She kept her eyes ahead, and he followed her lead. As twilight set in, he could see her reflection in the glass. She was still thinking about the conversation with her husband. He wondered what he was like-the man who had, at one time, captured the heart of Maggie O’Dell. He wondered if Greg was some intellectual snob. He bet the guy didn’t even watch football, let alone like the Packers.

“You never replaced it?”

“No. I think maybe subconsciously I realized all those things it was supposed to symbolize were gone long before it fell to the bottom of the river.”

“Uncle Nick,” Timmy interrupted, running into the room and jumping up into Nick’s arms, giving Nick little time to even turn around. Immediately, he felt the results of his chair nap. His back screamed at him to put the boy down, but he spiraled Timmy around, hugging him close while his little legs threatened to knock down the knickknacks scattered about.

“You guys!” Christine yelled from the doorway. Then to Maggie, “It’s like having two kids in the house.”

Nick set Timmy down and gritted his teeth into a smile as he straightened out and absorbed the pain that trailed all the way down his spine. Jesus, he hated these physical reminders that he was getting older.

“Maggie, this is my son, Timmy. Timmy, this is Special Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

“So you’re an FBI agent just like Agent Mulder and Agent Scully on The X-Files?”

“Except I don’t track aliens. Although some of the people I track down are pretty scary.”

Nick was always amazed at the effect children had on women. He wished he could bottle it. Maggie tucked her hair behind her ear, and she was smiling. Her eyes sparkled. Her entire face seemed to relax.

“I have some X-Files posters in my bedroom. Would you like to see them?”

“Timmy, we’re going to eat soon.”

“Do we have time?” Maggie asked Christine.

Timmy waited for his mom’s “sure.” Then he grabbed Maggie’s hand and led her down the hall.

Nick didn’t say anything until they were out of earshot. “It’s nice to see he’s learning from the master. Although I’ve never thought of using the old line, ”would you like to see my X-Files posters.“”

Christine rolled her eyes and threw a dish towel at him. “Come help. Oh, and bring me a glass of wine, too.”

Maggie hated to admit that she had never watched The X-Files. Her lifestyle allowed little time for television or movies. Timmy, however, seemed unconcerned. Once in his room, he anxiously showed off everything, from models of the Starship Enterprise to his collection of fossils. One, he said with certainty, was a dinosaur tooth.

The small room was wonderfully cluttered. A baseball mitt hung on the bedpost. A Jurassic Park bedspread covered lumps she guessed were matching pajamas. On a corner bookshelf, an old microscope propped up copies of King Arthur, Galaxy of the Stars and The Collector’s Encyclopedia of Baseball Cards. The walls were hidden, plastered with an odd assortment of posters including The X-Files, the Nebraska Cornhuskers, Star Trek, Jurassic Park and Batman. She took it all in, not as an observant FBI agent, but as a twelve year old robbed of this part of her childhood.

Then she remembered her conversation with Greg. The tension was hard to shrug off. He had now accused her of ignoring her own mother. She reminded him that she was the one with the degree in psychology. It didn’t matter. He was still angry with her for ruining their anniversary and carried that anger like some trophy he had won that he deserved. How did they ever get to this point?

Timmy grabbed her hand again and led her to the dresser. He pointed to the empty hull of a horseshoe crab.

“My grandpa brought this home for me from Florida. He and Grandma travel a lot. You can touch it if you want.”

She ran her finger over the smooth shell. She noticed a photo behind the crab. About two dozen boys in matching T-shirts and shorts lined the inside of a canoe and the dock behind it. She recognized the boy at the front of the canoe and leaned in for a closer view. Her pulse quickened. She lifted the photo, careful not to disturb the crab. The boy was Danny Alverez.

“What’s this photo, Timmy?”

“Oh, that’s church camp. My mom made me go. I thought it’d ruin my summer, but it was fun.”

“Isn’t this boy Danny Alverez?” She pointed, and Timmy took a closer look.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“So you knew him?”

“Not really. He was down in the Red Robin cabins. I was in the Goldenrod.”

“Didn’t he go to your church?” She examined the other faces.

“No, I think he went to school and church out by the air force base. Do you want to see my baseball card collection?” He was already digging through the drawers of his nightstand.

Maggie wanted to know more about church camp. “How many boys were there at camp?”

“I don’t know. Lots.” He set a wooden box on the bed and began taking out cards. “They come from all over, different churches around the county.”

“Is it just for boys?”

“No, there’s girls, too, but their camp’s on the other side of the lake. Somewhere in here I’ve got a rookie Darryl Strawberry.” He sorted through piles he had scattered on the bed.

There were two adults in the photo. One was Ray Howard, the janitor from St. Margaret’s. The other was a tall, handsome man with dark curly hair and a boyish face. Both he and Howard wore gray T-shirts with St. Margaret’s written across the front.

“Timmy, who’s this guy in the photo?”

“Oh, that’s Father Keller. He’s really cool. I’m one of his altar boys this year. Not many boys get to be his altar boy. He’s really choosy.”

“How is he choosy?” She made sure that she sounded only interested, not alarmed.

“I don’t know. Just by making sure they’re reliable and stuff. He treats us special, sort of like our reward for being good altar boys.”

“How does he treat you special?”

“He’s taking us camping this Thursday and Friday. And sometimes he plays football with us. Oh, and he trades baseball cards. Once I traded him a Bob Gibson for a Joe DiMaggio.”

She started to put the photo back. Another face caught her eye. This time she almost dropped the frame. Her heart began to pound. Up on the dock, partially hidden behind a bigger boy, peered the small, freckled face of Matthew Tanner.

“Timmy, do you mind if I borrow this photo for a few days? I promise I’ll get it back to you.”

“Okay. Do you carry a gun?”

“Yes, I do.” She kept the frantic tone from her voice. Carefully, she tugged the photo out of its frame, noticing a slight tremor in her fingers from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

“Are you wearing one now?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Can I see it?”

“Timmy,” Christine interrupted them. “It’s time for dinner. You need to wash up.” She held the door open and swatted him with a kitchen towel on his way out.

Maggie slipped the photo into her jacket pocket without Christine noticing.