Federal Building lab, Manhattan, NY. January 07, 2005. Friday morning.

"Peter's birthday falls on a Tuesday," Jones said. "We considered saying it's his turn for Tuesday Tails, and having you lead him someplace for a team lunch."

Tuesday Tails was a weekly training exercise where a team member was selected to practice tailing Neal — or being tailed by Neal. It had increased the team's skills considerably over the year he'd worked at the FBI. "I like it," Neal said, "but Peter would notice everyone leaving early to get to the restaurant ahead of us."

"And he wouldn't have time," Diana added. "I saw his calendar when I sat beside him for the briefing and next week looked intense."

"We keep coming back to serving a cake during the morning briefing," Travis said. "We wanted to do something more interesting."

"A gathering in the evening?" Neal suggested. "Assuming El doesn't have other plans. She didn't mention anything in Hawaii."

"We should call her," Diana said.

"I don't know," Travis said. "A call from the Bureau during the workday? Most FBI spouses would assume it's bad news. I don't want to panic her. Maybe we should email."

"Who knows how long it will be before she checks her mail," Diana protested. "What if she doesn't get the message until tonight, and Peter happens to see it?"

Neal was about to volunteer to call or text Elizabeth, but a cell phone started to buzz. Travis reached for his phone and looked bemused at what the caller ID told him. "We were about to call you," he said, and a moment later added, "Jones, Diana, and Neal. We're trying to plan something for Peter's birthday but don't have any ideas. At least, none that haven't been shot down by the group as too boring." He listened again and smiled. "Hold on." He set down the phone and pressed one of the buttons. "You're on speaker," he said.

El outlined her plan and the group fell silent as they heard about the hardships facing the Shooting Stars family, but they smiled at the prospect of giving both the family and Peter a special day. Diana took notes, and Neal put his own spin on El's ideas. He couldn't help trying to make things a bit grander. Diana read out a list of tasks and who would take each. When they were in agreement, they ended the call.

Neal stood up, hoping to escape before Diana remembered the other reason they had gathered, but she grabbed him by an arm before he could make his getaway. "Not so fast. First we're going to update the case reports. Then you're going to find the pages that disappeared from my report while you were carrying the files for Peter, and you're going to tell him that it's all your fault."

"Let him know I conspired for us to meet?" Neal objected.

"Let him know you were playing a practical joke and that my record for perfect reports still stands."

"At least let me wait until after Peter's birthday to admit it."

Diana rolled her eyes, but accepted Neal's request.

Burke Townhouse, Brooklyn, NY. January 07, 2005. Friday evening.

Peter stepped into the townhouse to be greeted by an enthusiastic labrador. "Satchmo, sit." When the dog stopped jumping, Peter crouched down to scratch his ears.

"He missed us," El said.

"Is your sister still here?" Peter hadn't seen her car when he parked. Elizabeth's sister lived a couple of hours north of the city, and had volunteered to let Satchmo stay at her home so they wouldn't have to leave him at a kennel while they were in Hawaii.

"No, she wanted to beat the traffic home. She said hello and hopes we'll visit soon." El shared a story about Satchmo chasing squirrels and playing with her sister's kids.

"Sounds like he had a good time." Standing up, Peter removed his coat and sat on the sofa. Satchmo brought over toys, dropping them at Peter's feet. Taking the hint, Peter threw the items for the dog to chase after.

"I hope you aren't expecting a gourmet meal," El said, sitting beside her husband. "I'm exhausted. When I saw you parking I called out for a pizza."

"That's perfect. I can probably stay awake long enough to eat a pizza. This morning I thought jet lag wasn't going to be a problem, but by this afternoon I was struggling not to yawn in my meetings." He yawned now.

El yawned, too. "Same here. In the morning I worked on plans for the Shooting Stars family and went grocery shopping. I'd have taken a nap in the afternoon if my sister hadn't been on her way with Satchmo. Between catching up with her and taking Satch for a walk and giving him all the attention he thinks he needs, there wasn't a moment to rest until now."

Peter tossed a squeaky toy across the room. "I thought the Shooting Stars foundation sounded familiar when you mentioned it. I looked them up between meetings and confirmed I'd heard of them before."

El looked at him with dismay. "Tell me they're not being investigated. They do such important work."

"No, nothing like that." Peter kicked off his shoes. "They started up when I was in college, and by the time I was pitching in the minor leagues they'd gone national. The foundation arranged for a few families to come to our games, join batting practice, stuff like that." Satchmo carried over another of his toys — a thick rope — and Peter played tug-of-war with him.

Peter hoped his casual comment and the fact that she was tired would lead El to drop the subject, but when he let go of the rope and leaned back in the sofa, he realized she was gazing at him with that look she had, the one that meant she saw through him.

"I stayed away from the Shooting Stars families," he admitted. "They made me uncomfortable. I never knew if I should encourage the kids to open up about their fears, or if I was supposed to keep things light and avoid talking about the fact that one of their parents was dying." It seemed safe enough to admit. El knew he wasn't one for talking about emotions. She wouldn't be surprised to hear he'd been as awkward in his twenties as he was now.

"You're leaving something out," she said.

He willed the pizza to arrive to postpone this conversation, but Friday nights were busy for places that delivered food. "My fourteenth birthday. The one Mom wants to talk about."

"What happened?"

He'd never told this story to anyone and had avoided talking to his family about it. He gathered his thoughts, looking for the best way to explain the events and how they affected him. "My birthday's really the middle of the story. It started before that. Probably several months before, but I wasn't aware of it until late November. We spent Thanksgiving that year with my mom's parents."

El pulled a throw blanket around them, and it made him realize he'd been feeling chilled.

"Thanks, hon. When we got to my grandparents' house, I noticed the family behaving differently than in past years. Three of my cousins were more quiet than usual. They joined us outside for playing in the snow, but they weren't really paying attention. And then back in the house, there were a lot of whispered conversations among the adults. My mom's sister, the mother of those three cousins, didn't eat much, and she looked particularly frail."

"Oh," said El, in a voice that told Peter she knew where this was going. She'd met most of Peter's aunts and uncles, and none of them had been Betty's sister.

"That was the only year in my parents' marriage that they didn't spend Christmas together. Mom stayed home and took care of her sister, while Dad took me up to the cabin where we went skiing with his youngest brother's family."

El slid closer. A sniff told him she was trying not to cry.

"Those three cousins I mentioned, they lived half an hour from our house. You heard what Mom said at the airport about making sure my birthday wasn't eclipsed by Christmas and New Year's. There was always a party or event on my birthday, and those cousins always joined us. But that year... At the start of January, Mom asked if I'd mind having a smaller celebration, and she promised we'd make up for it with something extra special the next year."

"What did you say?"

"I agreed, and Dad and I planned a night of watching videos and eating popcorn and cake. At the video rental store, Dad took me aside and asked me to pick happy and upbeat stories. It was going to be just the three of us for my birthday, but my brother surprised me by showing up the night before. Joe tried to act happy and to keep me from noticing that Mom wasn't around. He took me out for lunch, and when we got back to the house Dad sat us down and said Mom's sister had passed away."

"I'm so sorry."

"Well, my cousins joined us after all. From what I gathered, their dad needed a little space to process his own grief, and Mom brought the kids over to our place to spend the night. They were in shock, I guess. I don't think they said more than a handful of words all evening. I remember we spread out around the TV and played a lot of movies. As soon as one ended, Dad or Joe had the next one lined up, well past my usual bedtime. I don't think any of us could have named a single one of the movies we'd seen if you'd asked us the next day."

El sniffed again.

"Later that year, Mom said the sky was the limit for my fifteenth birthday, so she wanted me to start thinking about it early to give us time to make plans. We could travel — even if it meant missing school. Or we could have a massive party at home. Well, I dreamed big for about a week. A professional hockey game in Canada was on the top of my list, but I was still considering my options when we went to my grandparents' place again for Thanksgiving."

"Were your cousins there?"

"Yeah. They were were sad heading into the first round of big holidays since my aunt had died, and Mom was subdued, too. She thought she owed me a big birthday celebration and was determined to follow through on her promise. But it didn't take a genius to figure out that the first anniversary of my aunt's death was going to be a downer for everyone. A party at home meant inviting my cousins. I'd realized over Thanksgiving I had no idea what to say to them, and they really just wanted to be left alone. Inviting them to a party... it seemed insensitive and awkward. Not inviting them didn't seem right, either."

"And traveling?"

"Professional hockey games are loud and crowded. The closer we got to my birthday, the more Mom was seeking out quiet and solitude. She went for a lot of long walks. I checked the calendar for the family cabin, and no one had it reserved the weekend nearest my birthday, so I said I that's where I wanted to go. It meant minimal effort on Mom's part, since the cabin's always well-stocked. And it meant I could avoid my cousins."

"Have I met them?" El asked.

"I think one of them came to our wedding. Do you remember meeting a Jennifer?"

El nodded.

"I avoided them for months after my fifteenth birthday. I didn't know what to say to them, and they clammed up around me, like maybe spending time with me reminded them of the day they lost their mom. We drifted apart, and over the summer they moved away. Their dad grew up in Vermont, and that's where they went. A part of me was glad to see them go, so I didn't have to talk to them about their mom and their grief. I felt like a coward."

"So you thought you didn't deserve big birthday celebrations after that?"

"No." Peter said it automatically, but then paused to think it through. "Well, maybe a little. Mostly I learned to appreciate a day of relaxation after all the frantic rushing around that happens from Thanksgiving through New Year's. The older I got, the more I was a participant in the preparation for holidays. Setting aside my birthday as a day with no expectations, no place I have to go, it felt like a gift." He shrugged. "And I don't really like parties. Sorry."

El chuckled. "I'd figured that out a while ago. I realized how ambivalent you were when it came to planning our wedding reception. And your eagerness to leave wasn't just because you wanted to start the honeymoon."

"It was mostly eagerness for the honeymoon, I swear. I thought I made that clear when we finally reached the hotel."

She blushed. "Yes." Before she could say more, the pizza arrived. When they were eating she asked, "Would you rather not take part in the conversation with the boy from the Shooting Stars family?"

Across the table from her, Peter swallowed and shook his head. "This morning I'd probably have looked for an excuse to get out of it. But now... I'm thinking of it as a chance to make up for avoiding my cousins. I'll follow his lead. If he wants to talk about the FBI, that what we'll do. If he wants to talk about his mom, I'll listen." Peter eyed the pizza. "You wanna split the last piece?"

"All yours."

He picked up the last slice. "You said there were two kids?"

"Mm-hmm. The younger one is a girl who loves music. I've enlisted Neal's help with her. He said he'll lead the family on an outing after their time with you."

"What about the mother? Isn't the day supposed to be about doing something she enjoys?"

"Mostly she wants her kids to have memories of her participating in the things they love. One thing she did ask for was Creole food. Stella — that's the mother's name — grew up in New Orleans, but her kids have never been there. She wants them to experience authentic Creole cuisine."

"In New York?"

"That was my reaction. Fortunately I mentioned it to Neal and he told me June is from New Orleans. Her chef knows several recipes that should work. He has a catering company and agreed to provide lunch Tuesday at cost. What he described sounds scrumptious. I'll definitely keep him in mind for future events."

Peter nodded. It crossed his mind that there must be more happening with the family on Tuesday. After all, El had mentioned having so much going on that he'd probably get home ahead of her. Maybe she was glossing over the details to avoid bringing back more memories of his aunt. Or maybe she was as tired as he was.

She yawned. "Do you think we could skip taking Satchmo for a walk?"

Satchmo scampered toward the front door and picked up his leash.

"I'm going to take that as a no," Peter said. He walked the dog while El dealt with the detritus of their meal. The night was clear, but in Brooklyn there was too much light to get a good look at the stars.

He thought he saw a streak across the sky out of the corner of his eye. Probably an airplane, he told himself, but he thought back to nights as a kid, watching the stars with his mom. She'd been a science teacher, and taught him both the science and the legends behind the night sky. They often stayed up late to watch meteor showers.

"Did you make a wish, Satchmo?"

The dog looked at him questioningly.

"I wish I'd had the confidence to talk to my cousins after their mom died. But I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to make retroactive wishes. Let's see. How about this? I wish to do better with the Shooting Stars kid than I did with my cousins. That should be easy enough. I don't think I need any fairy godmothers or magic to make that one come true."