She dabbed at her nose with the tissue. She must quit sniffling every time she thought of Marty or Sean would never come home to dinner anymore.

The radio cackled. It was Lenny, Amity's other police officer, nominally the chief. "Sean, there's a big old piling drifting in the channel."

"Ten-four." Sean picked up the phone and dialed the Montauk Point Coast Guard. Amity owned, Ellen was sure, the last dial phones in America. He grimaced and covered the phone. "I hear a Christmas party, they'll love this." He reported the menace to navigation, listened, and sighed. "Well, as soon as you can, okay? Our fishing boats are coming in, and we're going to have fog tonight."

He hung up and shook his head. "Damn hooligan Navy. They claim they're all tied up." He moved to the window and looked out. "Probably are too. To the Montauk dock."

"You're not going?" Ellen murmured. "Let Lenny go." Damn! Why do I do this all the time? He's a grown man! "I mean," she finished lamely, "he's better with the boat."

"Mom," he warned, and then grinned. "Okay, if the coast guard doesn't show, I'll con Lenny into going."

She squeezed his hand and stepped back onto the street.

The mist was drifting in. The foghorn mourned from Amity Rock. The nameless dread returned.

She got into her car and drove home.

***

Sean pushed his chair away from the table and belched softly.

"Sean!" Ellen tried to sound outraged but couldn't: Marty had done the same thing.

Tiffany, brown eyes sparkling with wine and angel face shining, giggled. "How gross!"

God, Tiff even loved his belches! Ellen began to clear the table, a little jealous. She tried to remember if she had been so helplessly smitten when she was Tiffany's age. No, her love for Marty had dawned slowly.

Her passion for Hooper, back at the time of the first Troubles? No, for she'd taken Hooper in anger, at Marty's bullheaded dedication to the town and to the job. Sean was just as stubborn when he wanted to be.

Now he was sitting back, being male until they cleared the dishes. He eyed the naked tree and the familiar boxes of decorations, some as old as he.

"When we finish decorating, let's open some presents!" he said suddenly.

Ellen looked at Tiff. "You won't need to have a child," she said softly, "you're marrying one."

"I know." Tiff sighed. "No, Sean. You have to wait for Santa. And all you'll probably get will be a lump of coal."

Ellen and Tiffany finished the dishes, and the three of them began to decorate the tree.

***