"She's not here."

Nancy's heart stopped in her chest for a second. "Of course she's there," she retorted. "I put her on the plane this morning myself."

"Then she didn't get on the bus, or the train," Frank snapped back.

Nancy put a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes. She had seen her eldest daughter, Samantha, to the plane in the morning. She would have landed hours ago. She should be in Bayport with her father by now. But she had been moody lately, and while Nancy was startled by this news from her ex-husband, she couldn't say she was entirely surprised.

"She picked the worst damn time," Nancy muttered under her breath. The planes were already packed, everything was already packed, the day before Christmas Eve. "Look, I'll go to the airport and get put on standby. And if you find her, if she turns up, call me and let me know."

"Fine," Frank replied, and Nancy pulled out her extra-strength aspirin as soon as she hung up the phone. After a couple, a palmful of water, and a few deep breaths, she dialed her husband's number.

"I'll be home as soon as I can," he answered the phone.

Nancy was disoriented for a second. "That's good," she replied slowly. "Look, Frank just called me, and Samantha didn't make it to his house. I'm going to take a flight out there and track her down."

Ned was quiet for a minute. "You think she's in trouble?"

Nancy shrugged. She had pissed off a lot of dangerous people in her life, but none of them had been active of late. "Maybe she just got on the wrong bus," Nancy hedged in answer.

"And that's how likely?"

"Not very," she admitted. "I'll let you know once we've found her."

--

Sam's cell phone was ringing before it went to voicemail. Even though it wasn't the best sign in the world, it wasn't the worst. Nancy sighed and headed out into the busy terminal, the crowd pressing in hard around her. She found Frank near the baggage lockers, looking at something in his hands.

"Remember this?"

Nancy looked at the GPS in Frank's hands and frowned. "Yeah," she said shortly, hitching her purse up on her shoulder. "Her phone is ringing, so maybe we'll be able to find her that way."

The tracker led them to the short-term lockers, and when Nancy pressed her ear to the metal side, she could hear Sam's phone vibrating within when she called it. She sighed and snapped her phone shut again. "So she had enough presence of mind to put a couple quarters in a locker and ditch her cell," Nancy said.

"Which doesn't sound like she was under duress," Frank agreed. "What the hell is she doing?"

Nancy shrugged. "I guess we need to get someone to open this locker."

A quick search of the backpack inside yielded a couple of paperbacks and the cell. Nancy knew any kiosk on the street would have duffel bags Sam could have transferred her clothes into. Her wallet was missing, too.

Thinking of tracking down one of the kiosk owners huddled against the cold, Nancy headed out of the terminal. The taxi stand had cabs lined up down the block, and wave after wave of new arrivals swarmed out to fill them. On the back of a no-loitering sign, just behind an angrily whistling traffic cop, Nancy saw a fresh green tag. 1808. The shape of the eights was distinctive, the way Sam made them.

"You think maybe she took a cab?" Nancy asked, directing Frank's attention to the sign.

"She still would have gotten to the house already, and Callie would have called me," Frank replied. "Unless she didn't take it home."

"Start calling the cab dispatchers," she told him, pulling out her cell phone.

--

The fifth cab company they called was the right one. She and Frank spent an hour hunting for the driver, and when they found the place where the cab had dropped her off, there was no sign of Sam, save another green tag on a post office drop box. Nancy stared at it and sighed, her feet aching, her nerves already frayed from being this close to Frank. She was aware with every second that Ned would be more unhappy the longer this took. He loved Sam more than life itself, but he had never warmed to Sam's father.

"You don't think we have good enough luck that she would have used the same cab company?"

Frank pulled out his cell phone. "Why the hell would she do something like this?" he demanded, hitting redial. "Have you and Nedã"

Nancy gave a frustrated yell, glaring at him. "What is it with your damn paranoia?" she asked irritably. "When I put her on the plane I didn't say, 'Hey, you know what would be a great Christmas gift for your dad? If you led him on a wild goose chase all through New York City.'"

"What kind of resources does she have?" Frank hung up with the first cab company and dialed the second.

"She has an emergency credit card," Nancy admitted. "And we made her, so she's insanely smart."

Frank couldn't quite hide the smile on his face at that, even though he kept talking to the dispatcher. "Okay. I have an address."

They didn't talk during the second cab ride, not even to gripe at each other. The cab pulled up in front of a bright video arcade, and Nancy and Frank exchanged a glance before getting out. "See any new numbers?"

Nancy scanned lampposts, fire hydrants, bulletin boards. "No," she called back. "Maybe she's inside?"

They combed the entire place, checking every child who huddled in a hoodie in front of the machines, the bathrooms, until they met in front of a bank of pay phones. Frank leaned against one and idly poked his finger into the change return.

"You think maybe we should get the cops involved?"

"You know they won't do anything until she's been missing longer," Nancy sighed. "And she wants us to find her, otherwise she wouldn't be leaving clues."

"So where's this one? Why here?"

Nancy glanced around, frustrated. "I don't know. I don't know why she did this. Maybe if you had met her at the terminal instead of making her take a bus all the way to Bayportã"

"Oh, so now I'm the bad parent? I think it's obvious that if she was smart enough to lead us on like this, she was definitely smart enough to take the right bus."

Nancy took a deep breath and then saw green in the corner of her eye. A phone number with a local area code was scrawled on the inside of the middle phone booth.

"You think maybe," she asked, pointing to the number, "that's fresh enough to be from her?"

Frank pulled out his cell phone, shrugging. "Can't hurt to try," he replied, dialing it in. After two rings, Nancy watched Frank's face clear. "Hey," he answered. "Where are you? You had me worried... Yeah, your mom's with me... Yeah, hang on..." Frank started digging in his pocket, then found a pen. "Okay... And why couldn't you have just told me this four hours ago?... "

Frank, his face dark, hung up the phone. "So where is she?" Nancy demanded impatiently.

Frank turned his hand so she could see the address written on it. "She said if we didn't come together that we wouldn't see her," he said dryly. "This almost feels like another case, except there isn't ransom money or a kidnapping involved."

"Except that she kidnapped herself," Nancy replied, heading for the door. "Come on. I don't know how long you're going to ground her for this, but it goes double for me."

--

"We're looking for Samantha Hardy."

While Frank grilled the clerk, Nancy stepped back, taking in the front desk. The hotel was modest, pretty far off the beaten path, and families kept tramping in wearing snow boots, untangling scarves, weighed down with backpacks and suitcases. Nancy wandered over to the brochures, advertising rafting trips and hiking trails, off-Broadway shows and holiday concerts. Frank had his wallet out and was flashing Sam's most recent school picture. Even though Nancy sent them to him faithfully, she still hadn't been sure he even cared.

Why would Sam be holed up in some hotel in New York? She was barely a teenager... and then Nancy remembered how she had still been a teenager herself when she'd found out she was going to have Sam, but Sam would tell her, Sam wasn't going out with boys, Sam was far too young for this to be her way of telling them that she had some choices to make.

Nancy tossed back another dose of aspirin and sighed. Cole and Jessie were back at home with Ned, probably decorating their miniature Christmas tree in popcorn strings and paper chains, and she hadn't wanted to send Samantha to her father's house for the holiday anyway. But Frank had asked, and it was Sam's choice, and she had a baby half-sister to play with here. Nancy had just never expected her daughter to go entirely AWOL.

"She's in 12," Frank interrupted her thoughts, and in a daze Nancy followed her ex-husband out into the parking lot, down the sidewalk in front of the rooms. Frank knocked at the right one and waited, and Nancy peered at the peephole, waiting for her daughter to answer.

"It's just the two of you?"

"For now," Frank said, irritated, and Sam unfastened the chain and opened the door, still bundled into the thick ice-blue coat Nancy had seen her away in, the television on and blaring, one of the twin beds covered in the remains of a run on the vending machines. The expression in her blue eyes was a little wary, and her hair, a few shades darker than her mother's, was hanging loose over her shoulders.

"I was worried sick," Nancy said immediately, sweeping her daughter up into her arms. "Why did you do this? If you didn't want to go to your father's house, all you had to do was say so."

Sam pulled away from her mother's embrace after a moment and stood looking expectantly at her father, who patted her on the shoulder. "I didn't have time today to hunt all over New York for you," he said, but his expression had softened a little.

Sam tilted her head. "You guys were about half an hour later than I thought you would be," she said, then scratched her nose and bounced back onto the bed.

"Do you have everything packed? We're leaving," Frank said. Nancy just glanced at him, then back at her daughter, who showed no signs of obeying him. "Sam?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "I don't want to leave," she said, her voice small and tight, defensive. "Not right now. I want you to promise to do something for me."

Whatever understanding Frank had felt for his daughter, it was evaporating quickly. "What is it, honey," Nancy asked, mentally pleading for him not to snap.

Sam went over to her duffel bag and pulled out a folded piece of construction paper, the front decorated in blue-marker snowflakes. She handed it to her mother, who opened it.

I have one wish for Christmas, Nancy read. I want us to be a family again for a night.

Nancy sighed. Her heart was aching. "Baby..."

Sam took the card from her mother's unresisting hand, then gave it to her father, when Nancy herself made no move to do so. "Baby, we can't," Nancy said, shaking her head. "I have to get back home to Cole and Jessie, and Frank needs to take you home to Callie. We've talked about all this."

Sam nodded. "I know you don't love Dad," she said, and Nancy did not trust herself to look at Frank. "But I just thought that if you and Dad found me, if you were together like you used to be, that maybe you wouldn't be as mad at each other anymore."

"It doesn't work like that," Frank said, putting the card down on the desk. Sam came over to retrieve it, then sat back down on the bed, holding it against her, her expression mutinous. "We're not mad at each other."

"Yes you are," Sam insisted, then looked down. Nancy felt the certain horrible knowledge rise in her and before she could open her mouth to somehow stop it, Sam went on, "I know what you called Mommy."

Frank shook his head. "Sam, I'm going to call a cab, and if you're not in it in five minutesã"

"So it's going to be like this forever?"

"Yeah," Nancy said, before she could stop herself, feeling incredibly tired, beaten down. "It's going to be like this. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry we can't be what you want us to be."

"You could," Sam said, her voice small. "If you wanted to."

"It's not that," Frank said.

Sam bunched the comforter in her fists, then replied, "Have dinner. And we can have a sleepover. And in the morning I promise I'll go with Dad and there won't be a problem and..." she looked like she was on the verge of tears, her pale face flushing, "and I won't ever talk about it again."

--

After intense discussion with the both of them, Frank left to get a rental car, and Nancy went out of the room, keeping an eye on the door the entire time just in case, to call her husband.

"Is she all right?"

"She's fine," Nancy said, dread thick in her stomach. "But she wants me to stay with her tonight. I'll come back as soon as I can, in the morning."

"Why? What's going on?" Nancy could hear Jessie talking happily to herself in the background, could imagine Ned bouncing his daughter on his knee. "If she's not okay then why doesn't she just come back with you tonight?"

Nancy sighed. "Because she's gotten it in her head that she wants us to have a nice family dinner," she replied unhappily.

Ned was quiet for a minute. "You mean with Frank?"

"Yes, with Frank."

"At his house?"

"We're... on the outskirts of the city, so no, not at his house. We'll probably get some dinner at a restaurant, and I'll get a room for the night and start early," Nancy said, crossing her fingers behind her back. Sam opened the door to the room and waved at her, as Nancy paced in the snow, the tips of her hair going damp with each new dusting of snowflakes.

"We'll talk about this when you get back," Ned said finally.

"Don't forget to give Jessie a bath before she goes to bed," Nancy said. "And don't let Cole stay up too late."

Ned lowered his voice. "I love you," he said softly. "You know that."

"I know," she replied. "And I love you too. We'll talk about all this, I promise. I'll see you in the morning."

At dinner they interacted individually with their daughter, and Nancy let Frank take the conversation, but Sam said the most. Nancy and Frank disagreed on whether to order dessert, but Nancy won, and ended up splitting a piece of peanut butter pie with her daughter. They exchanged polite inquiries on how each other's entrees were. The rest of the customers were exhausted, exuberant; groups of friends, legions of elderly couples, sat around tables, exchanging gifts, laughing with each other. She and Frank had been married for years. She felt as awkward and uncomfortable as a first date.

Nancy hadn't packed any extra clothes, so she and Frank and Sam went into a large warehouse store for pajamas and something simple to wear on the flight home, toothbrushes and travel-sized shampoos. Sam with her bright smile held their hands and walked between them, although Nancy shooed Sam off with Frank to electronics while she picked out lingerie and toiletries. She almost picked up a lacy black number Ned would have approved of, but put it back. They had plenty of time for that later.

"You know we're not sleeping in the same bed, right?" Nancy asked Sam, as they stood in front of the store in the cold, waiting for Frank to pull the car around.

"I know," Sam said, and giggled. "Daddy sure wouldn't like that."

"Daddy wouldn't," Nancy agreed, thinking of Ned. "Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you do this?"

Sam blinked up at her. "Because I feel bad when I come see Dad," she said. "Because I feel bad when I come home. I feel bad that you and Dad aren't married anymore, I feel bad that you were only married because of me, I feel bad that I love Ned because Dad hates him so much. I just feel bad all the time." She shrugged. "Me and Tara watched the Parent Trap last weekend."

"Ahh," Nancy chuckled. "But you know things aren't going to be like that."

"I know." Sam drew a line in the slush with the tip of her shoe.

"This has been really hard, hasn't it."

Sam nodded, her hair falling in her face. "I couldn't say anything," she mumbled.

"Well, next time, come to me anyway," Nancy said. "Instead of making me and Frank worried to death that you'd been kidnapped or hurt."

Sam nodded solemnly. "Was it good though?"

Nancy squeezed Sam's hand. "It was very good," she admitted. "You're too darn smart, young lady."

They watched Christmas specials with the lights off once they got back to the room. Callie called once and Frank went outside to talk to her, and when he came back he was quieter than usual. Sam snuggled in close to Nancy's side, and Nancy smiled at her daughter.

"There was a time when I wanted this too," Frank said quietly, once Sam was asleep, and Nancy kept staring at the nearly muted television, not trusting herself to look at him. "I thought we could be like this."

Nancy pulled the covers up higher over her and Sam. "I want her to be happy," she said. "I forgot about that. And I know I didn't handle things there at the end very well, but it's been easier to keep you at arm's length than deal with any of it, and I didn't realize how bad it was for her."

"You should've come to me sooner."

"We both should have done a thousand things differently," Nancy shot back, without heat. "Let's not start on that. I know she reminds you of me, and I know our relationship isn't what it should be, but you need to stop taking it out on her."

"Like she doesn't know how you and Ned feel about me."

"I'll talk to him," Nancy sighed. "But if you're mad at me, come to me, not her."

"What exactly do you think has been going on?"

Sam turned over, facing away from them, and Nancy watched her for a second, waiting for any sign she was aware. "I think we've been acting like children who had our feelings hurt, which is stupid, because you're happily married and I'm happily married and things are confusing enough for Sam without her having to figure out how to reconcile us."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You called me a bitch whore," Nancy said tiredly. "And she heard you."

Frank was quiet for a long moment, and she had never doubted Sam's veracity, but for the space of that moment she hated him for what he had done. "You hurt me."

"I hurt you," Nancy repeated. "Not her. She never asked for any of this. And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I'd say it a thousand times if it'd make it any better, and I wish I could change the circumstances of all this, but we're here now."

Frank nodded. "So what, we're supposed to be best friends now?"

"I don't think that's very realistic," she snapped. "If you could just be civil to me, that would be nice."

"And your husband?"

"That ship has sailed," Nancy sighed. "Sorry."

Frank reached for the remote and snapped off the television, leaving the three of them in the dark. "Okay," he murmured. "And... I'm sorry. That I said that."

"I'm sorry I made you feel that way about me." Nancy closed her eyes. "For what it's worth, Frank, I don't hate you. I understand how hard this is."

"I don't hate you," Frank murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "I just feel like I never really was able to say goodbye to you."

"And now you never will," she murmured. "Goodnight."

He sighed. "Goodnight."