Midnight Before Christmas

She stepped carefully toward his door. She stood to one side and knocked gently. “Tommy?”

“Don’t come in!” he shouted from inside. The words seemed to pour out of him, like water from a fountain. “I’ve got a gun! I’ll shoot!”

Well, that solved that mystery. Tommy had the gun. And he was holed up in his room, thinking heaven only knew what, trying to keep the monsters at bay.

“Tommy, listen to me. I’m your friend.”

“You’re my mother’s friend!” the boy shouted through the door. “You helped her take me away from my dad!”

She pressed her hand against her forehead. This was going to be harder than she imagined. Carl was searching downstairs; she thought about getting him, making him do this. But the truth was, whoever turned that doorknob was putting his or her life in danger. And more than anything else, Tommy needed to have a father, alive, not in the hospital and not in jail, when Christmas Day rolled around.

She touched the doorknob. “Tommy, I’m just going to step inside. And you’re not going to fire that pistol.”

“I will!” There was a desperate urgency in his voice, a pronounced note of panic. She didn’t doubt for a minute that he was capable of pulling that trigger. “I’ll shoot anyone who comes through the door!”

“Tommy, listen to me. There’s no reason to be angry. I know there are people who’ve hurt you. But the police have taken the bad people away.”

“I’m tellin’ you-don’t open that door!” Tommy’s voice trembled as he spoke. “If you do, I’ll shoot!”

Megan felt for the boy so strongly her heart ached. He was frightened to death. And who could blame him? He was only seven years old, after all. He’d seen his father acting like a crazy man, his mother pointing a gun at him, her boyfriend beating him within an inch of his life. Who wouldn’t be scared? And confused. And ready to do anything to prevent it from starting all over again.

“Tommy, listen to me.”

“I won’t! I’ll shoot! Don’t think I don’t know how to fire this gun. I do!”

Megan crouched down on the floor and peered through the crack between the door and the jamb. It was just wide enough for her to see a tiny sliver of the room inside.

She gasped, then pressed her hand against her throat. Tommy was holding the gun backwards, so the barrel pointed at himself. If he pulled the trigger, he’d blow a hole in his chest the size of a canyon.

“Tommy, listen to me! You can’t fire that gun. You might hurt yourself. Or even-”

“I will! I’ll fire if you turn that doorknob!”

“Tommy, no!” Megan could feel her own panic rising. She had to beat it down, keep her wits about her. “Tommy, please listen to what I have to say. There’s no reason to be scared. Frank is in custody and he’ll never be able to lay a hand on you again. You’re absolutely safe. I’m a lawyer, Tommy. Trust me. The law will protect you.”

“That’s what they all say!” Tommy replied. He was screaming now; he sounded as if he was about to lose control altogether. “I won’t believe you. I won’t!”

Megan took a deep breath and slowly released it. Her palms were sweating, but somehow, she had to remain calm. If she was going to talk him out of this, it clearly wasn’t going to be as a lawyer. There had to be another way.

“Tommy, please relax. I’m not coming in. I’m not even near the door.” She waited for a moment, didn’t hear anything. With any luck, he was calming a bit. “Tommy, I’m not just a lawyer. I’m also a priest. Do you know what a priest is?”

There was a long pause before he answered. “Like-sort of a preacher?”

“That’s exactly right, Tommy. Now listen to me-you know what day today is, don’t you?”

“’Course I do. I’m not stupid. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“That’s exactly right.” Megan glanced at her watch. Only a few minutes till the big day itself. “Now, Tommy, do you know what Christmas is? Do you know why we celebrate this day?”

“I know what they say. S’posed to be when Jesus was born. ’Cept it prob’ly isn’t.”

“Well, you’re right, Tommy. It probably isn’t. But that’s not the point. The point is that we have a special day when we remember who Jesus is. What he did.” She paused, then crept a bit closer to the door. “Have you heard any stories about Jesus?”

His voice was totally noncommittal. “Yeah. Some.”

“Well, then, you’ve probably heard the stories about when Jesus was a baby. He had a tough Christmas Eve, too, you know. His parents had to go on a big trip. No one would give them a place to stay. He was born in a barn and had to sleep in a pig trough.” She paused. “I bet he was scared, too.”

Tommy’s voice seemed quieter. “Yeah. Maybe so.”

“But he didn’t let it get to him, Tommy. He tried to be brave about it. And when he grew up, he did many wonderful things.” She didn’t know where she was going with this. She was babbling like some insipid Sunday- school teacher, trying unsuccessfully to make a point. A point she couldn’t really make-because she didn’t believe it herself.

She heard a clock chiming somewhere downstairs. It was midnight. Christmas Day had arrived.

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.”

24

It 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