Laura wasn’t the kind of person who worried about crowds—being very tall has certain advantages—but when she eventually left Nina’s and stepped out onto the street, she was startled to see police cars parked at the intersections, and about forty-seven thousand people between her and the distant horizon. It was fully dark now, and dozens and dozens of kids carrying glow sticks and flashlights bumbled around at knee height while their parents tried to keep their heavily disguised offspring from wandering off. It was a lot, especially as many of them were wearing exactly the same disguise. All four-foot Elsas look very much the same, particularly from above. Laura took a deep breath and started to move steadily through the crowd, wanting to walk home in the cool, sparkling evening. She had lots to think about.

“Laura!” said a now-familiar voice, and Laura looked down to see Clare, still in her seagull hat. She appeared to be alone.

Laura crouched down so she could hear her. “Where’s your mom?”

“I don’t know,” said Clare, who looked green and worried. “She was right behind me and then she wasn’t.” Laura knew that look from years of babysitting; too much candy, sudden adrenaline spike, imminent collapse of small party.

Laura took Clare’s hands and looked her in the eye. “Hey, Clare, your mom is looking for you right now and she’s probably pretty close, so all we need to do is stand here and she’ll find us, right?”

Clare nodded. Around them rivers and tributaries of kids and parents and bags and costumes parted and reunited, but Laura held her space for Clare and waited until the little girl had regained her composure.

“You good?” asked Laura.

“Yes.” Clare nodded gratefully.

“I’m going to pick you up and put you on my shoulders, OK? Then you can see a really long way and everyone can see you. Was Edward with you?”

“No,” said Clare as she stood up and raised her arms to Laura. “He took the baby home. Bob was.”

Of course. Because she was wearing a monkey onesie with ears and Polly had insisted on coloring the end of her nose brown with eyeliner. Laura lifted Clare smoothly, turning the little girl and plopping her onto her shoulders. She barely weighed anything, and Laura held her knees and turned slowly around, a lighthouse in the center of a storm.

“Can you see Bob?” Laura asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “He was at your house earlier?”

“Yes,” said Clare, looking around. “With my aunty Rachel.”

“You said your aunty Rachel was married.”

“She is,” she said. And then: “There he is!” She giggled, clearly enormously relieved. “He has Annabel on his shoulders!” This was hilarious, obviously. Then Clare added, in the way children sometimes tell you things they simply overhear, “Aunty Rachel has an open marriage.”

Laura nearly sprained her neck looking up at Clare. “I beg your pardon?”