Sam squinted at the bedside clock. 4:15 a.m. The alarm wasn’t going off. The phone wasn’t ringing. Why was she awake? A soft thump made her sit up. The noise had come from Chloe’s room. In two heartbeats she was out of bed and throwing open the door to her daughter’s bedroom. The bed was empty and all of the dresser drawers were open. Sam was on the verge of panic when the little girl poked her head around the edge of the open closet door and gave her a sheepish look.

"I didn’t mean to wake you up, yet."

"Chloe, what are you doing?" Relief was almost immediately replaced by bafflement.

"I can’t find my blue sweatshirt. It’s not anywhere."

"Chloe, why…?" It suddenly dawned on Sam what Chloe was doing up so early this morning rummaging through all of her clothes. John would be picking her up in about half an hour. The two of them were heading up to his cabin to go fishing this Fourth of July weekend. She was surprised that she had forgotten. Chloe had been looking forward to the trip all week, hounding her incessantly to make sure John remembered his promise. Sam sighed and pulled the missing sweatshirt off the top shelf of the closet. "Do you want me to fix you something to eat before he gets here?"

Chloe shook her head, although the gesture was somewhat disguised beneath the sweatshirt. "No," she answered when she found the neck hole. "We’ll stop and pick up egg-biscuits like we always do."

Sam smiled. By "always" Chloe meant "twice". This was the third time she had gone fishing with John and each time the child had been beside herself the entire week before and the whole week after the event. Chloe loved the cabin and the lake and, surprisingly, even the actual fishing. She had talked about the canoe for days and drawn numerous pictures of her adventures. Sam suspected that there was even a story or two in the works, but Chloe hadn’t finished them yet. As Chloe began searching for an extra pair of socks, "just in case", Sam went to put on a pot of coffee.

She was still working on her first cup when the elevator began to hum. He was early. The man can’t make it to work on time three days straight, she thought, but let him go fishing and he’s ready by four-thirty. Chloe heard the elevator, too, and hurried out of her room. She stopped when she saw Sam in the kitchen.

"You’re not dressed, yet."

"I’m going back to bed after you leave, sweetheart. It’s not even five o’clock."

"But…" Whatever Chloe had been preparing to say was interrupted by the arrival of the elevator. She ran to greet John as the door opened. He followed her back to the kitchen.

"Morning." He grinned at Sam’s bathrobe. "Nice outfit."

"Isn’t it a little early in the day for you to be so chipper?"

John laughed as he pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. "It’s a lot easier to look forward to a fishing trip than a murder scene. You are going to wear both shoes, aren’t you, Chlo?"

Chloe looked down at her feet and wiggled her toes. "I’ll be right back," she said. "I have to find my other shoe."

"You seem to be missing more than a shoe," John said to Sam as Chloe ran back to her room. "Got big plans for today?"

"Not one."

"Nothing?" He seemed surprised at her lack of ambition. His expression became thoughtful. " If you don’t have anything else to do, Sam," he said, "you ought to just come with us."

"I still have to take a shower."

He laughed. "It’s the lake, Sam. There won’t be anybody but me and Chloe and the fish."

"And the birds and the frogs," Chloe added as she limped in still carrying one shoe.

"And the mosquitoes," John’s grin widened.

"And dragonflies and spiders and turtles and…"

"I think she gets the idea. Go get dressed, Sam. We’ll wait."

"But, hurry," Chloe told her seriously. "We don’t want to miss the sunrise."

* * * * *

Sam sat in the passenger’s seat of her own Blazer wondering why on earth she had let John drive. Chloe had insisted that they take Denzel with them and John had refused to allow the animal anywhere near his own precious car. The Porsche was too small for all of them anyway, so it had been logical to take Sam’s APV. But why had she given him the keys? He drove everything as if he expected it to perform like his Porsche. The massive size difference between the two vehicles didn’t seem to bother him as he whipped through the pre-dawn Atlanta traffic. It always amazed Sam how many semi-trucks were on the road at this hour and John’s dubious driving skills made her more than a little nervous. True to Chloe’s expectations, he stopped at a McDonald’s just before they left the city. The traffic thinned considerably as they headed north and without meaning to Sam drifted back to sleep.

She woke again as her ears began popping. They had begun the ascent into the North Georgia mountains. She doubted that she had been asleep for very long. It really wasn’t that far from Atlanta to John’s lake house. She kept her eyes closed as the Blazer swung around the sharp curves of the road that rose into the foothills of the Appalachians. She really didn’t want to see how close they were to the edge. The combination of eggs for breakfast and John’s driving was making her queasy enough already. The peculiar duet she heard, however, was enough to distract her from her protesting stomach.

John and Chloe were laughingly singing along with a county song. Sam didn’t doubt that they were listening to the last Atlanta station with a signal strong enough to reach into the mountains, but even it was beginning to break up. The song faded completely into static as the truck rounded another turn in the road and Sam felt movement beside her.

"Can’t you pick up another station?" Chloe asked as the radio began skipping.

"Hey! Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a seatbelt?"

The movement shifted away from her and Sam heard Chloe’s resigned sigh.

"Yes, sir."

Sam opened her eyes at the sound of a seatbelt fastening.

"Are we almost there yet?" she asked.

"Almost," John replied. "Almost."

******

John unlocked the large wooden cabinet as Chloe hovered eagerly beside him. The cabinet was full of fishing tackle and boating gear. Chloe pulled out two life vests and handed one to her mother. Sam looked at the jacket with distaste. A permanent odor of mildew clung to it and it looked as though it had seen better days. Chloe’s bright orange, child-sized vest, however, appeared to be brand-new. Sam threw John a speculative glance. He shrugged.

"The ones I had were too big for her. It wouldn’t have done any good to make her wear it if it was as easy to fall out of the jacket as it was to fall out of the boat."

"So, you went and bought her a new one?"

"That’s the way they usually sell them."

Sam watched as he pulled on a musty vest that matched hers.

"What?" he asked defensively. "Everybody knows that the only reason guys don’t wear life jackets is because it doesn’t look cool." He grinned at them. "Since neither of you are very impressed with me, anyway, I might as well wear mine. No point risking drowning just to look good for the trout."

Sam shook her head. John’s line of reasoning never failed to amuse.

"Besides," he said more quietly as Chloe moved away, "I figured it would be easier to get Chloe to wear hers if I wore mine. It’s only fair."

For a bachelor with no kids of his own, Sam thought, he certainly has a good grasp of child psychology.

*****

"Here," John said as he handed Sam a can. "Put this on your hook."

She took the can warily. The mere thought of pulling a worm out of a slimy can made her queasy. She didn’t know how Chloe managed to do it. What had she been thinking to let them talk her into this, she wondered? She steeled her nerves. She was a Federal Agent. She saw worse every day. She could handle worms. She peeled the plastic wrap off and looked into the can.

"It’s corn!"

John and Chloe burst into laughter.

"What did you think, Sam? That we were using worms?"

"I... well..."

"Chloe decided the first time I brought her up that using worms was cruel and unusual punishment." He gave the child a grin then turned back to Sam. "You know most girls her age would have just said it was gross."

She watched as John threaded the corn onto both of their hooks then passed the can to Chloe. Sam waited expectantly to see what to do next.

John flipped his hook carelessly into the water and then to Sam’s surprise he turned completely around, rocking the rowboat slightly. He wedged his pole between the tackle box and the side of the boat. It didn’t look very secure. He stuck his feet under Chloe’s bench and leaned back against Sam’s. He tilted his head backward and closed his eyes. Chloe’s pole was nearly as unattended as John’s was. The girl sat in the bow of the boat and watched everything except her fishing rod.

"This is it?" Sam asked. "This is what you two do when you come fishing?"

John opened one eye. "Yep. This is fishing." He opened his other eye. "What were you expecting?"

"I don’t know. ‘Fishing’ is a verb. I thought that you would do something..."

"Look!" Chloe said in an excited whisper. "Is that a turtle?"

John sat up as he tried to see where she was pointing.

"Yeah, I think you’re right, Chlo."

"Do you see it, Mom? Can you see it?"

Sam smiled. Hearing the thrill in her daughter’s voice was enough to convince her that maybe this hadn’t been a mistake after all. They all watched the turtle paddle slowly away from them. When it was out of sight in the underbrush at the edge of the lake Chloe turned her attention elsewhere.

John leaned back against Sam’s bench again. He was really too tall to sprawl comfortably in the rowboat but he tried anyway. His squirming reminded Sam of the contortions he went through trying to fit into a commercial airline seat. She looked down at him and couldn’t resist running her fingers through his dark hair.

"You need a haircut," she told him.

"No," he responded without opening his eyes again.

"You’re going to end up looking like a vice cop."

"I dress much too nicely."

She laughed. His faded jeans were all but missing the knees and his tee-shirt was an indeterminate shade of what might once have been green.

"Today doesn’t count," he added defensively as if he knew what she was thinking. He finally opened his eyes and looked up at her. "And there’s nothing wrong with my hair."

"I didn’t say there was," she said as she pushed the hair off his forehead. "It just needs to be cut."

He frowned up at her thoughtfully for a moment. "No."

"Stubborn."

"Pushy."

"Shhh!" Chloe turned to stare at them both. "You’re going to scare the fish away."

Sam and John exchanged an amused glance as a quiet descended over the lake. Slowly Sam realized that she could distinguish the calls of waterfowl and forest songbirds. There was the sound of an outboard motor in the distance. Water lapped softly at the sides of the boat. There were worse ways to spend a day, she decided as she watched the brilliant colors of the sunrise streak across the sky.

*******

"I don’t do this part." Sam stood on the dock as John pulled the line of trout out of the water.

"Me, either," Chloe said. "I catch ‘em. You clean ‘em… and this time Mom can cook ‘em."

"Works for me," John said. "Hey, wait a minute. Are you saying that you don’t like the way I cook?"

Chloe laughed. "No. But watching Mom cook is always pretty funny."

"Chloe." Sam tried to look disapproving, but John’s laughter ruined the effect.

"Just try not to burn my cabin down, Sam," John said. He pulled a knife from the tackle box and picked up the first fish.

Chloe grimaced and turned to sprint up the hill toward the cabin. Denzel’s bark greeted her return. Sam sighed and picked up the child’s abandoned life jacket.

"I promise not to burn down your house," she said, "if you promise not to sever an artery down here."

"I’ll try. So, tell me, do you have any idea how to fry a fish?"

"How hard can it be?"

John groaned. "At least there are hot dogs in the freezer."

******

"Can’t we stay?" Chloe wheedled. "Please? To see the fireworks? Please?"

"Chloe, sweetheart, we can’t," Sam replied. "We have to get back…"

"But why? Angel won’t miss us. She’s in Florida with Alex. Denzel is here so we don’t have to go home and feed him. You don’t have to work. I’m on summer vacation. Why can’t we stay?"

Sam looked to John hoping that his objections would be more persuasive to Chloe than her mother’s were. His response was not what she had been expecting.

"I don’t have any problem with it," he said.

She glared at him. "We don’t have extra clothes."

"I do," Chloe said. "I always bring some just in case I fall in."

"We’ll improvise. Come on, Sam. What’s the harm?"

******

Sam sat huddled in one of John’s sweatshirts and marveled at how much cooler it was in the mountains than it was in Atlanta. Summer was stifling in the city, but here it was bearable. In fact, it was downright chilly tonight, she thought. Especially with the light breeze coming off the lake. She glanced over at her daughter. Chloe was wrapped in a blanket and cuddling with Denzel to keep warm.

The Fourth of July fireworks display was suppose to be at the far end of the lake. John had assured Chloe that they would be able to see most of it from the tiny dock. Sam looked up as a blanket settled around her shoulders. John sat down beside her on the wooden deck.

"Warm enough?" he asked.

"I’ll survive."

John wrapped his arms around his shins and hunched his shoulders. "Should have brought another blanket down," he said.

Sam tried not to laugh. "Is the word ‘subtle’ in your vocabulary anywhere?"

"I think I saw it on an evaluation once. It was right after the words ‘Agent Grant’s methods are not’."

She chuckled softly. "All right already. Come here."

"You’re a sucker, Sam."

"Probably." She shivered slightly as John pulled the blanket away and wrapped it around his own shoulders. She shivered again as he wrapped his arms around her. It wasn’t exactly a fair trade, she thought as she leaned back against him. But she could definitely live with it.

******

"Come on, Chlo. I think that’s it," John said.

"Not yet. There might be more."

"It’s over. Time for bed." He ignored her further protests and scooped her up, blanket and all.

"Nooo!" the child howled through her laughter. "Put me down!"

"John, don’t get her all wound up."

"She’s not wound up," he said as he hefted Chloe over his shoulder. Chloe’s giggles and squirming said otherwise.

"Help, Denzel! Help!"

The dog danced around John’s feet as they trudged back up the hill. Sam shook her head at their antics and followed wearily. She hadn’t done anything but sit in a rowboat all day and somehow she was exhausted. No wonder Chloe slept till noon when John brought her back from fishing, she thought.

******

Sam looked at herself in the mirror and laughed. She had traded John’s sweatshirt for the matching pants and put one of his button-down flannel shirts over it. Very attractive, she thought in amusement. I look like a refugee. Chloe had opted for one of his long-sleeved tee shirts and the half-empty arms flapped as she tried to find her hands.

"Here," Sam said, crouching to help. "Let’s roll those up."

"They’re okay," Chloe replied cheerfully.

"I think you’re finished then. Off to bed, Chlo."

Despite protests that she wasn’t really tired Chloe climbed into the guestroom bed that she and her mother were going to share. John had just finished putting fresh sheets on it. No one had used the room since Nathan used to come fishing with him, he had said. As he took his turn tucking Chloe in Sam headed back into the bathroom. When she emerged John was standing in the bedroom doorway, looking in at the sleeping child. Standing beside him Sam could feel a wistfulness rising within him.

"I always wanted to be a dad," he said softly. "Do everything right that my father did wrong."

Sam looked up at his face. His eyes were slightly unfocused as if he was seeing a different child in a distant past. She touched his arm gently but wasn’t sure that he even noticed.

"The more time I spend with Chloe," he said, "the more I wonder what the hell my old man was thinking when he looked at me."

He shook his head abruptly as if to clear it and closed the door quietly. Sam followed him back through the living room and out onto the porch. She stood indecisively as he slumped on the bench swing, evidently lost in old memories. Finally she moved to sit beside him.

"Go on," he said, "ask."

"I don’t want to pry, John…"

He flashed her a quick, weak grin. "I said you could ask."

She returned his half-hearted attempt at a smile with one of her own. She wasn’t certain that he was really ready to answer any of her questions. She wasn’t certain that she was ready to hear any of his answers. On the other hand, she didn’t know when the opportunity would come again…

"Wh… why did your mother decide to leave him?" She watched his eyes as he sat silently for a moment. He’s not ready, she thought. He’s still going to edit whatever he tells me. She could see him sorting the pieces of his childhood, trying to decide what to admit and what to leave out.

"I hated going home," he said at last. The words came slowly, each one carefully measured. "I tried out for just about every sport there was. A couple hours of practice a week meant a couple more hours I didn’t have to spend at home." He stared at his hands, although Sam doubted he saw them. "One day I was late coming back from practice. Basketball. I was thirteen." He glanced up at Sam and shrugged. "It wasn’t that late and it wasn’t a big deal. I was late a lot." He gave Sam another quick grin. "Yeah, I know. I still am. But I don’t think it was really about being late. I know he had to have been mad at somebody else. I was just the one who was there and I guess I made an easy target. When he was finished…"

He paused long enough to make Sam wonder if he had stopped for good. Memory made his eyes dark. Finally he picked up his story again.

"If it was anything less than a severed limb he didn’t see any point in taking me to a doctor. He said I was never going to grow up if my mother kept fussing over every little scratch. When he went out that night my mom put me in the car and drove to the train station. In two days we were in Omaha. We hadn’t even packed." He looked up at Sam. "I guess she finally saw the truth. He was going to keep at it until he either turned me into another carbon copy or broke my neck. So, we left…" He shrugged. "I haven’t seen my father in person since that night. I’d never even been back to Boston until that case a few months ago." He shook his head. "I just don’t understand. Never understood. I don’t know what he thought I was supposed to be, but I sure as hell was a disappointment to him."

"Probably," she agreed. He looked startled by her response. "But I bet your mom would be pretty proud of how you turned out." She paused briefly. When she continued her voice was even softer. "You’ve never disappointed the people who are important, John."

She put her hand on his arm again. This time he noticed and covered it with his own. She could almost feel what he was thinking. It was the same thing she had sensed when he looked at Chloe. He was a man who knew exactly what he wanted… and was convinced that he could never have it.

"So, where did the name ‘Grant’ come from?" she asked, trying to pull him onto a less loaded topic. "Your mother’s maiden name?"

"Oh, yeah," John laughed abruptly. "Now *that* would have been tough for my father to track. Of course not." He chuckled again. "We had seventy bucks when we got to Nebraska. It was either Jackson or Grant." He shrugged. "I didn’t want to be John Jackson, so we took Grant."

Sam stared at him for a long moment. "You’re named after a fifty dollar bill?" she said at last.

"Yep."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Are you being serious?"

"Why would I make up a story like that? Who would I tell it to?"