Classification: TRHA

Rating: PG

Summary: Christmas Eve-some surprises.

Spoilers: None.

Disclaimer: Property of 1013 Productions and Fox Television. Only because it's the holiday season here and I'm in a generous mood.
 

"For behold, I create new heavens and a new earth; and the former things
shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in
what I create; for behold, I create Jerusalem for rejoicing, and her people
for gladness."

Isaiah 65:17-18, New American Standard Version.
 

Apokruptoo
 

December 24, 1999

Christmas Eve dinner was courtesy of Safeway-I'd decided to go for one of the prepackaged deals you can carry out in a box, take home, reheat, and pass off as your own if you feel guilty enough. I didn't.

Miranda decided that the every day placemats weren't worthy of such a feast, and she set the table with the one real linen tablecloth I own, real linen napkins, and candles. She and Langly forced me to sit down first, and they did the serving. The only embarrassing part was that I had to ask Langly to cut up my duck; I couldn't cut meat right now. I figured I felt about four
years old, because I knew that by the time I got to kindergarten, I could deal with cutting meat. The most amazing part was that, in the spirit of the season, both of them refrained from having fun at my expense about it. Most nights they were quite lively in their busting my chops about being disabled. I think it's their way of trying to make me laugh, but some nights, when I felt rather poorly, I tended to have impulses that could more rightfully be described as homicidal.

"This is so weird," Miranda announced as we began eating. "It's never just the three of us."

"It is now," I informed her of the obvious.

"I sorta like it, actually," she admitted. "Sometimes it just gets so wacko here."

"Yeah, I'd go with that," Langly agreed.

"'Cause I never get to talk to you guys," she went on. "Everybody's always so busy, and there're so many people, and for a long time I couldn't go anywhere or stay by myself, and then you got sick, and Frohike got sick, and you broke your arm and wrecked your car-"

"I think I wrecked the car first and then broke my arm, although the time lapse wasn't all that signficant."

"Whatever. It's like, you guys think you have to take care of everybody. Sometimes I just want you to take care of me, that's all."

"We do try to take care of you, honey," I squeezed her hand.

"I didn't say you didn't. It's just like...everybody always needs something, and you guys always do it for them."

"They do a lot of things for us, too," I reminded her gently.

"I know that. And I like having them here. It's like they take me seriously and everything. They don't treat me like I'm some stupid kid. It just gets...it's hard sometimes. I don't know if I'm explaining this right."

"Nah, you're fine," Langly assured her. "You can tell us."

"I just don't have any privacy here."

"The dungeon belongs to you kids, sweetie."

"I know, but Michael...he's okay, I don't hate him or anything. It's just so crowded down there."

"We said we'd talk about moving him upstairs, and we will."

"And you need to put a bathroom in the office," Miranda directed this comment right at Langly. "I hate it that you guys walk through my room all the time."

"Only way to get there," he shrugged.

"I just want some of my own..."

"Space?" I filled in.

"Yeah. Space."

"I guess I could understand that," Langly said quietly. "It's not like we're trying to cramp your style or anything."

"I just want some privacy, that's all. I like this house a lot. But it needs more bathrooms."

"That may have to wait a while," I told her. "It's expensive to add on."

"Well, then, can you guys do me a favor?" She turned to Langly. "Please use the upstairs one. It's really hard when people are barging in my room all the time. It's hard enough when Shelby's sharing it with me."

"I suppose we could do that," Langly conceded. "Lock the door, though. It's the only way we'll remember."

The phone rang, and I got up to answer it. It was Michael.

"Hey, is it okay if I keep your car till tomorrow? I'm gonna stay overnight. My dad says it's okay."

"Well, we're not going anywhere, so I don't see why not," I told him. "How's he doing?"

"I dunno. Wait, let me go in the bathroom." "Okay, I can talk now. It's like...he seems really out of it. It's like when I asked him if he wanted me to stay, he told me to go home, but then he said okay, I can stay on the floor if I really want to."

"Do you want to?" I asked cautiously.

"Well, yeah. I don't wanna be alone on Christmas Eve."

"So what're you doing?"

"Watching "It's a Wonderful Life." And getting drunk. Is my dad supposed to like not drink or something?"

"I think he can have it in moderate amounts."

"Well, I think he's beyond that."

"What's he doing?"

"He's asleep. It's like, he's gotten real crabby to me the last few days, you know? Maybe I should come back to your house."

"Why don't you just hang out there tonight and see how he's doing in the morning? He did just suffer a really major and scary illness, Michael. I remember when my mother had a heart attack, she was such a bitch. Mostly I think she was really scared, but my mother never tells anybody she's scared."

"Sort of like you, right? I mean, weren't you scared when your old man was laid up?"

"Yeah, I was."

"But you wouldn't say anything. You just yelled at people a lot."

"Michael, I'm sorry if I yelled at you if you didn't deserve it."

"'S'okay. I probably did." Kid had a real self-esteem problem. I didn't feel like exacerbating it.

"Michael, if you've had as much J&B as I think you have-I don't know how you drink that stuff, but if you can, more power to you-I think you should stay at your dad's, not drive, and see how things are in the morning. Okay? Besides, if you get sick in my car, Langly will strangle you."

"Okay, I think I'm motivated now." He laughed weakly. "Do you think my dad hates me?"

That shocked me. I'd heard Frohike agonize guiltily over his children on a few occasions, and knowing the kind of person he was, I suspected his private anguish was far more frequent and deep.

"No, Michael, I think that's absurd. He did finally try to look for you. He felt very guilty about not being able to be with you all those years. And if he's not being particularly agreeable right now, well, I think this, too, shall pass." I hoped.

"Yeah, well, I gotta get off the phone now, or I'm gonna miss some of the good parts."

"Didn't think you and your dad watched that kind of stuff."

"Hey, you think all we think about is naked women?"

I laughed. "Don't make me answer that, Michael. And Merry Christmas."

"You, too. Al'son? Thanks." He hung up.

It was the first time he'd ever thanked me without being forced by his father to do so. They say Christmas is the season of miracles. Indeed.
 

"When I was really little, my grandma was still alive, and we'd go up to her house in Pennsylvania," Langly was engaged in telling Miranda when I came back to the table. "She'd have this really cool tree, and I'd get a bunch of gifts, and Joanie
and Scott were there and they'd play with all my toys."

"I didn't know your family was from Pennsylvania," I remarked.

"Yeah, coal country. Pittsburgh. My dad's family. I remember the snow was grey."

"So Joanie and Scott are lots older than you. Sort of like my Uncle Jason."

"Yeah, like that. Hey, I met your Uncle Jason in Vegas. He's cool."

"Mom says he's gonna be here on Friday. I can't wait to see him and my almost-aunt Anne. Did you meet my almost-aunt Anne?"

"Nope. She wasn't there."

"She hates Vegas. Says the odds are better in Reno." We laughed.

"She doesn't do Reno, honey. Anne likes Lake Tahoe."

"Tahoe, Reno, whatever. So what'd your grandma cook for dinner on Christmas?"

He laughed. "Turkey. It was awful. I used to hide it under the mashed potatoes. It was always so dry and nasty. But I liked going there. I was real sad when she died, because then we didn't go to Pennsylvania anymore." Now at least I had some insight into his dislike of turkey.

"So what'd you do after that?"

"Well, we'd have Christmas at home, but then Joanie got engaged, and then she got married, and she could only be at our house on Christmas Eve for a while 'cause her husband said they had to spend it with his folks, so it really wasn't like Christmas anymore."

"What about your brother?"

"Scott died a long time ago."

"I'm sorry." She looked genuinely sad.

"Nah, don't be. It's been a long time."

"So what about Joanie?"

"Joanie and me...long story. And not for tonight. Maybe some other time," he told her, softly but distinctly indicating that personal revelations were over for now.

"I bet she misses you," Miranda told him quietly.

"I don't know." He wanted off this topic.

"You miss her, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"So why don't you call her?"

"It's...complicated. Another time, 'Randa. Okay?" He was pleading with her now.

"Okay." She knew when to quit. Sometimes. "Mom, you think we can do presents tonight?"

I looked at Langly. "This is your side of the cultural equation. What're you supposed to do?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Cool." We went to the living room, leaving the dishes on the table and the remaining duck wide open for the cats to feast on, which they were no doubt cognizant of, since they'd been begging throughout the entire meal.

Miranda opened first, and squealed with delight at the English ska CD's Langly had obtained for her. She gave him a quick but heartfelt hug, and he beamed. She was pleased with the earrings we'd gotten for her as well, trying them on immediately.

Langly went next, and he expressed excitement over the Java manuals I'd gotten him much like a five-year-old gets excited over a favorite toy. I wondered how long it'd been since he'd gotten presents. Okay, Hanukkah, but before that? I was willing to bet it'd been a while.

Miranda had restocked me on my favorite Enchanted Apple supplies from Victoria's Secret. Langly was clearly mystified.

"You went to Victoria's Secret and you got her that?"

"She likes it," Miranda shrugged.

"That's not what I would've gotten her at Victoria's Secret."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "I don't want to know."

I grinned at Langly. "Well, you said you didn't get me anything, so I think we're done."

"Ah, not so fast. I did sorta cheat, though." He produced a familiar-looking black velvet box. "I had it reset."

The new setting was more intricate than the original one, which had been elegant in its simplicity, but this one was very pretty and unique, almost like filigree. It was gorgeous.

"I can't wait to put it on," I smiled at him, and I felt my eyes mist up. "But looks like I'll have to wait until my cast is off."

"Is there like some law that says you can't wear it on your other hand?"

"Well, no, there's not."

"Here, then, I get to do it again." I let him slip it on to the third finger of my right hand. Not exactly traditional, but I really wanted to wear it in the worst way.

"See, it works," he commented. "So like if I ask you again, you gonna say yes?"

"What do you think?" I giggled, hugging him hard.

"Okay, well, then like one more thing. It's really for both of us, but when I went to get your ring reset, I saw these, and I asked...open it up, already." It was another box, covered in black velvet, larger than the one my peridot had come in.

Inside was a pair of rings, two wide bands, in white gold, engraved in Hebrew lettering. I gasped. They were beautiful. I read the Hebrew inscription, first in Hebrew and then in English.

"I am my beloved..."

"My beloved is me," he finished. "I know we shoulda probably done it together, but they were so cool, and the jeweler, he was like this ancient guy from Russia, he knew the Hebrew, and when he told me, I had to buy 'em."

"These are...awesome. Wow. I mean, they're perfect, babe."

"So you don't mind that I didn't take you along to pick 'em out?"

"I think these are glorious, babe. I mean it." I looked at him in amazement. "You're actually going to wear yours? I mean, you're not much for jewelry."

"I suspect I could get used to it," he shrugged, smiling.

"The man can buy jewelry! He can stay!" Miranda pronounced, and we both laughed heartily. She examined the rings closely. "These are great, Mom." She looked up at Langly. "Good thing you've got taste in jewelry. Sort of makes up for all those lousy punk bands you listen to."

"They're not lousy!" He started up with her.

"They are like so lame. You listen to the cheesiest bands, you know."

"At least it's not that ska crap you're always listening to."

"C'mon, you even said you liked some of it!"

"Doesn't mean I like all of it."

"Well, I'd say you have no taste, but I can't, 'cause you picked my mom, and she's cool."

"Definitely. And very tasty." I raised my cast and threatened to slug him. She rolled her eyes.

"This is a Jewish holiday tradition in my family," I explained to Langly and Miranda as I searched through the games section in one of the bookcases.

"Well, since Jewish holidays are the only ones you have in your house, I'd guess so," Langly commented. "Whatcha looking for?"

"Never mind, here it is. Can you move some of this stuff?" I asked him.

"Which one do you want?"

"The Monopoly game, San Francisco Limited Edition."

"What's different about the San Fran version?"

"Just the street names. Like instead of Boardwalk, you put up hotels on Telegraph Hill to kill your competition."

Langly gave a wide, wicked grin. "Hope you ladies are feeling suicidal tonight, 'cause you're gonna die."
 

Several hours later, Miranda and I were nearly bankrupt, and Langly owned most of the property on the board, gleefully collecting rents from us and cleaning out our cash and our egos.

"I can't pay. I don't have enough," Miranda protested when she landed on Grant Avenue, where he had two houses and a hotel.

"Got anything else left to mortgage?" he asked.

"No, I don't." She was sulking. She was about to go out of the game, and she wasn't happy about it. "I think you cheat, Langly."

"I do not. I simply play intelligently," he defended himself.

"And you got lucky," she reminded him.

"Luck had nothing to do with it, 'Randa." He was feeling pretty powerful right now.

Next roll was mine. I ended up on Market Street, where he had a ton of property, and I, too, was bankrupt and out.

"Looks like we have a winner," Langly announced, gloating.

"Well, guess what, babe? Another tradition in my family is that winner picks up the game and puts it away."

"Hey, no fair," he objected.

"Plenty fair!" Miranda and I tossed the money, game pieces and cards up in the air.

He stared ruefully at the mess we were making. "Is this part of the tradition, too?"

"You bet."
 

It was almost midnight. I tucked Miranda in, and I sat on her bed and we talked for a short time. It had been a while since just the two of us sat in her room and talked about girl stuff, and it was nice to have that kind of togetherness again. On the other hand, I got an up-close-and-personal glance at the mess in her room. It was unbelievable. At least from the smell of it, though, there was nothing organic in there.

Back upstairs, Langly was flipping through channels, hitting on CNN, which was recounting the presidential woes, and he stopped surfing.

"I noticed he hasn't resigned," I commented. "I think your friend's intelligence was off."

"Don't think so," he said absently as he shook his head. "I think it's gonna be New Year's Eve. You know, new year, new millenium, new world order, that kind of shit. Besides, doing it too close to Christmas, you piss people off."

"They'd piss them off on New Year's Eve, too. Hell, most of us are pissed off at these jerks already. I'm not saying Clinton's a saint-I think Hillary should beat the crap out of him already-but I'm not happy about the witch hunt that's played out for almost two years now."

"I'm telling you, it's gonna happen."

"Did you all of a sudden become a prognosticator?" I asked skeptically.

"No. Just stuff we've been getting. I'm telling you, he's not gonna see the new year."

"It just seems like such a waste, that's all. By the way, Merry Christmas, babe."

"Oh, yeah. You too." He wrapped one of his long arms around me and held me next to him on the sofa. I settled against him and set my uninjured hand on his thigh.

"You having a good one?" I asked, leaning up to kiss him.

"Oh, yeah."

"Good. Me too."

"Yeah, I think it's the first Christmas since my grandma died that's been fun."

"Anything I could do to make it more fun?" I winked at him naughtily.

"What did you have in mind?"
 

We were both in the heavy, comatose sleep that follows an energetic coupling, and I think we were both dreaming when the phone rang. Finally, Langly came to and groggily picked up.

"Yeah?" he demanded sleepily, harshly. "Yeah, she's here. Just a minute." He turned on the light and handed me the phone. "For you. Emma."

"Emma? At this hour?" Not like Emma. She didn't make phone calls in the middle of the night, not even when her parents died. I took the phone in alarm.

"Emma? What's up?"

"Ally, I'm sorry to bother you at this hour, but I think it's really important."

""S'all right. What happened?"

"Lydia's here."

"You're shitting me."

"Nope. She's here, sleeping in my bed as we speak."

I covered the speaker with my hand. "Langly! Go pick up the extension!"

"Huh?" He'd just about fallen back asleep. "Wha-"

"Just do it, okay?"

"Okay, okay." He sulkily wandered to the other room. I hoped he could find the cordless; it had a habit of migrating.

I heard Langly come on. "Hiya, Emma. What's up?" He yawned as he spoke.

"Hi, Langly. I was telling Ally, Lydia's here."

"Say what?" He was still semiconscious.

"Lydia's with Emma," I clarified for him.

"No shit. When?" he asked.

"She rang the doorbell about an hour ago."

"How is she?" I asked anxiously.

"Not too good. She acted like she didn't even recognize me at first."

"Wow. Did she say how she got there?"

"I asked her. She didn't know. I got the impression she'd been asleep for a long time. She seems drugged. She might have been drugged out the whole time she was getting here."

"And she doesn't know where she was before?"

"No, she doesn't. She looks terrible."

"How so?"

"She's so thin-Lyddie's always been thin, but now she's like a corpse. No makeup, nothing. I mostly knew it was her because I recognized her tattoos."

"Em, did you call Seth?" I inquired.

"Yes, I did. He's coming out as soon as he can get a plane ticket, which, considering what date it is, is going to be difficult. I told Lyddie he was coming, and she just sort of stared at me like she barely knew what I was talking about."

"Did you let Ellen Sternberg know? She's the case manager at the FBI."

"I haven't called her yet. I figured I'd phone her in the morning. I know she's been working really hard on this. I understand you and she had the hangover to end all hangovers during Miranda's slumber party, Ally."

"And we totally enjoyed getting there," I laughed slightly.

"Did you call the San Fran office?" Langly asked her, yawning again.

"I did. They only have voice mail on, but I left them the message."

"You want me to come out?" I yawned into the phone.

"I have no idea what I want to do yet," Emma explained honestly. "I think she's going to need some medical attention and fast. I don't want to take her to the emergency room right now, though. I'd prefer to take her to my own internist on Thursday. I just wanted you to know that she was here, and to tell the truth, I needed to hear some friendly voices. This is just so surreal. I'm not even sure I believe that it's happening."

"Well, I'm glad you called us, Em," I assured her. And in spite of the hour-if I leaned close to the digital clock, I could tell it was 2:20 a.m.-I was grateful for her call.

"I'll call you later today. Merry Christmas, Langly."

"Same to you, Emma."

"I'll talk to you in a few hours," I told Emma. "Try to get some sleep. I know I'm going to."

That was not quite true. As I set the phone back into its cradle, I shuddered at the words that had been uttered to me less than a week before.

"Expect a Christmas present."

How that fucker knew, I had no idea, but I never really did fall asleep again.
 

Langly and Miranda slept in late, but I got out of bed at 5:45, having not been able to doze off for more than a few minutes. I wondered if I'd made a mistake in not telling Langly about my last two encounters with the smoking bastard.

I couldn't take a shower until Langly got up-my cast had to be wrapped and I needed help with my hair-but I could make coffee, and I imbibed in Starbucks Christmas Blend, which I'd always appreciated, despite my religious orientation.

I should have been jumping with triumph that Lydia had been returned. And I was immensely grateful that she was alive, if not exactly well. But I had this horrible squirming in the pit of my stomach which had nothing to do with coffee. She seemed, from what Emma had said, to have no idea where she'd been, how she got to Emma's in Sacramento, what had happened to her. It was unnerving.

And the smoking bastard's words came back to haunt me. Of course, it could have been a fluke. Lydia could simply have been let go in the spirit of the season and all...

Get real, Allison, I scolded myself. She wasn't taken by accident, and she's not back by accident, either. Start living in the real world. Quit acting like the spoiled Daddy's princess you always were...

Again, more words from the smoking bastard. To his credit, he didn't use the word 'spoiled' in his litany, but I inserted it without difficulty. Here I was, a spoiled, protected, overprivileged Jewish princess from the Bay Area, trying to make my way in a world I was having trouble comprehending, much less understanding. The bastard did hit it dead on there.

"The beloved only daughter of a dear friend..." I hoped my mother would send the photos soon. I needed to check them and see if by some chance, this creep turned up in any of them. I would like to have said that I was certain that he was lying, that there was no way he could be in any of them, but I wasn't certain of anything anymore. I was worried, panicked, exhausted, terrified and anguished at least half the time.

And the other half? I was ecstatic, energized, excited, eager, and joyful. It seemed as though any midrange life had had been lost in all of this. There were days where life just moved along-we'd go to work, come home, take care of things-but they were constantly punctuated with hideous misery or intense joy. And sometimes, they came all at once.

I still worried about Langly. We still didn't know what had clobbered him in the previous months. He was definitely better now, but by his own admission, hadn't gotten back to where he'd started from. It might have helped Dr. Ying figure out this little mystery had he been willing to face the needle now and then, but he'd been adamant about avoiding it, and I hadn't the energy nor inclination to bother him about it. I think the whole thing upset both of us more than we admitted-and we'd admitted to a lot. At least for us, anyway. For the time being, we'd chosen denial as a form of dealing, and as long as he stayed well, it would probably work.

Frohike's illness. Lydia's disappearance and now her return. Shelby's increasing dependence on us. Michael's entry into our lives. Event after event...I had to worry about the effect that it was having on my daughter, just because I am her mother, after all. From all indications, she was mainly irritated over her lack of privacy and space, which was understandable. I decided in my mind that if Michael was going to be around for a while, other arrangements for him were going to have to be made;
Miranda deserved some life for herself. And she'd been really adult with all the traumas going down. Her first quarter grades had come up significantly from last year; she had friends; she wasn't doing any illegal substances, at least not from what I could tell. Sometimes I didn't respect her strength and character enough. I'd have to make more of an effort to acknowledge that in her, and to let her know that I saw it. God, I thought, I'm not making New Year's resolutions? I never had before. Why eliminate a trend that's worked for so many years?

I must have fallen asleep at the table, because I found myself awakened by a hand laid on my shoulder and a voice that was getting more familiar all the time.

"Hey, you gonna sleep all day?"

"I might."

"Something wrong? You got up awful early on a holiday."

"Just couldn't sleep, that's all. I don't know why."

"D'you have a nightmare?"

"After a fashion, I suppose."

He eyed me quizzically, taking in my odd answer. "You wanna explain that one? I'm clueless here, girl."

I blinked and slipped my glasses back on my nose. "Not really, babe. Hey, it's Christmas. Let's enjoy."

He came and put his arm around me tenderly, but the voice was firm.

"If you got something you're not telling me, you'd better give."

"Langly, I'm not not telling you anything, really."

He looked hard into my face. "Ally, you wanna know something? You're a real lousy liar. Now talk to me." He sat down across from me, poured himself a cup, and doused it with his usual ton of milk and sugar. "I'm waiting," he caroled, but the tone was less than friendly.

"Langly, really, it's not a big deal. I think I was just shocked that Lydia was back, and that Em would call me in the middle of the night about it."

"I'm sorry, that's the wrong answer. Now give it up, Ally!" He was looking clear through me with those pale, crystalline eyes, and they were not going to back down.

"Why are you so convinced I'm not telling you something? I mean, don't extend your paranoia to me, Langly."

"I'm not, but I know you well enough to know when you're keeping for yourself."

"This is a really crummy way to spend Christmas."

"And it's gonna get a lot crummier if you don't tell me what the fuck is going on."

"Please, I'm not-"

"Ally, why the fuck do you look like you saw a goddamn ghost? And don't try to plead that 'I couldn't sleep' crap with me. I know what you look like when you don't sleep. God knows we've had enough of that that I should."

"You really want to know."

"Yes, I do. Now would be good."

I took a hard, deep breath. This was not going to go down well, no matter what I did at this point, but avoiding it was just going to make him treat me to the silent treatment.

"Do you remember that creepy guy we saw at Mulder and Dana's wedding-"

He looked terrified and furious in the same breath. "The smoking bastard."

"Yeah, him."

"How many times, Ally?"

"Twice...he's come around twice. Once in the parking structure at work. Once on the street near the house."

"He's been here?! And you didn't tell me?! Jesus fuck, Ally!" He shook his hair angrily.

"It's not like I invited him!"

"Ally, don't you get it? He's dangerous! He damn near got us killed one time, and he's been after Mulder since God knows when!"

"You know him, then."

"I know who he is, and I swear to God, he comes around here ever again, I will reconsider my position on firearms."

"Langly, did you hear me? The guy gives me the creeps! Not to mention that he hasn't grasped the concept of getting kissed before you get fucked."

That took him aback, and a smile curved on his mouth; he laughed a little, albeit harshly. He calmed down some.

"Ally, why didn't you tell me about this? That's what I wanna know."

"Because...okay, first time, Emma just got here, I was tired, I just got off work, you had only been home a few days. I just wanted...things to seem sort of normal. And I knew if I told you, you'd go ballistic."

"Lame. Let's see if you can do better with the next one."

"The next one...I was out going to Supercuts, just coming back-"

"That was just last week!" he nearly shrieked. "Fuck!"

"Look, do you want me to tell you this or not?" I demanded more sharply than I'd intended.

"I think you better."

"Langly, he's claiming he knows my father."

"Yeah, well, he probably knows lots of people. Being an asshole, you tend to get around."

"He seems to know some very specific information about my brothers and me."

"Like what?"

"Our names, middle names, dates of birth."

He snorted. "That's easy to come across. That's like the most basic, you don't even need to hack for that." He turned his back to me, a gesture I hated. "Do you remember seeing him ever?"

"No, not really. He says he mostly knew my family when I was at college. I asked my mother to send me some old photographs. I hope she gets them to me soon."

He stood on that one for a while, and you could see the thought process almost made visible.

"Ally, where are 'Randa's Bat Mitzvah pictures?"

"In our room. Why?"

"I'm gonna take a look at them."

"Go ahead."

"In the office."

"Just don't destroy them. It's Miranda's last real memory of being with her daddy."

"I'm not gonna hurt 'em. How drunk were you at her Bat Mitzvah?"

"Pretty damn. Why?"

"Thought so."

"Hey, you don't exactly avoid the sauce," I pointed out.

"This isn't an indictment of your tequila habit, Ally. I wanna find out if you had any party crashers."

"Oh."

"You remember any?"

"Can't say that I do. Doesn't mean they weren't there."

"Right. That's why I wanna take a look."
 

END OF PART 45