Christmas Miracles Read online

  He squeezed the rolled up magazine in his hands and tapped it on his palm. “You’re some lucky.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Neither of us said anything for an awkward minute or two.

  “I was talking to Marie on the phone,” Scott said out of the blue. “She told me Carla came in to see you a bunch of times. She must have felt pretty guilty about the whole thing.”

  It seemed everyone wanted to talk about Carla. Everyone but me.

  “Yeah, she came by yesterday, but I told her not to worry about anything. We’re done now and I told her what happened wasn’t her fault.”

  “You’re really done?” Scott asked. “Did you tell her about the ring?”

  “God, no,” I practically barked. “And I’m glad she walked out on me before I made that mistake. Her timing was impeccable, actually. Now I just need to put it behind me and move on because she was right. It wasn’t meant to be. And if I could survive two bullets, I’m sure I’ll survive this, too. It’s not like I haven’t been dumped before.”

  Though it still stung. And I still wanted a family. I wanted kids. I just wished I hadn’t been so sure Carla was the one. It made me question my judgement.

  “That’s the spirit,” Scott said. “Now we just have to get you out of here and back into the old routine.”

  “Sure.”

  Besides all that, there had to have been a reason I was pushed back into this life. I was determined to find out what that reason was—and to do that, I had to get on with the business of living.

  Cognition

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I am constantly amazed by the resilience of the human body, and more importantly the human spirit. Three days after waking from a five-day coma as a result of two gunshot wounds and major surgery, I was walking steadily—albeit slowly—on a treadmill.

  At this rate, the doctors told me it wouldn’t be long before I would be discharged. Surprisingly, I had mixed feelings about that.

  “Every time you come to see me,” I said to Leah one evening after visiting hours were over, “you ask questions about my life and how I feel about this or that. I answer your questions and you scribble things down in my chart. Then you run off because you have some other patient to see. Is it possible that we could have a conversation where you’re not talking to me as a patient? Could you just be Leah, the girl I knew when we were kids?”

  Her expression warmed. She checked her watch and laid her clipboard down on the windowsill. “I suppose I’m due for a break. What would you like to talk about?”

  To my great pleasure, she moved away from the window, shrugged out of her lab coat and folded it over the foot of my bed. I couldn’t help but notice the slender curve of her hips in that tight-fitting, blue cotton T-shirt and navy cargo pants.

  Reaching for the gel pen on the bedside table, I clicked it a few times with my thumb to tease her. “Just to warn you, I might need to take some notes.”

  Leah laughed and moved a little closer. She sat on the chair beside me. “I deserve that.”

  “Yes, you do.” Leaning toward her, I reached out. “Give me your hand.”

  “What for?” she asked with a playful glimmer in her eye.

  “You’ll see.”

  She turned her hand over so I could look at her palm. I wanted to trace all the graceful lines with my forefinger and draw a path up to the delicate blue veins at her wrist, but I resisted the urge and instead wrote some numbers up the inside of her arm.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “My cell number,” I replied, lounging back on the pillows and setting the pen back on the table. “When I get out of here—which should be in the next few days—I don’t want to lose touch with you like I did the last time. I’m hoping you’ll call.”

  She rubbed her thumb over my phone number, and smiled. “They’ll think I got a tattoo.”

  “Who’s they?” I asked.

  “Everyone,” she replied after a pause. “The nurses. Other doctors. Patients.”

  It was not lost on me that she didn’t mention her parents, friends, or a significant other, which made me wonder about her personal life. Or lack of one.

  “Who cares what anyone thinks?” I asked. “Just promise me you’ll call.”

  Her green eyes lifted, and I wanted to stay there forever in the way she looked at me.

  “I promise we won’t lose touch this time,” she said.

  Maybe I was a fool, but I totally believed her.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “Tell me about your family,” I said. “How are your parents? What’s Riley been up to?”

  Leah perched an elbow on the armrest of the chair. “My parents, surprisingly, are still together, which I consider a miracle, because you must remember what my father was like.”

  “Yes, sir—sergeant major general,” I gently replied.

  Leah chuckled.

  “What was it like for you after you moved out of our old neighborhood?” I asked. “You went to private school, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, and I learned to play the clarinet. Daily lessons and a front row position in the school band.”

  “Do you still play?” I asked.

  She inclined her head. “Sadly, no. The truth is I sucked. I made the cats howl.”

  I laughed. “What about Riley? Where is he now?”

  Leah gazed at me lingeringly. “You don’t know?”

  “No. We lost touch, remember?”

  Another siren wailed from somewhere outside the hospital, and Leah regarded me with a look of sorrow. “I thought you might have heard about it because you’re a police officer.”

  That got my attention. “Heard about what?”

  She raked her fingers through her hair. “It’s not easy to talk about because we had a rough time as a family.” She paused. “When Riley was in his early twenties, he was convicted of drug trafficking, breaking and entering, and some other offenses. He spent five years in prison.” She paused. “You look surprised.”

  “I am,” I replied. “I had no idea. It must have been before I joined the force. How did it happen? And when did it happen?”

  She gazed off into space. “I guess it all started when he was in high school. He fell in with a bad crowd, smoked a lot of weed, stayed out late or didn’t come home at all. He and Dad fought constantly—it was like a war zone in our house most of the time. There was a lot of shouting and doors slamming and hitting and smacking. As soon as Riley turned eighteen, he moved out, and Dad told him not to come back. Ever.”

  “That does sound rough,” I agreed.

  “We didn’t hear from him for about two years, which was really hard on Mom. We had no idea where he was. Then he broke into our house one night with a couple of small-time drug dealers to steal whatever they could. Dad went downstairs with a baseball bat, and poor Holly was terrified. She and my mother had to lock themselves in the bathroom.”

  “Holly?” I asked, interrupting.

  “My baby sister,” Leah explained.

  “Oh. I didn’t know that was her name. It makes sense, since she was born on Christmas.”

  Leah nodded again. “Anyway, Mom called 911 that night, not knowing that it was her own son who had smashed our back window and broken into the house. Before the cops arrived, Dad hit Riley with the bat. Practically split his head open. There was blood all over the floor. He said it was dark and he didn’t know that it was Riley.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “I don’t know,” she quietly replied.

  “What happened after that?” I had to ask.

  “Riley and his friends took off when they heard the sirens, but the cops caught them hiding in a shed down the street.”

  “Was Riley okay?” I asked.

  “He had a concussion but it wasn’t serious. He pleaded guilty in court.”

  All of it was difficult to hear and I couldn’t help but wonder how their lives might have turned out if they’d never moved out of our neighborh
ood. Would things have been different?

  “He must be out of prison by now,” I said, hungering for more information.

  “He is,” Leah explained, “but while he was in there, Dad forbade any of us from visiting. I know for a fact that Mom went secretly, at least for the first couple of years, but she said prison changed Riley to the point that she didn’t even recognize him anymore. The last we’d heard, he drove out west with some ex-cons he met in jail. For all I know, he could be dead from an overdose by now.” She shut her eyes and rubbed her hands over her face. “I’m sorry. It hurts to talk about it.”

  I gave her a moment to regain her composure.

  “If you like, I could try and locate him for you,” I carefully offered.

  She thought about that. “Thank you, Josh, but the truth is—and it shames me to admit this—I’m not even sure I want to know, because what if it’s bad news?” She gazed out the window. “God help us all if it is. None of us even tried to find him. For some reason, we all just stuck our heads in the sand. It’s probably my biggest regret in life—that I didn’t try harder to do something before things got so out of control.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I told her. “You were young. You couldn’t have known how things would turn out. As far as I’m concerned, you were a great sister.”

  Her gaze met mine. “Was I? All I remember is wanting to please Dad, and being more preoccupied with what he wanted than worrying about what my younger brother was getting into. I wanted to get the highest grades, the biggest scholarship, get accepted into med school. Meanwhile, Riley just rebelled.”

  As I listened to her talk, I felt suddenly out of my depth.

  “But you’ve done well for yourself,” I finally said. “You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

  Leah looked down at the floor. “Thanks. You know… I think a part of me chose this specialty because of Riley. I always wished I’d had the skills to help him. But it’s too late for that now.”

  “It’s never too late to help someone,” I reminded her.

  “Mmm.”

  She rested her temple on a finger and gazed at me thoughtfully with those deep green eyes that made me feel like I was floating down a lazy river. They were so achingly familiar. It was like going home.

  “I’m sure Riley would love that,” she said with a note of sarcasm. “His big sister psychoanalyzing him.” She let out a resigned sigh. “The truth is, I think he resented me for setting the bar so high and I’ve always felt guilty about that.”

  I stared at her, openmouthed, because I’d never had such a frank discussion with a woman before. I was reminded of the moment I floated upwards and looked down at my body, bleeding on the operating table. Now I was looking at Leah, and she was holding a surgical instrument in her hand…the knife she had just used to open her own heart before my eyes.

  “I’ll look him up for you,” I said with firm resolve. “You never know. Maybe he’s turned his life around.”

  She thought about it for a long time. “Maybe you’re right. Would you mind doing that for us?”

  “Of course not. I want to.”

  Leah checked her watch and stood up. “Look at that. I have to go.” She moved to put her lab coat back on.

  “We didn’t accomplish much tonight,” I casually mentioned as I watched her check her pockets and fetch her clipboard from the windowsill. “You didn’t write a single word in my chart.”

  “I was on a break, remember?” she replied with an easy smile. “Listen, I’m off tomorrow so I won’t see you, but I want to say something. When you go back to work, they’ll likely be on the lookout for signs of PTSD.”

  “You mean post-traumatic stress disorder,” I said.

  “That’s right,” she replied. “Watch for symptoms, okay? You might feel fine now, but when you get back in the squad car, you may experience some anxiety, or you might have nightmares about the shooting. I wanted to talk to you about that, but I’m not sure we’ll get the chance if they discharge you. Just remember that it’s very common and there are ways to deal with it, so accept help if the department offers it. Don’t worry about that, okay? You’ll get through it.”

  She started for the door.

  “Wait…Leah…” I sat forward. “Will you come and see me tomorrow?”

  “I told you, I’m off,” she replied.

  “I know, but you could come by and visit anyway. Leave the lab coat at home. You could smuggle in a grilled steak for me.”

  She gave me a dazzling smile. It’s a wonder I didn’t fall out of bed and hit my head on the floor.

  “I’ll try.” Then she tapped a finger on her arm. “But if I don’t make it tomorrow and you get discharged, at least I’m tattooed with your phone number.”

  “But I don’t have yours,” I quickly replied with a flash of worry because I didn’t want to lose touch with her again.

  She must have recognized my concern, because she lowered the chart to her side and approached the foot of the bed. “You know where I live, don’t you? The big red Victorian on Russell Street? I had to move back in with my parents recently. You should come by, Josh. No need to call first. My mom loves visitors and I know she’d be thrilled to see you.”

  Relaxing somewhat, I sat back and committed her address to my memory.

  “I will,” I said. “But maybe I’ll try to come by when your father’s not at home. Does he work days or nights?”

  She chuckled. “That’s not necessary. With Riley gone, no one is pushing his buttons anymore. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

  “All right then.”

  She seemed in a hurry to leave suddenly.

  As she backed away, I felt a strong urge to reach out and hold on to her. Yet something in me feared she would slip through my grasp if I tried. That she’d disappear like a fine cool mist. Just like all the other women in my life.

  “Come by soon, all right?” she said. “As soon as you’re discharged. Promise?”

  “I will.”

  Appearing satisfied, she turned and left the room.

  I immediately grabbed the pen on the bedside table and scribbled the address on the back of a magazine.

  Russell Street. Big red Victorian.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Two days later I was discharged with instructions to return to the hospital for regular physiotherapy appointments over the next four weeks. I was not permitted to return to work for at least six weeks.

  That didn’t stop me from calling Scott, however, to ask him to do me a favor and dig up information on Riley James. I told him that Riley’s last known whereabouts were somewhere on the west coast, but he could be anywhere by now—possibly back in Boston or back in prison again in some other part of the country.

  Meanwhile, my sister Marie and my mom came by my apartment often with home cooked meals in plastic containers. My mother begged me repeatedly to come stay with her because she couldn’t imagine how I could get up and down the steep stairs of my apartment without assistance.

  I assured her that climbing stairs was good for me, but I promised to take it slow.

  A full week went by. Leah didn’t call.

  The following week, however, my cell phone rang while I was in the shower. Normally, I would have let it go to voice mail, but I decided to step out and towel off to answer it.

  I’m very glad I did.

  * * *

  There could be no doubt about it. The information I gleaned from that phone call provided a legitimate excuse for me to visit Leah. It was certainly better than just sitting around, waiting for her to call. Knowing that she often worked nights at the hospital, I decided to pop by in the afternoon.

  A light rain was falling as I left my apartment, got into my car and started up the engine. The wipers beat steadily across the windshield as I pulled away from the curb and headed across town. As I drove, I pondered how I was going to deliver the information I’d just received about Riley.

  Part of me felt torn. It had
been twenty-five years since I’d had any contact with this family, so maybe they’d consider me a stranger and ask why I was poking my nose into their personal affairs. They might not even recognize me at the door. Maybe Leah was right. Maybe they didn’t even want to know about Riley. That prospect had occurred to me more than once, because surely if Dr. and Mrs. James wanted to know what had become of their son, they could have found a way. At the very least, they could have hired a private investigator.

  Maybe they had. Maybe they already knew the truth but chose not to share it with Leah. Maybe they didn’t want to open old wounds.

  In the end, as I turned up Russell Street in search of their Victorian mansion, all that mattered to me was what Leah wanted. Based on our conversation at the hospital, I sensed in her a desire to bring me into this. It’s why she told me everything she did, and why she had given me her address.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The house was perched far back on a grassy rise overlooking the street, and the driveway was large enough to accommodate at least six cars.

  I pulled up next to the stone walkway, shut off the engine, and leaned forward over the steering wheel to look up at the front of the house.

  It boasted a large, covered veranda with ornamental spindles, a massive front door with a half-moon shaped transom, and bay windows beneath decorative, white cornices.

  After dropping my keys into my pocket, I opened the car door and got out. The rain was coming down harder by then, but I knew I couldn’t make a run for it on account of my leg, so I drew up the hood of my jacket and limped up the freshly painted blue steps.

  Once I made it to the covered veranda, I lowered my hood, shook off the raindrops, and rang the bell. It chimed like an old grandfather clock.

  I waited and waited, but no one answered, so I rang the bell a second time and continued to wait.

  Just when I was about to turn away, the heavy oak door creaked open. Suddenly I found myself staring through the screen at a somber-looking young woman with golden hair and blue eyes set wide apart.