The Unfinished Gift Read Online Free PDF Page A

sugar?”
    “You have sugar?”
    “Enough for coffee.”
    “Just a teaspoon, then. No cream.”
    As Collins turned toward the dining room, Patrick was standing in the doorway, eyeing them both with an unsettled look.
    “Now there’s a handsome lad,” said Father O’Malley. “Come over here. Let me take a look at you.”
    Patrick looked at Collins for permission. Collins nodded.
    “Why, he’s the spitting image of Shawn, Ian. Don’t you think? An amazing resemblance.”
    Collins shot him a menacing look. Not intentional. He was grateful the priest didn’t seem to notice. He seemed mesmerized by the boy.
    “What a smile you have.” Patrick stood in front of him, the priest’s hands resting on his shoulders. “Aren’t you a bit tall for a seven-year-old?” Patrick smiled even wider at that. “I knew your father when he was a boy. Did you know that? A little older than you are now, but you look just like him. Tell me, what’s your name?”
    “Patrick.”
    “A fine Irish name. Your father was quite the baseball player. Helped St. Joe’s win the city championship when he was in high school. You like baseball, Patrick?”
    Patrick nodded.
    Collins figured the boy could find little trouble spending time with a priest, so he attended to the coffee. As he poured, he noticed the boy’s oatmeal bowl had not only been rinsed but washed and set upside down on the draining board to dry. When he returned, Patrick was sitting next to Father O’Malley on the davenport. Collins set the priest’s cup on the table in front of him and sat down in his favorite chair.
    “The lad’s just asked me an interesting question, Ian. I wonder if you can answer it for the both of us? He wondered if Catholics celebrated Christmas. Noticed there aren’t any Christmas decorations in the house, no stockings, not even a tree. What do you make of that?”
    Collins panned the room, hoping an explanation might surface to forestall the sermon he knew was coming. “I’ve been rather busy lately” was all he could think to say. This was setting up to be a miserable morning. Collins had always felt that having to consider one’s religion an hour each Sunday was more than sufficient.
    “But Ian,” the priest said, “I’m looking around and I don’t see any signs of Christmas at all in here. Aren’t you planning on celebrating the birth of our Savior?”
    Collins sighed. “I do . . . in my own way.”
    “Miss Townsend told me, from what she gathered, that Patrick’s mother was a very strong Christian. I’m assuming she raised Patrick the same. Isn’t that right, son? You’ll be wanting to celebrate Christmas, won’t you?”
    Patrick nodded, then cast a worried look at Collins.
    “Miss Townsend,” Collins said. “She tell you to come over here?”
    “No. She did call briefly, but just to inform me of the boy’s situation.”
    At that, Patrick stood up. “May I be excused, sir?” he asked Collins.
    Collins did not immediately respond; he was trying to diffuse the anger in his heart.
    “It probably would be best if we didn’t discuss these matters in front of the boy,” Father O’Malley said.
    It’d be better if we didn’t discuss them at all, Collins thought.
    “Isn’t there a pleasant task we can give him to do, Ian? How about Christmas decorations? Would you be having any decorations he could sort out, bring this house into the holiday season?”
    Patrick’s eyes brightened at the notion.
    “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm,” said Collins. “But I’m going to have to take him up in the attic. Ida put a big box up there full of the stuff.”
    “You see, Patrick. Catholics celebrate Christmas. You should see the way we’ve decorated the church . . . and the rectory.”
    “What’s a rectory?” Patrick asked.
    “It’s a place where priests live.”
    “You just finish your coffee there, Father. I’ll be down in a few minutes. C’mon, Patrick. Let’s go find that box.”
    Collins walked up the