Молчаливая ночь [with w_cat] - страница 29

[509] Michael’s hands were in his pockets, his shoulders hunched under his ears. It was exactly the same posture Tom unconsciously fell into when he was worried about a patient. Catherine squared her own shoulders and put her arm around her older son as the door from the studio closed behind them.

[510] The producer said, “Our operators are thanking everyone in your name, but is there anything else you’d like us to tell our audience?”

[511] Catherine drew a deep breath, and her arm tightened around Michael. “I wish you’d tell them that we think I dropped my wallet, and that Brian apparently followed whoever picked it up. The reason he was so anxious to get it back is that my mother had just given me a St. Christopher medal that my father wore through World War II. My father believed the medal kept him safe. It even has a dent where a bullet glanced off it, a bullet that might have killed him. Brian has the same wonderful faith that St. Christopher or what he represents is going to take care of us again… and so do I. St. Christopher will carry Brian back to us on his shoulders, and he will help my husband get well.”

[512] She smiled down at Michael. “Right, pal?”

[513] Michael’s eyes were shining. “Mom, do you really believe that?”

[514] Catherine drew a deep breath. I believe, Lord, help my unbelief. “Yes, I do,” she said firmly.

[515] And maybe because it was Christmas Eve, for the first time, she really did.

[516] State Trooper Chris McNally tuned out as Deidre Lenihan droned on about just seeing a St. Christopher medal, and how her father was named after St. Christopher. She was a well-meaning young woman, but every time he stopped for coffee at this McDonald’s, she seemed to be on duty and always wanted to talk.

[517] Tonight Chris was too preoccupied with thoughts of getting home. He wanted to get at least some sleep before his kids got up to open all their Christmas presents. He also had been thinking about the Toyota he had just seen pull out in front of him. He’d been thinking of buying one himself, although he knew his wife wouldn’t want a brown one. A new car meant montly payments to worry about. He noticed the remnant of a bumper sticker on the Toyota, a single word, inheritance. He knew the sticker had originally said, “We’re spending our grandchildren’s inheritance.” We could use an inheritance, he thought.

“And my father said…”

[518] Chris forced himself to refocus. Deidre’s nice, he thought, but she talks too much. He reached for the bag she was dangling in her hand, but it was clear she was not going to relinquish it yet, not until she had told how her dad said it was too bad that her mother hadn’t been named Philomena.

[519] Still she wasn’t finished. “Years ago my aunt worked in Southampton and belonged to St. Philomena’s parish. When they had to rename it, the pastor had a contest to decide which saint they should choose and why. My aunt suggested St. Dymphna because she said she was the saint of the insane and most of the people in the parish were nuts.”

[520] “Well, I was named after St. Christopher myself,” Chris said, managing to snare the bag. “Merry Christmas, Deidre.”

[521] And it will be Christmas before I get a bite out of this Big Mac, he thought as he drove back onto the Thruway. With one hand, he deftly opened the bag, freed the burger, and gratefully took a large bite. The coffee would have to wait until he got back to his post.

[522] He’d be off duty at midnight, and then, he thought, smiling to himself, it would be time to grab a little shut-eye. Eileen would try to keep the kids in bed till six, but lots of luck. It hadn’t happened last year and it wouldn’t happen this year if he knew his sons.

[523] He was approaching exit 40 and drove the car to the official turnaround, from which he could observe errant drivers. Christmas Eve was nothing like New Year’s Eve for nabbing drinkers, but Chris was determined that no one who was speeding or weaving on the road was going to get past him. He’d witnessed a couple of accidents where some drunk turned the holiday into a nightmare for innocent people. Not tonight if he could help it. And the snow had made driving that much more treacherous.