and opened the door a fraction, just in time to see a small boy straighten up, turn, and start to tiptoe to the staircase.
In one quick movement, Jimmy flung open the door and scooped up the child, one arm around his waist, the other covering his mouth, and pulled him inside, then roughly set him down.
âEavesdropping, kid? Who is this, Cally?â
âJimmy, leave him alone. I donât know who he is,â she cried. âIâve never seen him before.â
Brian was so scared he could hardly talk. But he could tell the man and woman were mad at each other. Maybethe man would help him get his motherâs wallet back, he thought. He pointed to Cally. âShe has my momâs wallet.â
Jimmy released Brian. âWell, now thatâs good news,â he said with a grin, turning to his sister. âIsnât it?â
4
A plainclothesman in an unmarked car drove Catherine to the hospital. âIâll wait right here, Mrs. Dornan,â he said. âI have the radio on so weâll know the minute they find Brian.â
Catherine nodded. If they find Brian raced through her mind. She felt her throat close against the terror that thought evoked.
The lobby of the hospital was decorated for the holiday season. A Christmas tree was in the center, garlands of evergreens were hung, and poinsettias were banked against the reception desk.
She got a visitorâs pass and learned that Tom was now in room 530. She walked to the bank of elevatorsand entered a car already half full, mostly with hospital personnelâdoctors in white jackets with the telltale pen and notebook in their breast pockets, attendants in green scrub suits, a couple of nurses.
Two weeks ago, Catherine thought, Tom was making his rounds at St. Maryâs in Omaha, and I was Christmas shopping. That evening we took the kids out for hamburgers. Life was normal and good and fun, and we were joking about how last year Tom had had so much trouble getting the Christmas tree in the stand, and I promised him Iâd buy a new stand before this Christmas Eve. And once again I thought Tom looked so tired, and I did nothing about it.
Three days later he collapsed.
âDidnât you push the fifth floor?â someone asked.
Catherine blinked. âOh, yes, thank you.â She got off the elevator and for a moment stood still, getting her bearings. She found what she was looking for, an arrow on the wall pointing toward rooms 515 to 530.
As she approached the nursesâ station, she saw Spence Crowley. Her mouth went dry. Immediately following the operation this morning, he had assured her that it had gone smoothly, and that his assistant would be making the rounds this afternoon. Then why was Spence here now? she worried. Could something be wrong?
He spotted her and smiled. Oh God, he wouldnât smile if Tom were . . . It was another thought she could not finish.
He walked quickly around the desk and came to her. âCatherine, if you could see the look on your face! Tomâs doing fine. Heâs pretty groggy, of course, but the vital signs are good.â
Catherine looked up at him, wanting to believe the words she heard, wanting to trust the sincerity she saw in the brown eyes behind rimless glasses.
Firmly he took her arm and ushered her into the cubicle behind the nursesâ station. âCatherine, I donât want to bully you, but you have to understand that Tom has a good chance of beating this thing. A very good chance. I have patients whoâve led useful, full lives with leukemia. There are different types of medicine to control it. The one I plan to use with Tom is Interferon. Itâs worked miracles with some of my patients. It will mean daily injections at first, but after we get the dosage adjusted, heâll be able to give them to himself. When he recuperates fully from the operation, he can go back to work, and I swear to you thatâs going to happen.â Then he added