As the helicopter came down it looked like it was almost landing on the river. He recognized the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge and the Roosevelt Island tramway. His dad had taken him for a ride on that. He wondered suddenly if his father knew what had happened to him.
He turned to one of the officers. “My dad’s in a hospital near here. I have to go see him. He might be worried.”
The officer, who was by now familiar with the story of the whole Dornan family, said, “You’ll see him soon, son. But now, your mother’s waiting for you. She’s at midnight Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”
When the buzzer sounded at Cally’s Avenue B apartment, she answered it with the resigned belief that she was going to be arrested. Detective Levy had called to say only that he and another officer were coming by. But it was two beaming, self-appointed Santa Clauses who arrived at her door, laden with dolls and games and a sparkling white wicker doll’s carriage.
As she watched, unbelieving, they placed the gifts under and around the Christmas tree.
“Your information about your brother was a tremendous help,” Bud Folney said. “The Dornan boy is okay and on his way back to the city. Jimmy is on his way back to prison; he’s our responsibility once again, and I promise we won’t let him get away this time. From now on I hope it gets a lot better for you.”
Cally felt as though a giant weight had been lifted from her. She could only whisper, “Thank you… thank you…”
Folney and Levy chorused, “Merry Christmas, Cally,” and were gone.
When they left, Cally at last knew she could go to bed and sleep. Gigi’s even breathing was an answered prayer. From now on, she’d be able to hear it every night, and listen without fear that her little girl would be taken away from her again. Everything
As she fell asleep, her last thought was that when Gigi saw that the big package with Santa’s present was missing from under the Christmas tree, she could honestly tell her that Santa Claus had come and taken it away.
The recessional was about to start when once again the side door of the cathedral opened and Officer Ortiz entered. This time he was not alone. He bent down to the small boy beside him and pointed. Before Catherine could get to her feet, Brian was in her arms, the St. Christopher medal he was wearing pressed against her heart.
As she held him close, she said nothing, but felt the silent tears of relief and joy course down her cheeks, knowing that he once again was safe, and firm in her belief now that Tom was going to make it, too.
Barbara also did not speak, but leaned over and laid her hand on her grandson’s head.
It was Michael who broke the silence with whispered words of welcome. “Hi, Dork,” he said with a grin.
Christmas Day
Dr. Crowley was waiting for them when they got off the elevator on the fifth floor. “My God, Catherine,” he said, “are you okay? I hadn’t heard about what happened until I got here this morning. You must be exhausted.”
“Thanks, Spence, but I’m fine.” She looked at her sons. “We’re all fine. But how is Tom? When I called this morning, all they would say was that he had a good night.”
“And he did. It’s an excellent sign. He had a very good night. A lot better than yours, that’s for sure. I hope you don’t mind, but I decided it was best if I told Tom about Brian. The press have been calling here all morning, and I didn’t want to risk his hearing about it from an outsider. When I told him, I started with the happy ending, of course.”
Catherine felt relief rush through her. “I’m glad he knows, Spence. I didn’t know how to tell him. I couldn’t be sure how he’d take it.”
“He took it very well, Catherine. He’s a lot stronger than you might think.” Crowley looked at the medal around Brian’s neck. “I understand you went through a lot to make sure you’d be able to give that medal to your dad. I promise all of you that between St. Christopher and me, we’ll make sure he gets well.”
The boys tugged at Catherine’s hands.
“He’s waiting for you,” Spence said, smiling.
The door of Tom’s room was partly open. Catherine pushed it the rest of the way and stood looking at her husband.
The head of the bed was elevated. When Tom saw them, his face brightened with that familiar smile.
The boys ran to him, then carefully stopped just inches from the bed. They both reached out and grasped his hand. Catherine watched his eyes fill with tears when he looked at Brian.
He’s so pale, she thought. I can tell that he hurts. But he
As her husband looked over their sons’ heads and his lips formed the words
Mary Higgins Clark Talks About Her Life and Work
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“Yes. It is a family holiday time and my birthday is on Christmas Eve. Christmas 1996 will be very special for me-after many years of widowhood, I am getting married and will be celebrating my first Christmas with my husband, John J. Conheeney.”
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“I write about universal emotions and relationships. People can walk in the shoes of my characters.”
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“From real life. I attend criminal trials regularly. The amount of coincidence in crime is staggering. For example, a young nurse in New Jersey was on her way to work and someone got into her car at a red light. A few minutes later she was dead. She was going to work. She wasn’t doing anything foolish. She is typical of characters in my books-people to whom things happen, who are not looking for trouble.”
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“Nice people whose lives are invaded by evil. They are people with whom we can identify-leading ordinary lives and going about their business. My heroines are strong women who take a major role in solving their own problems. A man may come in to help at the end, but the woman basically copes with the menacing situation herself.”
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“I knew it as a child. The first thing I wrote was a poem, when I was seven. I still have it. It’s pretty bad, but my mother thought it was beautiful and made me recite it for everyone who came in. I am sure the captive audience was ready to shoot me, but that kind of encouragement nurtures a budding talent. From the time I was
