Midnight Before Christmas (15 page)

Almost without thinking about it, she turned her eyes upward. All right, God, if you’re really up there, if you want me to have faith, give me something to have faith in. You wouldn’t save the 169 people in the Murrah building, and you wouldn’t save my mommy. Would you at least
please
save this little boy?

She laid her head gently against the door. She was so tired. But she knew she couldn’t stop, not now. “Tommy,” she said, barely above a whisper, “if you fire that gun, you could ruin the entire rest of your life. You could hurt me”—she paused—“you could even hurt yourself. Please don’t do that, Tommy. Remember, Jesus was scared sometimes too, but he never hurt anyone, and he always tried to do the right thing.” She pressed herself against the closed door. She didn’t know what else she could do, what else she could say. “I know you want to do the right thing, Tommy. I know you do. So please,
please
put down that gun.”

She heard a soft thump on the carpet. She could see through the crack that he had dropped the gun, but she also knew he could pick it up again just as quickly. There was no way she could be sure—

She was just going to have to have faith.

She turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

Tommy was crouched in the corner of his room, nestled behind his bed. His face was streaked with tears. The gun lay on the floor just before him.

Megan ran into the room. She kicked the gun far away, then cradled him in her arms.

“Thank you, Tommy,” she said softly, and she suddenly realized tears were springing from her own eyes as well. She squeezed him impossibly tightly. “Thank you for trusting me.” Her eyes turned toward the ceiling. “And thank you, too,” she whispered. “Thanks for being here when I really needed you.”

Carl appeared in the doorway. “Did you…” His eyes scanned the room, saw the gun on the other side of the floor. “Is anybody … ?”

“No,” Megan said. She laughed, then realized she was crying and laughing, both at once. “We’re all fine.”

“Thank God.” Carl picked up the gun and carefully removed all the bullets. “Another miracle.”

Megan smiled, then squeezed Tommy all the tighter. “What did you expect?” she said, beaming. “It’s Christmas.”

I
T HAD TAKEN SOME
doing, but Megan had finally managed to persuade Carl and Tommy to spend Christmas Day at her house. It was a perfect arrangement. Carl readily admitted that his broken-down apartment was not the most festive location for a father-son reunion. Megan, on the other hand, had a tree, mistletoe, and all the best Christmas videos. And none of them wanted to be alone.

Carl and Megan sat on the sofa, sipping some hot cider Megan had whipped up. The snow had blanketed her house; not a huge snow, but two or three inches seemed like a lot in Oklahoma City in December. Tommy sat at their feet, near the television, watching
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
for the second time through.

Jasper released a burst of concentrated gas, reminding all present, and possibly some of the neighbors, of his presence. Looking rather sheepish, he hobbled up to Megan and nuzzled his head in her lap, leaving a dark puddle of drool all over her Christmas sweatshirt.

“You know,” Megan said to Carl, “a boy Tommy’s age ought to have a dog …”

“Forget it,” Carl said firmly. “Not a chance.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” She went to the kitchen and poured some Alpo into Jasper’s bowl, momentarily distracting him. After the coast was clear, she returned to the sofa.

“I think he’s going to be all right,” Carl said quietly, without explaining. He didn’t need to. Megan knew perfectly well what he was talking about. She had been just as worried about Tommy, how he would deal with the trauma of the past day, the past years. But all the early signs were indicating that he was well on the road to healing. She knew there would be tough times ahead for Carl and his son, but she also had a strong sense that they would be able to ride it through.

“He’s a tough kid,” Carl added. “And very smart. I think he understands more than we realize. Probably has all along.”

“I know he’s happy to be with his daddy again,” Megan said. “I think he feels safe—maybe for the first time he can remember.”

Carl nodded. “He’s a good boy.” He jabbed Megan playfully in the side. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Aw shucks.”

“You’ve made this a wonderful day for us. Thank you.”

Megan smiled. “It has been a wonderful day. I just wish my mother—” She turned away, shook her head. “I’m sorry. Never mind.”

Carl stretched out his legs. “Tell you what. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Megan arched an eyebrow. “Should we ask Tommy to leave the room?”

“Nothing like that. I was thinking—why don’t you and I set up shop together?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Let’s start our own business.”

“I see. One of those lawyer/ex-cop shops.”

“You need to get out of that law firm. You hate it and you know it. It’s killing you, or at least your spirit. You need to set up your own office.”

“With you?”

“Well, I figure you can’t do everything yourself. You’re going to need someone to handle all the administrative tasks. Run errands. Do the gofering. And at some point, once you start building up a caseload, you may even need an investigator. Having an ex-cop around might not be such a bad idea.”

Megan shook her head. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to set up your own firm?”

“No, but what does it matter? As luck would have it, your gofer is fabulously wealthy.”

“I thought you didn’t get any of it until—”

“That’s just around the corner, relatively speaking, in the meantime, I’ll borrow against what I’m going to get in the future. It’ll work, believe me.”

Megan bit down on her lower lip. It was tempting, she had to admit. The chance to get out of the firm, to stop wasting her energy on corporate bigwigs and start helping those who really need help. But it was so uncertain …

“You know, Carl, it would be incredibly risky. Most small businesses crash and burn in the first year.”

“I know it will be tough. But we can do it. I know we can. If we could get through yesterday, we can get through anything.”

Megan stared deeply into his eyes. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe in miracles. But it was so hard…

“I want to turn my life around,” Carl said quietly. “I want to be a good daddy. I want to do good work.” He reached out abruptly and touched Megan’s hand. “But I don’t want to do it alone.”

His words sent a chill down her spine. There was that word again:
alone.
The same word that had haunted her yesterday, and haunted Carl too, it seemed. No one wanted to be alone. Especially not at Christmas.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Carl, but I think you still have some issues to work through. I think you need serious counseling.”

“I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

“You’ll have to give up the booze. And I mean, totally. Not a drop.”

He lowered his eyes. “I’ll—I’ll do my best. I’ve been going to meetings and—”

She nodded. “And now you won’t be doing it by yourself. I know some counselors who are fabulous. A carryover from my priestly days. And of course”—she averted her eyes—“I’ll be around. Anytime you need a little help.”

“Thank you, Megan. So about my proposition?”

“Well,” she said, smiling, “in for a penny, in for a pound. Let’s do it.”

He squeezed her hand tightly. “You won’t regret this.”

The Grinch returned the toys to the citizens of Whoville, and soon the end credits were scrolling. Tommy was beginning to look restless.

“I just wish I had a present for him,” Carl whispered. “I went to the toy store yesterday and tried to buy something, but it was a total mob scene.”

“That’s a shame,” Megan said. “Every little boy ought to have something—” She snapped her fingers. “Wait a minute. I have a present for him!”

“You do?”

“Yes. From the man in ballistics. He was going to give it to his little boy, but he wasn’t going to see him at Christmas and—”

“So he gave it to you?”

“Well, I gave him this little plastic bus.”

“Excuse me?”

“It all started with a tacky black-velvet picture of bulldogs playing five-card stud—”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

She shook her hands in the air. “Never mind. It’s a long story.” She jumped up and ran out to her car to get the present. While Tommy was distracted, she slipped the wrapped bundle into Carl’s hands. “I think it should come from you,” she whispered.

“But what is it?”

“Beats me. But any present is better than none, right?”

“I suppose.” He leaned forward. “Hey, Tommy. You haven’t opened your present yet.”

Tommy’s head whipped around the instant the word
present
was spoken. “For me?”

“Yes, of course for you. It’s Christmas, remember?” He tossed the gift to Tommy.

Tommy didn’t wait a second. He ripped off the wrapping paper and tore open the box.

“Dad!” Tommy cried. “You found it!”

Carl blinked. “I did?”

Tommy ran forward and threw his arms around his father. “You found it!” He squeezed Carl with all his might, then planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Carl resisted the urge to shrug. “My pleasure.”

“What is it?” Megan asked.

Tommy was so full of excitement he could barely speak. “It’s the Mighty Movin’ Dino-Fighter. With the Power Pack!”

Carl’s jaw dropped. “It is?”

Megan looked from father to son. “Is that good?”

“It’s exactly what I wanted!” Tommy cried. “But how did you get it, Dad? When we went to Toys
“R”
Us, they didn’t have any.”

Carl glanced over at Megan, then looked wordlessly back at his son. “It’s Christmas, son. That’s the season of miracles.”

“Wow. Can I play with it now?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Tommy ran back to the center of the room and began assembling all the plastic parts. Carl leaned close to Megan’s ear. “What do you suppose are the odds …”

“I don’t even want to think about it,” she said firmly.

Tommy plunged headfirst into animated play with his new acquisition, and Megan and Carl resettled on the sofa.

“I just can’t get over … how wonderful all this is,” Carl said, his voice choking. “I was so certain I would be spending Christmas alone. And now …” He shook his head in amazement. “I just wish I had something for you. You’ve done so much for us.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Megan answered. “You’ll have plenty of time to make up for it. Like when you start bankrolling my new law firm.”

“Yeah, but in the meantime. I’d like to do something.”

“Fine. In another hour, Jasper’s going to need his suppository.”

Carl laughed. “You know what I mean. Like a present. Today is Christmas, after all.”

She looked away. “Don’t be silly. I’m a grownup. I don’t need Christmas presents.”

“If you say so.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “Then what’s that present under the tree?”

“Present? What?”

“See? Way in the back.” He pointed it out for her.

Megan crossed the room and crawled behind the tree. “I can’t imagine who—” She picked up the hatbox-sized wrapped package and lifted the flap on the card.
TO MY MEGAN,
it read
, FROM YOUR MOMMY.

“Mother?” She felt as if the air had suddenly been sucked out of her lungs. “But—”

She didn’t wait to figure it all out. Moving faster than Tommy had opening the Mighty Movin’ Dino-Fighter, she ripped off the wrapping paper.

The cardboard box inside was sealed with a strip of packaging tape. She pressed her fingernail into the crease and dragged it across the box.

One flap popped free. Megan pulled open the other.

And examined the contents.

It was a Kewpie doll, just like the dozen in her office, just like all the others her mother had given her every time she was going somewhere. But this one was different. This one was wearing a long white gown. She was holding a harp and had wings sprouting out of her back.

And there was a halo over her head.

Megan fished around inside the box till she found the card:

Thanks so much for letting me go. I’m happy now. And I want you to be happy, too. I will always always love you. Mom.

Megan placed the package on the coffee table and fell into the nearest chair. Tears cascaded down her face.

Carl leaned forward, concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Megan said, biting down on her lip. “Something is right. Very, very right.”

“I—don’t understand.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She shook her head, and her voice trembled as she spoke. “I—I just realized how wrong I’ve been. About so many things.” She wiped the teardrops from her eyes. “But the biggest mistake was when I thought I was alone. I’m not alone. I was never alone.”

She took his hand and they both sat silently for a long stretch, each quietly contemplating what a ceramic Kewpie doll and a Mighty Movin’ Dino-Fighter could tell them about the season of miracles.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

copyright © 1998 by William Bernhardt

cover design by Jason Gabbert

978-1-4532-7722-5

This 2012 edition distributed by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media

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