes was apparent now. "And Noah."

"Now, look," Bobby said gravely, squatting down to her level, "please no growing up on us too soon, okay? We want to enjoy all the stages of Olivia, year by year. We only have 'nine' for another month."

"I guess that means you still don't like my fingernails," she answered in a droll voice.

He took one of her small hands in his big one, looking at the pretty design of dark blue fading into lighter blue to become white waves at the tips. It was a delicate, detailed job done by Karin with love. "I think your nails look very pretty, Miss Olivia. As long as it doesn't rush by, I think I'm going to enjoy watching you grow and change."

Her eyes became shiny, and she gave a big gulp as she stared back at him gravely. She finally said softly, "Papa?"

"What's up?"

She bit her lip and said in a confidential voice, "I love you."

For a second, he wondered if he'd heard correctly. Then he wanted to howl with joy over the steady swish of the waves. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and said softly, "I love you, too, Min."

A beat, and now he asked hesitantly, "You love your mama, too, don't you?"

"Of course, Papa!" she said, sounding slightly shocked, pulling her head back to witness his damp cheeks with some surprise.

He looked over her shoulder, shaking a blond strand of her hair from his nose. "You'll tell her?"

When he loosed his embrace, Olivia turned to see Alex rambling toward them, enjoying the breeze on her face, which looked happy and peaceful. Facing her father again, she touched Bobby's wet cheek with a tentative forefinger, then kissed him on that spot before wiggling away to dash the twenty steps to meet Alex.

"I just told Papa something, and I have to tell you, too!"

Alex tilted her head to the right, eyes crinkling as her smile broadened, wondering what breathtaking bit of trivia the child had learned in the last twenty minutes that she was so eager to impart. Was it something about seashells? Kitsune? Mermaids? Maybe funnel cakes? With anticipation, she squatted the brief distance between their heights until they were eye-to-eye. "What is it, sweetie?"

Olivia put her arms around Alex's neck to whisper, "I love you."

When, seconds later, Alex broke the tight hug she had returned, Olivia could see her eyes shimmering.

"That's better than any captain's stripes ever, dearest girl," Alex whispered, and they clung to each other another minute before Alex could collect herself, and they rejoined Bobby. His face was aglow with an expression she hadn't seen since their wedding day.

"Did you...g-get what you wanted?" he asked her, not trusting himself to say anything more.

"And more," Alex said, swallowing, then fumbled inside the string bag and withdrew a square white paper bag which she held out to the child. "I was saving this for your birthday, but-." To his surprise, she stumbled through her next words. "I saw it in the shop, but it wasn't quite right...I wanted one special quotation with the kitsune motif, but I didn't see one...so I told Joyce Kaori, and she said her father could fix that for me...and-" She set soft eyes on Olivia. "I want to give it to you now."

Olivia pulled from the paper bag a matte-framed piece of calligraphy in English. In the upper right-hand corner was Ishibashi's watercolor-and-pen kitsune with three tails and the pearl between its forefeet, identical to the one she'd pointed out in the window. In the lower left-hand corner was a smiling kitsune, its three tails protectively wrapped around a smaller kitsune. Bobby craned his neck, but couldn't quite read the graceful script between the two drawings. "What does it say?"

Olivia gulped, then read aloud,

"Not flesh of my flesh,
nor bone of my bone,
but still miraculously my own.
Never forget..." and here Olivia swallowed again, "for a single minute..."

She took a breath, then finished:

"...you didn't grow under my heart
but in it."

Olivia looked intently into Alex's face. "Est-ce vrai?"

Alex solemnly drew an X with her finger on her chest. "Cross my heart."

And Bobby said quietly, extending his left hand, "Pinky swear."

They took their time retracing their steps on the boardwalk, Alex holding the string bag with the precious white parcel inside so that Olivia could walk between them, in almost a dreamlike state. The music from the quartet became louder-they had segued into Broadway show tunes, and a few people were even dancing desultorily on the sand-scoured wooden peninsula serving as a makeshift dance floor in front of the shops as they approached.

Alex said suddenly, "Is that-"

"Isn't that Ms. Saltonstall?" asked Olivia, astonished.

Bobby blinked. "It certainly is."

Penelope Saltonstall was not only there, but was "in civvies": her silvering hair was bundled in an old-fashioned snood, and she was wearing a summery cantaloupe-orange-and-red sundress with white sandals. They were equally surprised to recognize the two casually-dressed men in her company-shorts and sport shirts, sandals in the younger's case, loafers in the older man's-as her ex-husband and her son.

"Matt?" Bobby asked, perplexed. Saltonstall's mouth twitched in a maddeningly knowing grin.

Matthew Hogarth laughed. "We were warned by Penny that something 'very significant' was happening tonight."

In a few minutes Alex turned her head as the sound of crunching sand and shells became louder, and saw Donna and Zes approaching after their walk on the beach. They had been talking soberly a few seconds earlier, but now Donna arched one eyebrow in imitation of her mother, then grinned. "I warned you, Zes, that she'd figured it out!" And then she turned a bright smile on Olivia. "And look who's here, my very first choice for bridesmaid."

Olivia's mouth opened in an O as Bobby uttered a chuckled "Aha!" and Alex laughed. "Bridesmaid?"

Donna outstretched her left hand and Olivia rushed to inspect it. "It's a watermelon stone! Her favorite." She looked at Zes. "Did you know just from her nose?"

He tapped at the tourmaline stud in his left ear, which Olivia had complete missed in San Francisco, and remarked with a knowing smile, "It's considered advisable, Olivia, to establish good relations with your future in-laws from a very early date."

"But this means- But Donna, what about Maine?" Olivia asked curiously. "You said it's the only place to live. Won't you have to live in New York City?"

Donna and Zes glanced at each other, then he said, "I have two assistants, Olivia, whom I pay well and trust implicitly. I can keep my small apartment in Brooklyn, and commute every so often, but the internet is a wonderful thing. I can probably do quite a lot from our own little 'dovecote' which we'll buy somewhere in York County. I might even have my own little 'lair' in the attic like a certain best-selling author I know."

"We'll have the best of both worlds," Donna assured her, "with Boston and Milbury in between," and Olivia nodded, but Alex had particularly taken note of his other words. "'A certain best-selling author-'?"

Zes grinned. "It took a few weeks, but you got your wish, Alex. The Refuge just hit number nine on the list."

Bobby stood there, speechless, until Alex put her arms around him and he held her tightly. Olivia looked from one person to another. "That is...good?"

Bobby freed one arm and scooped her into the hug, and Alex said cheerfully, "The very best-just like you."

Behind them, the band had just ended "America" from West Side Story, and Penelope gave a little backward wave of her hand. Immediately the three musicians broke into a quick musical intro, and the taller guitarist began to sing in a pleasant tenor yet another old show tune:

"I hear singing and there's no one there,
I smell blossoms and the trees are bare,"

Donna rolled her eyes. "Oh, Mother!" but Penelope and Matthew just laughed. Bobby gave Alex a little nudge; she nodded, watching the older couple's light and dark fingers intertwine.

"All day long I seem to walk on air-
I wonder why, I wonder why."

Bobby critically eyed the few people dancing. "Eames, I don't think Californians know how to dance." He loosed Olivia, smiled at her, then extended his right hand to Alex. "Let's have a couple of New Yorkers show 'em how it's done." Alex held out her hands and he swung her out into the dance area.

"I keep tossing in my sleep at night
And what's more I've lost my appetite-"

Olivia remained there, clapping hands, then Matthew Hogarth looked sideways at his ex-wife and held out his left hand. "Penny?" Donna and Charles high-fived each other as they joined the dancers.

"Stars that used to twinkle in the skies
Are twinkling in my eyes-I wonder why."

"Future Mrs. Hogarth-Hastings?" Zes asked tentatively, "would you like to dance?"

"I thought you'd never ask," said Donna.

"-I wonder why."

Now the dark-haired vocalist took a turn with the bouncier second verse.

"You don't need analyzing;
It is not so surprising
That you feel very strange, but nice..."

Charles Saltonstall looked down at Olivia. "I don't really know how to dance. I guess we'll just stay here."

She looked up at him. "I do. We learned at school. American schools are so...odd. But right now it's more fun to watch. Papa loves to dance."

"Your heart goes pitter patter,
I know just what's the matter
Because I've been there once or twice."

Scattered applause came from people at the edge of the dance area, and several more couples joined in. Bobby and Alex, spinning about in their own world, turned, and Matthew and Penelope were dancing beside them.

"Put your head on my shoulder;
You need someone who's older,
A rubdown with a velvet glove.
There is nothing you can take
To relieve that pleasant ache-
You're not sick, you're just in love."

"Robert," she said with a smile, "do you have everything you ever wanted now?"

Alex's eyes crinkled as Bobby broke into a big grin. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

"So," Bobby asked, before they moved away, "after the first of the year, we'll be closer neighbors?"

Hogarth's face split into a broad smile. "Penny told me we couldn't fool you," he chuckled and swept her away.

Playfully, the guitarist and the singer began to sing their individual parts at the same time:

"I hear singing and there's no one there,"
..."You don't need analyzing; it is not so surprising..."
"I smell blossoms and the trees are bare,"
..."That you feel very strange but nice."
"All day long I seem to walk on air-"
..."Your heart goes pitter patter, I know just what's the matter..."

As the two couples wheeled away from each other, Alex looked at Bobby with curiosity. "What was that about?"

Bobby pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. "Later, Eames. For this one night, I love the beach. Let's enjoy it together."

And she leaned into him, content.

"I wonder why, I wonder why."
..."Because I've been there once or twice."
"I keep tossing in my sleep at night..."
..."Put your head on my shoulder; you need someone who's older,"
"And what's more I've lost my appetite-"
..."A rubdown with a velvet glove."

As they made their way around the other dancers, they saw Olivia watching, her eyes shining in the carnival lights, her face bright with promise, with Charles beside her keeping time to the music. They had only to glance at one another, then Bobby released his left hand and Alex her right, creating an opening into which they beckoned Olivia to fill. She ran to them immediately, taking their hands fast in hers, and they continued to dance.

"Stars that used to twinkle in the skies..."
..."There is nothing you can take...
"Are twinkling in my eyes..."
..."To relieve that pleasant ache-"
"I wonder why."
..."You're not sick, you're just in love."

As the dark-haired vocalist finished the song by repeating the final three lines, Bobby put a new word to it:

"There is nothing we can take..."

And Alex joined in,

"To relieve that pleasant ache-
We're not sick, we're just in love."

On their final night on tour, they danced as long as they could under the stars.

. . . . .

Olivia was half-asleep by the time they returned from the beach, but was still murmuring the chorus of Three Dog Night's "Joy to the World" to herself; Bobby had to sit her down in her desk chair and untie and pull off her sneakers because she was swaying back and forth drowsily, interrupting her rendition only to protest that she had to wash first.

"You can shower tomorrow morning before we leave," he said in a low voice, "just this once."

"Sing with me, Papa, pleeease," she begged as she pulled off her socks. The band had completed their set with what was their signature sign-off piece, and Olivia had been singing it ever since.

Bobby chuckled and began in a low voice, "Jeremiah was a bullfrog..."

"He was a good friend of mine..." Olivia chanted along, only stopping to warn him to turn his back, which he did obediently, as she pulled off her top and shorts and put on her nightgown. "I never understood a single word he said..."

"Shhh, you two," Alex hushed them, slipping into the room. "If Michael's asleep, you're going to wake him." She had two facecloths, soap, a towel, and a basin, and washed, rinsed, and dried Olivia's face, then hands and feet before she slipped into bed, still singing the chorus under her breath. Her hands fished automatically for Captain the stuffed fox; it was cuddled under her chin and her eyes closed. She was asleep before they'd both kissed her goodnight.

"You guys have a good time?" Michael asked from his compartment over the driver's seat as they emerged from the bunk room. He had headphones on while he watched a movie, one of the Fast and the Furious franchise from what Alex could tell.

"The best," she said fondly. "We'll give you all the details tomorrow."

Bandit made a clucking noise from his cage, so Alex lifted one corner of his cage cover to whisper, "Sorry, little bug. Night-night."

The collie lifted his head from his bed at the foot of the bird's cage, and Bobby petted him. "G'night, Sam."

"Donna coming back?" Michael asked, shutting off the film and removing his headphones.

"Breakfast time, I'd wager. Big things went down tonight."

The driver laughed. "Finally? What took them so long?"

They walked back to their bedroom in a daze, Alex swaying the string bag and its precious cargo back and forth on her wrist. When they'd closed the door to the room, she lifted the bag, almost as if she were noticing it for the first time, saying in a bemused voice, "Bobby-"

He could only put his arms around her and hold her tight, rocking her back and forth. Finally, Alex set aside the string bag, gave it a final pat, and they went about their nightly routine: a quick shower, tooth brushing, nightclothes, not speaking, eyes flicking to one another briefly, their emotions too much to articulate at that moment.

When they had finished, Bobby sank to the foot of the bed, and she sat next to him, his right hand reaching out for her left, clutching it tightly.

"What was that you asked Penelope," Alex finally inquired distantly, "about being closer neighbors?"

Bobby blinked, the question pulling him back to reality. He swallowed, licked his lips. "She's retiring at the end of the year."

Alex came back to earth with a thump as well. "So this is what you were discussing so seriously after the book signing." She chuckled quietly. "She got a better offer from...Brookline?"

Now he laughed. "Why do I even bother telling you these things, Eames?" He paused. "I have no confirming evidence, but I'm almost certain that's true, because Matt's retiring in December as well. Marc Thuringer will move up to the Boston field office."

Alex smiled. "That's a good career move for Marc."

Bobby said, "Penelope told me they want to offer me the Hartford office."

The silence was absolute; Alex stared at him, waiting.

"I told her I'd turn it down if they did," he finished. "You know I've never wanted to be anyone's supervisor."

"What about the consultation work?" she asked, now concerned.

"Probably not an option," he said thoughtfully. "Lots of rising young agents, and proven agents looking to move up. A good crop of new profilers out there, ready to do their jobs."

"Oh, Bobby," she said, grieved, "I'm sorry."

He shifted sideways to face her. "Marc did have an alternative offer." And when she responded with a questioning look, he added, "Remember nineteen months ago, when you asked me why I didn't retire and I fobbed you off-"

"You did not 'fob me off,'" she interrupted sternly. "I asked you a question, and you gave me legitimate reasons why it wasn't feasible. At no time did you fob anything off."

"Yes, Captain Eames. But you talked about lecturing...seminars...except I can't say that word without thinking of Dec-"

"All sorts of seminars are given by all sorts of people," she said tartly, "including Amanda Rollins and Gil Grissom. No shame in them."

"Marc talked about the trainees needing to hear from more experienced heads. Like me. The seminars would be mostly in the city. A couple in Albany. Four in Boston. And four in Washington, D.C., but he said if I could get him Olivia's school schedule he could make certain the dates for D.C. were during the summer or other school breaks."

Now Alex smiled. "Special Agent Goren, all neat and tidy in his suit and tie, imparting wisdom to his class. I think Olivia would love to see that."

"I'd have to work up different presentations," he admitted, "that would require critiques-"

"I could oblige." She chewed her lip, then said in a low voice, "It's a big change, though, Bobby. You've had problems with change in the past."

He nodded. "But I didn't plan on leaving Major Case, either. Or not working in the field. Or owning a home, or writing a book. Or being appointed guardian of a child. It's just another step in my life. And I have you." He swallowed. "If I stumble-"

"We have each other's backs, as always," she promised. "And you won't stumble. But if it makes you feel better, we can do some dry runs."

"And when we're not doing that, we can work on the new book," and his eyes twinkled as he finished, "and...other things...while Olivia's at school."

She gave him a sideways, mischievous cat smile and sang softly,

"If I were the queen of the world,

Tell you what I'd do:

I'd throw away the cars and the bars and the war,

Make sweet love to you."

"I will take you up on that, my queen," he said, kissing her.

. . . . .

— Donna Hogarth, Irené Fournier
...MMS
...August 27, 2023

Reenie! We're engaged!

You woke me at four a.m. for that?

...[Irené is typing]

You goof. CONGRATULATIONS! But what the hell took you so long?

. . . . .

Date: August 27, 2023
To: Dr. Phyllis Allyson (phyllis. allyson. PsyD at waterburymedctr .net)
Subject: Yesterday
From: Olivia Pepin (m. olivia. pepin at xfinity .net)
CC: Ruth Dunbar (ruth. w. dunbar at DFSConn .gov)

Dear Dr. Allyson:

I told Mama and Papa I loved them last night. You were right after all. I'll talk to you tomorrow and tell you more.

Ms. Dunbar, I just wanted you to know; I thought it might be important for your file. See you when we get home.

Your friend,
Olivia

. . . . .

From "On the Road with Gorens"
August 28, 2023

Olivia: The photos below are from the Buffalo Herd Nature Preserve, Genesee, Colorado! That's right, Ana, I have finally seen a buffalo! Of course, they are correctly called bison; buffalo are an entirely different species. The Latin name is bison bison. Actual buffalo live in Asia (Bubalus bubalis) or Africa (Syncerus caffer). The French who came to North America first began calling the American bison a buffalo... [click for more]

Comments:

Sophie Eames: Olivia, you're starting to sound just like Uncle Bobby.

Olivia: Merci!

Anonymous User:

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Goren:

Forgive us for contacting you this way, but it is the only way we knew how. Lena Krentz told us about your wife's appearance on a show called Manhattan Alive! and encouraged my wife to watch it on YouTube. It has taken me this long to persuade her, but we finally watched it together day before yesterday, and now realize that we have misjudged you both. It is hard for an old man to admit he is a bigot, but I remembered what your little girl's tutor said to us before you left, and she was right. You cannot judge an entire group by the actions of some.

Perhaps we could talk when you return home?

Sincerely,
Alvin Danielson

Bobby: Feel free to call on us any time, Mr. Danielson.

. . . . .

"This is your last tuck-in in this bed, Ms. Pepin," Bobby said, pulling the sheet and light blanket over Olivia.

"I know," she smiled, gazing at them with sleepy yet thoughtful eyes. "I've got so much to do when we get home!"

"Only you?" Alex teased. "You mean like getting ready for the first day of school?"

"That, too," she said, struggling to keep her eyes open. "And seeing Dr. Allyson and Ms. Dunbar." She gave a big yawn. "Excuse me. But I meant the important things. Ana and I have to work on our Halloween costumes. May I wear high heels?"

"For Halloween?"

"Yes, because Ana's taller than I am. We're going as Anna and Elsa. Ana said I should be Elsa because I'm blond, but otherwise we'll look just like sisters."

"We'll see if we can find a way to boost your height a little without your stumbling and falling in the middle of Main Street. If I put your hair up in a coil it will help," Alex said, patting her arm. "You're not thinking of asking Viola to make you costumes, are you?"

Olivia looked a little disappointed. "Can't we?"

"That's taking advantage of her goodwill a little bit too much, don't you think?" Bobby interjected into the mother-daughter banter.

"I suppose. And we're going to Springfield on Sunday, right? To see the Molly of Denali exhibit before it closes?"

Bobby had a sudden flashback from a year earlier, of her wheedling Marcel Pepin with big eyes about visiting Nice for a few days when they returned to France. When he glanced at Alex, he knew she was thinking the same thing. Not that they'd been surprised when they received a postcard from Nice two weeks later, written in an eight-year-old's cursive!

"If there are no emergencies, yes."

They figured she had finally wound down, but...not quite yet. "Papa-"

"Yes, Elsa?"

Olivia smiled a little, but with some effort, she fixed her eyes on him as she did when she wanted to impart something important, but their glazed overlay confirmed her energy was fast waning. "I like it...when you call me 'Min.' You can...do it more...if you like."

Bobby smiled, and Alex asked, "Me, too?"

"Oui," and now Alex smiled at how she still reverted to French when tired. "Papa, you remember..." another yawn, "...the night we talked about the blog...about adoption?"

He bit his lip, remembering only how he'd frightened her. "Yes, Min," he said gently.

"What you said- I made up my mind," she said with a yawn, her eyes shuttering, "about names..."

"And what was that?"

But she was already asleep.

. . . . .

Donna posed them for a final photo, standing in front of the wide sofa just behind the driver's seat. Bobby suggested she take it with a timer so she and Michael could be in the photo, but the latter backed up with palms forward and a "Not me, man," while Donna responded crisply that this was a family photo.

When she had them posed "just so" and had a finger just brushing the shutter button, she made a quick kissing noise, and Bandit swivelled his head to face her.

She posted the photo to the end of the blog just as the tour bus pulled into Milbury; the staff of the Dark Crystal poured out of the front door to stand at the curb to wave them home. In the snapshot Bobby stood at left with his right arm around Alex, his eyes soft and happy as he gazed just slightly down to his right, his left hand lightly resting on Olivia's shoulder; Alex tilting her head toward him, an affectionate smile on her face with her right hand brushing Olivia's right arm; the child herself with big eyes alight, Bandit sitting alertly on her right hand with black button eyes wide as he faced the camera, her left arm outstretched, hand resting on Sam's head where he sat before her happily "smiling" for the photographer.

Below Donna typed, "Our journey now has ended, safe travels to you all!" and signed off with the whispered secret she'd been entrusted with:

...Robert O. Goren
...Alexandra V. Eames Goren
...M. Olivia Goren
...Sam & Bandit

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The next story is "Inspection"