Jimmy was swearing now, one hand again on the wheel, the other aiming the gun. Blood dripped into his eye from a gash across his forehead and cheek.

Get out. Get out. Brian heard the command in his head as though someone were shouting it at him. Brian dove for the door and rolled out onto the snow-covered lawn just as a second bullet passed over his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, the kid’s out of the car,” Chris yelled. He jammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop behind the Toyota. “He’s getting up. Oh my God.”

Bud Folney shouted, “Is he hurt?” but Chris didn’t hear him. He was already out of his car and running toward the boy. Siddons was in control of the Toyota again and had turned it, clearly planning to run over Brian. In what seemed like an eternity but was actually only seconds, Chris had crossed the space between him and Brian and gathered the boy in his arms.

The car was racing toward them, its passenger door still open and its interior still illuminated so that the maniacal anger in Jimmy Siddons’s face was clearly visible. Clutching Brian tightly against him, Chris dove to the side and rolled down a snowy incline just as the wheels of the Toyota passed inches from their heads. An instant later, with a sickening sound of metal crashing and glass breaking, the vehicle careened off the porch of the house and flipped over.

For a moment there was silence, and then the quiet was shattered as sirens screamed and wailed. Lights from a dozen squad cars brightened the night as swarms of troopers raced to surround the overturned vehicle. Chris lay in the snow for a few seconds, hugging Brian to him, listening to the convergence of sounds. Then he heard a small relieved voice ask, “Are you St. Christopher?”

“No, but right now I feel like him, Brian,” Chris said heartily. “Merry Christmas, son.”

25

Officer Manuel Ortiz slipped noiselessly through the side door of the cathedral and instantly caught Catherine’s eye. He smiled and nodded his head. She jumped up and ran to meet him.

“Is he…”

“He’s fine. They’re sending him back in a police helicopter. He’ll be here by the time Mass is over.”

Noticing that one of the television cameras was trained on them, Ortiz raised his hand and made a circle of his thumb and forefinger, a symbol that for this moment, on this most special of days, everything was A-OK.

Those seated nearby witnessed the exchange and began to clap softly. As others turned, they stood, and applause began to slowly rumble through the giant cathedral. It was a full five minutes before the deacon could begin to read the Christmas Gospel, “ ‘And it came to pass…’ ”

“I’m going to let Cally know what’s happened,” Mort Levy told Bud Folney. “Sir, I know she should have called us earlier, but I hope…”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to play Scrooge tonight. She worked with us. She deserves a break,” Folney said crisply. “Besides, the Dornan woman has already said she’s not going to press charges against her.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Listen, there’s got to be some toys left in the station houses. Tell the guys to get busy and round some up for that little girl of Cally’s. Have them meet us at Cally’s building in forty-five minutes. Mort, you and I are going to give them to her. Shore, you go home.”

It was Brian’s first helicopter ride, and even though he was incredibly tired, he was too excited to even think about closing his eyes. He was sorry Officer McNally-Chris, as he had said he should call him-hadn’t been able to come with him. But he had been with Brian when they took Jimmy Siddons away, and he had told him not to worry, that this was one guy who would never get out of prison again. And then he’d gotten the St. Christopher medal out of the car for Brian.

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 will get better, she thought. I know it now.

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.