Last year….  Ah, last year they’d had a great time.  This year, all their plans had been totally screwed over by a double murder in the subway, with all the headlines you’d expect, press clamouring at the precinct, and calls from the mayor.  Stonetree’s reaction had been inevitable:  until Knight and Schanke cleared the case, their scheduled days off would have to be banked.  Myra (who’d been expecting her husband to join them at the cottage) had, by his report, been quietly furious—or maybe not so quietly furious.  Nick had simply apologized in the semi-privacy of her office, with a corpse on the table and the phone ringing halfway through.
She’d held off till the last possible moment, hoping they’d get a lead and make an arrest.  Now, though, it was Labour Day; and no more waiting was possible.
Going to the Ex was an end-of-summer ritual.  Had been, ever since she was a kid.  Dad would take a day off sometime mid-week when the crowds were less; and they’d pile in the car as early as they could get up in the morning, and drive the 401 into the city.  He would park wherever he could find a space, which would always be way off from the gates, so that they would damn near have to hike to the grounds.  And then they’d spend the whole of the rest of the day—and way into the evening—trying to win souvenirs at every booth, taking every scary ride, and eating lunch by stuffing themselves with assorted freebies at the Food Court.  Sometime midafternoon, Mum would offer a choice of a candy apple or candy floss, and Natalie would say she was thirsty and be told, “You can have pop instead if you want; but you can only choose one thing.”  Dying under the scorching sun, she’d have to decide to be sensible, while Richie picked candy floss.  Then, ten minutes later, she’d watch him get Coke as well because he claimed he’d collapse this minute if he didn't get something to drink.
The truth was, though, that by day’s end they’d have each had both a cone of floss (gritty airy sugar that vanished in the mouth) and a candy apple on its stick (hard red sugar sticking to the teeth).  Their pocket money would be spent, as well as money provided by their parents.  Richie’d want the dodg’ems, and she’d want the merry-go-round, and both of them would thrill at the very top of the ferris wheel as their car stopped with the sky around them, and they looked down to the bright lights and crowds so far, far below.
For auld lang syne, she bought a cone of floss.  Three mouthfuls of unbearable sweetness later, she tossed it in a garbage can.  In the Food Court, she found that, nowadays, the free samples were gone and she had to pay for her lunch.  The guy at the booth offered to pick her age, and guessed too high.  She won neither the cheap giant teddy bear nor the bunch of plastic flowers.
By nine, when it was dark, she was long since ready to go home.  Yet she could not bear to leave.  Somewhere, somewhere, the magic still must linger.
It was nearly midnight when she handed over the last of her tickets, got in the swinging car, and let the guy fasten her safely in.  The great wheel started slowly, and stopped after only a few feet so that the next customer could get on.  Ahead of her, she could see a car with a courting couple. Ahead of them was a man with two small children, one on either side, holding tight.  She could not see their faces; but she knew that their eyes were bright—eager and impatient for the car to rise and stop again, and then again, before starting its first trip round the ring.
Finally, up to the stars they swung; and she leaned a little forward, and looked down, just as she always had.  The pattern of paths through the midway became clear, lit by lines of lamps that pooled their light. The heads in the crowd grew tiny.
Then the wheel swung round, and down; and the first circuit was done.  But only the first.  They did not stop, but rode through the bottom of the circle and headed round again.
Up and round, again and again.
The car paused, for that long lovely moment at the top of the wheel.  And then, then!—with a sudden whooosh!!! that flung the car swinging like crazy—the seat beside her was suddenly occupied.
By a man.
She stared wildly, grabbing the side of the car with the grip of death.
“Hi, Nat!” said Nick, with that idiot grin.  “We made the arrest.  Schanke begged Stonetree to let us finish the paperwork tomorrow; so I figured I’d fly over and join you.”
Oh, God.  Oh, God.  He was magic personified.
“Miss me?”
She took a deep breath, and let go her grip.  After all, she needed her hand if she was to smack him.
But all he did was laugh.