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shattered into a million tiny pieces, then bursting into tears.

He’d wanted to hug her, wipe her tears away, buy her a hundred more dolls, the right kind this time. But he knew if he got too close, that would probably make her cry even harder. And then, too, there was Val, always looking over his shoulder, feeling sorry for him probably. Poor, pathetic Rudy, who couldn’t even scare up a date for Saturday night, much less ever hope for a wife and kids of his own.

So he’d just let her cry. And after that, he’d held back … watching her from a safe distance …

And now everything had changed.

Rudy, remembering Val’s frantic call several months ago, his brother babbling something about “the little bitch” clobbering him, felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Even while calming Val down, and taking him to Emergency for stitches, Rudy had felt a slow rage building inside him. He had known that this was Val’s fault somehow. The self-centered prick. From day one, he’d never cared about those girls, not even Laurel, his own daughter. And though Val insisted he hadn’t done anything to make Annie fly off the handle, Rudy suspected he had-and that it must have been bad, real bad, to make a pampered teenaged girl run off in the middle of the night to God knows where, and take her little sister with her.

Now, staring out at the antique shops and clothing boutiques whipping past, Rudy thought, He doesn’t deserve Laurel.

If he could somehow track down his niece, things would be different. Never mind about Annie-with her fierce eyes and sharp gestures, she’d always made him want to keep his disfence. No, that one could do as she pleased. Sweet Laurel was all he cared about. And if he found her, he’d figure out* way of keeping her to himself, away from Val and his money-grubbing.

But what about Laurel? Will she be glad to see me? Or will she look at me with those big eyes like I’m some kind of monster?

They were practically stalled now, the cab lurching

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its way through the heavy traffic cramming Madison Avenue-horns bleating, drivers yelling out their windows, the hiss of hydraulic brakes. But Rudy was far away from it all, remembering something that had happened in high school, eons ago, yet was etched in his mind like initials carved into a table.

Marlene Kirkland. Pretty, blond, popular. How could he ever have thought he had a chance with her? Marlene, who always seemed to have half a dozen guys hanging around her locker-guys with crewcuts and suede bucks and letter sweaters. Marlene, who wore a tiny gold chain about her lovely ankle, and whose charm bracelet, jingling softly in the quiet of a classroom, could bring a lump to your throat.

And yet somehow, with Val prodding him, and even coaching him on what to say, Rudy had gotten up the nerve to ask Marlene to the junior prom. Scared shitless, he’d pretended to be cool, even tough, swaggering over to Marlene’s table in the cafeteria, all five feet four inches of him quaking in his Cuban heels.

“I hear you ain’t got a date for the prom,” he’d blurted, forgetting all the suave lines Val had taught him. “So how’s about going with me?”

Rudy would never forget the shock on Marlene’s pretty cheerleader’s face. Her girlfriends, clustered around her, began to giggle. Rudy had felt his face begin to burn, a scorching heat spreading up to the roots of his Brylcreemed pompadour. He watched her cast a sharp look at Val, standing nearby, and then her eyes narrowed, and Rudy realized-too late to save himself-that she must think this was some kind of joke.

Marlene, looking straight at Rudy, had said, “I’d rather eat dogshit.”

Each word, even in memory, was like a hole punched through his heart.

Had Val set him up? Rudy would never know, not for sure.

But one thing he was damn certain of was that he didn’t ever want to see that kind of scorn in Laurel’s eyes.

Rudy felt the cab jerk to a stop. Madison and

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Seventy-second-Dolly’s shop was just down the block. He paid the driver and got out, hunching his shoulders against the light rain spattering his face and coat. Though it was midafternoon, the street looked gloomy as a cave. He’d forgotten how dark the city got when it was overcast, all those tall buildings blocking the light, making him feel like a bug in a jar. Passing the fancy shops stuffed with expensive dresses, hats, antiques, jewelry, he wondered briefly if he was wasting his time. If this wasn’t just one more wild-goose chase, like in L.A., when for two whole days he’d helped Val look for the girls.

Finally, between a swank jeweler and a tweedy men’s clothing store, he spotted Girod’s. Its sign hung outside in fancy gold script against a hunter-green background. There was a window box, of all things, but no flowers, nothing but a clump of dirty snow left over from the last storm. A miniature Christmas tree lit with tiny white lights and tied with gilt-wrapped bonbons twinkled in the front window. It reminded him, perversely, of the Christmas he’d have waiting for him back home-alone, sleeping off the too-many whiskey sours he’d have drunk at the office Christmas party the night before.

Rudy’s heart twisted in his chest. Why should Val have everything, and he have nothing? Val, so obsessed with himself and with money, he didn’t even realize he’d let the greatest treasure of all slip between his fingers.

If Laurel were my daughter, he told himself, everything would be different.

But, dammit, he was getting ahead of himself. First, he’d have to see if Dolly knew anything. Right now, everything depended on her. Was she telling Val the truth? Or was it just Val’s paranoia making him suspicious?

And what if she did know something? She sure as hell wouldn’t come right out and tell him her secret. In her mind, no doubt, that’d be the same as telling Val.

Well, if she was lying, he’d see right through her. One thing he was good at was reading people. When a client wasn’t being straight with him, he could tell just by his expression. Like when Roberta Silver swore to him she’d been faithful during her marriage, absolutely

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one hundred percent, he’d believed her like he believed in the tooth fairy.

Yeah, he’d know. And then he’d have Dolly tailed, and sooner or later she’d lead him to Laurel.

Feeling cheered again, Rudy pushed his way in through the bevelled-glass door.

Laurel peered through the slit where the stage curtain met the wall. From where she stood, at a darkened end of the stage, she could see the whole auditorium. Every folding chair looked filled, and people were hovering in the back, leaning against the walls.

She scanned row after row, but Annie and Aunt Dolly still hadn’t arrived. Where could they be? It was almost six-thirty, and the play was half over! Could something have happened to them? On the news yesterday, she’d heard about this horrible car wreck on Ocean Parkway, six people killed. Could they be hurt, lying by the side of the road, bleeding, or-No. That was too horrible. She’d better stop right now. She was making herself sick. Her stomach felt jiggly as a bowl of Jell-O. What if she got so sick she had to throw up?

“Group four,” she heard Miss Rodriguez whisper. “Kitty, Laurel, Jesus … you’re on next. Line up over there when I give the signal.”

Laurel looked around at her red-cheeked teacher, who was herding everybody together. Reluctantly, Laurel joined the others, edging in next to Jesus.

“Phutt! Phuuuuut!” Jesus had a hand tucked under one armpit, and was pumping his elbow, making it sound as if he were farting.

Laurel felt like jabbing him with her papier-mโche scepter, but she didn’t dare. Yesterday, during Spelling

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Bee, on his first turn, he got “constitution” wrong, and when she won, he’d tried to trip her on her way back to her seat. The day before, he stole her milk money and threatened to beat the crap out of her if she told.

The teacher scowled in their direction and pointed her finger at Jesus. “Can it, Jesus. If I need sound effects, I’ll call on you.”

Miss Rodriguez, with her thick body and long face, her big soft eyes that bugged out a little, reminded Laurel of a pony. But she could be really nice. Laurel remembered her first day, she’d been so scared, she threw up on the bathroom floor. And Miss R. kept everyone out until it’d been cleaned up, so the other kids wouldn’t tease her.

“I want each and every one of you,” Miss Rodriguez went on in a low, I-mean-business voice, “to remember that your mothers and fathers are sitting out there right now, and they’re expecting you to try your very best. And I know you’ll want to make them as proud of you as I am …”

While Miss Rodriguez was giving her pep talk, Laurel slipped over to peek through the curtain again.

Nothing but a blurry sea of faces. In the semidarkness, they seemed to float like bubbles, bobbing and dipping. Then Laurel could make out separate people, mothers with babies squirming on their laps, fathers still in their work clothes, old-country grandmas in black dresses and kerchiefs. But no Annie. And no brightly clothed Aunt Dolly, either.

She began to feel really scared, a hot, fluttery feeling, as if something inside her was pushing to get out, beating against her ribs.

What if something did happen? What if they got hurt? Or what if Vallfound Annie and … and this time Annie couldn’t get aviay?

Then she remembered Uncle Rudy, how he always used to look at her, almost as if he wanted to gobble her up. Laurel shivered. Could Uncle Rudy be looking for her, too?

The thought was so awful, she began to feel dizzy,

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her head seeming to float up like a balloon attached to a string.

“My ma ain’t here.” Jesus spoke softly behind her, causing Laurel to whirl about. “She home.”

“Well, maybe she’s just late,” Miss Rodriguez offered, then turned to hiss, “Laurel, what are you doing over there? Take your place.”

Laurel turned away from the curtain, her eyes swimming. She felt miserable. The thought of Jesus making fun of her was the only thing that kept her from crying.

“Nah, she’s a-sleepin’,” Jesus replied with elaborate nonchalance. “She tole me not to bother her.”

“That’s cause she knows you’re gonna ‘barrass her,” Rupa Bahdreesh whispered loudly. She poked Jesus with her crutch. Rupa was playing the part of Tiny Tim; she wore a baggy blouse and knee pants, her long dark braids stuffed under a knitted cap.

“Hush now, all of you!” Miss Rodriguez clapped her hands softly. “Pedro, straighten your crown. It’s practically falling off.”

“Ah, Miss R. … it don’t look cool that way.”

“Spirits aren’t supposed to look cool, Pedro. You’re Christmas Past, not Elvis Presley. And it’s ‘doesn’t,’ not ‘don’t.’ “

Looking past the folding screen that separated her group from the brightly lit stage, Laurel could see Andy McAllister, who was playing Scrooge, dressed in a nightshirt and striped cap, swaggering about the stage just like he did around the schoolyard during recess.

“Yaw nuttin’ but a blob a gravy! A … a … dab a muhstaaad!” he bellowed in his nasal Brooklyn voice, making Laurel want to giggle suddenly in spite of herself.

She bit her lip. It’d be her turn to go on in just a minute.

Laurel was the Spirit of Christmas Present. She was wearing a red chenille robe that was so long it dragged on the ground, and a crown made out of plastic holly leaves. She had to speak sixteen whole lines. But if she was thinking about her sister and her aunt the whole time, how would she be able to remember them?

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And the set-she’d worked so hard on it! It had been her idea to make Scrooge’s door knocker-a lion’s head with a ring through its mouth-out of tinfoil, which she’d glued onto a refrigerator carton (donated by Marta Saucedo’s father, who worked in a furniture store) painted to look like a door. For the Spirit of Christmas Present’s cornucopia, she’d collected a bunch of apples, oranges, grapes, even a pumpkin, sprayed them with gold paint, and heaped them in the enormous glass punch bowl the school used on Open House Night. And the costumes, too-Scrooge’s tall black hat she’d borrowed from Mr. Gruberman, and Belle’s dress she’d made from a flouncy slip Chava had helped her dye pink.

Laurel remembered when Miss Rodriguez had first suggested that she design the set, how unsure she’d felt. But Miss R. liked her art-class drawings, and had assured her she’d be good at it. Now Laurel had to admit her teacher had been right. And she’d been so excited, thinking how surprised Annie would be when she got here and saw what a great job she’d done.

But Annie wasn’t here.

And she wouldn’t, couldn’t, have forgotten something this important, unless …

Something had to be wrong, Laurel was sure of it.

She felt a dull coldness in the pit of her stomach, like when she ate ice cream too fast.

“Who was you lookin’ for, Beanie?” a sly voice whispered in her ear. Jesus-ugh! The first day of school, he’d named her “String Bean,” then shortened it to “Beanie.” “The Prez-i-dent maybe?”

“N-nobody,” Laurel stammered, feeling her cheeks flood with heat. She hated Jesus. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? *

He pressed closer. He smelled a little sour, like he hadn’t taken a bath in a while. “Your mother ain’t coming neither, huh?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. For once, he sounded almost … well, nice.

“My mother’s dead.” Laurel was somehow shocked into admitting the truth.

“Yeah, so’s mine. She always tellin’ me that, so me

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and my brother’ll leave her alone. She tired all the time.”

“Why’s that?”

“Workin’. Sal’s Pizza in the daytime, and after that she do the cleanin’ up at Sunnyview-you know, on Coney Island Avenue where all them old people sit around like mummies? It’s ‘cause my father’s a son of a bitch.”

“What’s he got to do with it?”

Jesus’ dark eyes flashed with scorn. “For someone who ain’t got a mami or a popi, you sure don’t know shit, Beanie.”