'Tis the Season by Judith Arnold Page B

before they got caught. “Really, it’s okay. You should go back to your house and light your candles, okay? I mean—”
    At that instant, the sliding door shot open and his father came charging out, looking half-insane, his eyes flashing and his hair a mess. “Oh, my God! Are they okay? What happened? Are my kids okay?” He froze afew steps from the lady, his breath puffing in the cold air and his panic slowly fading, replaced by a frown as his gaze shifted from Billy—who was obviously just fine—to Gracie, snuggling up against Filomena, to Filomena herself.
    His frown deepening, he asked, “What the hell is going on?”

CHAPTER FOUR
    H E WASN ’ T SURE what had prompted him to leave the game and check on the kids. Maybe it was that the lack of noise upstairs had seemed unnatural. Maybe it was that when he’d stood at the foot of the stairs, he’d felt a chilly draft blowing down from Billy’s room. Maybe it was that Gracie’s door had been standing wide-open. When he’d tucked her in fifteen minutes ago, he’d left her door open just a crack, the way she liked it.
    â€œHey, Evan, are you in?” Murphy called to him from the kitchen.
    â€œNot this hand,” Evan shouted over his shoulder, already halfway up the stairs. He barged into Billy’s room and saw the window up, the screen unhooked from its frame. Leaning out, he saw no sign of Billy.
    He abandoned Billy’s room for Gracie’s. Her blanket was rumpled, her night-light on, her favorite stuffed animal—Pokey the elephant—propped on her pillow. She was gone.
    Exerting superhuman self-control, he refrained from screaming, cursing or punching a hole through the wall. Inhaling and exhaling in an even tempo—this took some effort—he left Gracie’s room. From the kitchen rose the sound of laughter. Apparently Tom had attempted to bluff his way through the hand, and the others were ribbing him about it. It amazed Evan that Tom could be aprivate investigator, a profession that presumably required a flair for bluffing, but he couldn’t bluff his way through a hand of five-card draw.
    Evan’s friends seemed a universe apart from him, their laughter an incomprehensible language. He staggered down the stairs, searched the family room, crossed to the glass slider, turned on the patio lights and surveyed the backyard. Empty. No children. No children .
    â€œEvan?” Levi called from the kitchen. “Are you going to join us?”
    â€œMy children are gone,” he shouted—only, the words emerged as barely a whisper.
    â€œWhat?” Levi appeared in the doorway, tall and craggy and bemused. “Something’s wrong with your kids?”
    â€œThey’re gone.” Evan stood in the middle of the family room, his heart pounding so fiercely that he was surprised his sweater wasn’t fluttering with each beat. “They climbed through Billy’s window and ran away.”
    Murphy pushed past Levi and joined Evan in the family room. “Your kids ran away? You’re joking, aren’t you.”
    Evan shook his head.
    â€œShould we call the police? When my kids got in trouble—”
    â€œForget the police,” Levi broke in, gesturing toward the windows overlooking the backyard. “I think Evan’s kids changed their minds about running away.”
    Evan spun around and saw Billy coming across the dead grass, followed by an unfamiliar woman carrying Gracie and shining a flashlight. Billy was leading the way.
    Evan absorbed the scene, then shoved open the sliderand hurled himself outside, wanting to weep, wanting to throttle the kids, wanting to sink to his knees and thank God for bringing them back safe, and then ask God to wreak vengeance on their miserable little souls for having come so close to giving him a heart attack.
    He stared at them. Billy met his gaze for less than a second, then glanced away. Wrapped in a