The Red Gloves Collection (19 page)

“Hey, Jordan, wanna go play at the park?”

The boy’s eyes lit up like the tree in Rockefeller Center. He shot a look at Mrs. Eccles. “Can we?”

“Yes. Your mother said it was okay.”

They set off, and Casey held Jordan’s hand when they crossed the street. The feel of the child’s small fingers protected inside his own did strange things to Casey’s heart. Was this how it would’ve felt to hold the hand of his own son, his own Jordan, if the boy had survived?

Casey took the boy to the East Meadow play area, the one with the big slide where he and Amy had come so many times before. As they rounded the corner, Jordan spotted the play equipment and did a series of excited jumps.

“Hey, Casey, guess what? This is where my mom takes me to play sometimes.”

“Really?”

“Really!” He pulled Casey toward the tall slide. “Only she doesn’t go down the slide with me, but that’s okay ‘cause she’s a girl.”

Casey laughed. “I’ll go.” He followed Jordan up the ladder. “But don’t make fun of me if I get stuck, okay?”

Jordan giggled, and the two of them went down the slide one after the other until Casey lost track of how many times. The bench Amy and he had shared was only a few feet away, but Casey refused to look at it. Finally, after half an hour, he sucked in a deep breath and pointed toward the swings. “How ‘bout I push?”

“Would ya?” Jordan’s eyes grew wide, his cheeks ruddy from the cold wind and excitement. “My mom doesn’t do that a lot, either. Pushing can break the heels on her shoes.”

“I’m sure.” Casey stifled a laugh. After a few minutes of pushing Jordan he tried to picture the boy’s mother, how hard it must be to have a demanding job and a son as lonely for attention as Jordan clearly was. “Tell me about your mom.”

Jordan stretched out his legs and made the swing go a few feet higher. “What about her?”

“Well, like, does she go to parties or out on dates or stuff like that?”

“Nope.” Jordan leaned back and stared at the sky as the swing moved him up and down. “She only works.”

“Oh.” Casey wasn’t sure what else to ask. He didn’t want to upset the boy on their first time out. “She must like her job.”

“She’s a district attorney. Megan Wright.” Jordan looked over his shoulder at Casey. “She’s in the newspapers a lot.”

Casey let the woman’s name swing from the rafters of his mind for a moment. It sounded familiar, in a distant sort of way, and then he remembered. One of the regulars at Casey’s Corner had a son who’d been shot and killed in a robbery a year ago. Megan Wright was the prosecutor, Casey was almost sure. Yes, that was it. The boy’s father had said Megan Wright was tough as nails, one of the reasons Manhattan was still a good place.

Casey gave the boy another push. “I think I’ve heard of her.”

“Yeah.” Jordan’s tone was less than excited.

“So that’s why she works so much, huh? Because she has so many cases?”

Jordan shrugged and dragged his feet along the sandy gravel beneath the swing. When he came to a stop, he turned to Casey and narrowed his eyes. His expression made him look years older. “She doesn’t believe in love.”

Casey’s heart slipped several notches. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and gave a few slow nods of his head. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” Jordan kicked at the gravel and looked across the play equipment to a couple walking hand in hand beside two small children. “She told Grandma that my daddy didn’t know how to love her and now … ” He raised his small shoulders again. “Now that Daddy’s gone, she doesn’t believe in love anymore.”

“Oh.” Casey felt a shudder pass over him. “That’s too bad.” What must the woman’s life have been like for her to feel that way? To have lost all faith in love? His customer had figured out the woman perfectly. Tough as nails. Both in the courtroom and out, if Jordan’s assessment was true. He pictured her, locking away criminals as deftly as she locked away her feelings.

No wonder Jordan needed a special friend.

“What time is it?” Jordan rose off the swing and cocked his head. He’d given Casey a glimpse of his heart, and Casey was grateful for it.

“Time to get going.”

The two of them started back, and for a while they said nothing. Casey looked at his watch. “We have enough time for pizza, if you want.”

Jordan’s face lit up, and he did a few more quick jumps. “Pizza’s my favorite. Extra cheese and pineapple, but not with those slimy black things, okay?”

“Olives?” Casey chuckled and took the boy’s hand. “Okay, we’ll skip those.”

“Yeah, olives.” Jordan pinched his face up in a knot. “Yuck! They look like chopped-up eyeballs.”

Casey laughed again, and he was struck by something. He hadn’t had this much fun since before Amy died. The two of them crossed the park and found a small pizza place Casey hadn’t visited before. He ordered and they took a booth near an old, broken jukebox. Eventually, he’d take him to Casey’s Corner but not yet. It was too soon in their friendship to have people asking questions and introducing themselves.

Midway through a large extra-cheese pizza with pineapple, Casey leveled his gaze at Jordan and lowered his voice.

“I’ve been thinking about your mom.”

“Yeah, I wish she coulda come. She said she’d meet you next week.”

“Good.” Casey caught his red plastic straw between his fingers, drew it close, and took a long swig of ice water. “But I meant something else.”

Jordan looked up from his pizza, curious. “What?”

“Okay, here it is.” Casey gave a slow look over first one of his shoulders, then the other, as though the information he was about to share with Jordan were top secret. “My wife used to say that Christmas miracles happen to those who believe.”

“Christmas miracles?” Jordan’s eyes got wide.

“Yes.” Casey stroked his chin. “So, maybe this is a good chance to see if my wife was right. You know, if Christmas miracles really do happen.”

Jordan tilted his head and set his slice of pizza down on his plate. “Do you think they happen?”

“Well—” Casey hesitated. “I didn’t used to.” He took his straw and downed another mouthful of water. His eyes never left Jordan’s. “But now something tells me they’re true, that Christmas miracles really
do
happen.”

“Hey, I know what you mean! I wrote a letter to … ”Jordan’s eyes lit up, but then his expression changed. He paused and changed his words. “What I mean is, I believe in Christmas miracles … if you do, Casey.”

“Then that’s what your mom needs. A very special Christmas miracle.”

Jordan’s chin dropped slowly to his chest. “I don’t think she believes in miracles. Not any kind.”

“Well, then … ” Casey sat up straighter, the mock conspiracy over. He wanted to know about the boy’s letter and a hundred other things, but those questions could come later. Ten or twelve pizzas into their friendship. “If she doesn’t believe, then that’s what you and I can pray for.”

Jordan’s eyes got wide. “That Mommy will believe in miracles?”

“How ‘bout one thing at a time.” Casey bit his lip. “Let’s pray that she’ll believe in love again. That’s always a good thing to pray.”

“Yeah … ” Jordan gave him a lopsided smile. “Then if she believes in love, maybe one day she’ll believe in miracles, too, right?”

“Right.” Casey wanted to say that by the sounds of it, if Megan Wright believed in love again, she would have to, by default, believe in miracles. Because it would take one to accomplish the other. But instead he nodded to the pizza. “Let’s wrap up the rest for your mom. We have to be back in ten minutes.”

“Okay.” Jordan bit off a mouthful of pizza and washed it down with a swig of root beer. “Thanks for taking me out, Casey. I had fun.”

“Me, too.” A strange feeling wrapped itself around Casey’s heart, and he gave a little cough to clear his throat. “I think we’ll be special friends for a long time.”

An hour later when Casey was back at home, he did something he hadn’t done in months. He went to the edge of his bed, dropped to his knees, and thanked God for bringing Jordan Wright into his life. And for the alive feeling that still stayed with him, coloring his thoughts and soul and everything about the coming days. When he was done thanking God, he bowed his head and prayed for something with an intensity he hadn’t known since his days in Haiti.

That Megan Wright would believe in love again.

When he was finished, he changed clothes, brushed his teeth, and after an hour of watching ESPN, slipped into bed earlier than usual. He pictured Amy and tried to imagine what she would’ve thought of Jordan. She would’ve loved him, of course. And if she knew anything about the boy’s mother, Casey was sure that somehow he and Jordan weren’t the only ones praying for Ms. Wright.

Somewhere up in heaven, Amy was praying, too.

J
ordan told his mommy about the pizza and the park and the swings and the twenty-three times they slid down the big slide together. He talked the whole way home and through dinner and even after he brushed his teeth and Mommy tucked him into bed.

That’s when she put her finger against his lips. “Enough, Jordan. It’s bedtime.”

Jordan took a long breath. “He’s the best special friend in the world, Mommy. Wait till you meet him and then the three of us can—”

“Jordan … ” She smiled and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “I’m sure he’s wonderful. It makes me happy to see you so excited, but right now you need to get to sleep. We can talk about it more tomorrow.”

He watched her leave the room, and after she closed the door he sat straight up in bed and looked out the window next to his bookshelf. “God, it’s me. Jordan.” He smiled real big. “Casey’s so cool, God. He’s the best. I’m so glad You sent him for me.” A little bit of the smile slipped off his mouth. “Casey says we need to pray for Mommy, that she’ll believe in love again.” Jordan tucked his legs up beneath him so he could see the stars better. “That’s why I’m here, God. And if You want, I’ll write You another letter. Because if You can send me someone like Casey, I know You can make this happen. Especially at Christmas.

“Because Casey says that’s when You make the bestest miracles of all.”

CHAPTER NINE

M
egan had heard Casey’s name so often in the past three weeks, he seemed like part of the family.

She splashed water on her face and dried her cheeks with a hand towel as the voices wafted in from the dining room.

“Then he took me to Chelsea Piers, Grandma, and we rode the roller coaster and that spinning ride, and after that we ate a big pile of blue cotton candy, and he played pinball with me for five straight games even after I beated him, and … ”

It was Saturday morning, and the previous night had been Jordan’s third with his special friend. No doubt the Healing Hearts program had been the perfect solution for Jordan, and Megan had been able to give more of her attention to work because of it. Her son was happier, more at ease, and doing better at obeying his grandmother after school. Besides, when was the last time she’d taken him to Chelsea Piers?

Jordan’s special friend had even taken to calling a few times a week, chatting with her son and asking about his day at school. The man seemed every bit the perfect volunteer Mrs. Eccles had made him out to be.

But sometimes a fingernail of doubt scratched the surface of Megan’s conscience.

The program held no guarantees, really. No binding contract that could keep a single man like this Casey from walking out of her son’s life and breaking his heart. Megan studied her reflection in the mirror for a moment and liked what she saw. Without her makeup she looked younger than her thirty-two years, and with Jordan happy again, the tiny lines at the corner of her eyes had faded.

She shut off the light and headed to the dining room.

“There you are.” Her mother tossed her a pointed look. “Your eggs are getting cold.”

Saturday mornings Megan’s mother made breakfast, and Megan used the opportunity to sleep a little later than usual. She smiled at Jordan. “Sounds like you had another fun Friday.”

‘Yeah, but how come you had to cancel again?”

“I told you.” Megan took the chair between Jordan and her mother and unfolded her napkin across her lap. “Fridays are busy for me, Jordan. It’s hard to get away.”

“That’s what you said last week.” Jordan didn’t sound rude, just disappointed. “Casey really wants to meet you.”

Megan angled her head as she balanced a forkful of eggs. “Does
he
say that, or just you?”

“Well … ” Jordan thought about that for a minute. “He doesn’t actually say that, but he thinks it. I know he does, Mom. The lady at the club says all the other parents have met their child’s special friend except you.”

Megan made a mental note to contact Mrs. Eccles and ask her to keep her comments to herself. Her frustrations should not be vented at Jordan.

Next to her, Megan’s mother finished a piece of toast and dabbed her lips with the corner of her napkin. Her voice was more pleasant than before. “So, dear, exactly how old is this Casey? Is he a college boy?”

Jordan’s voice rose a notch, his face filled with enthusiasm. “He’s thirty-four, and he owns his own restaurant.” Jordan looked at Megan and then back at his grandmother. “Isn’t that cool?”

“Very cool.” Her mother’s tone took on a new level of interest. She made a subtle look in Megan’s direction.

“Thirty-four, single, and owns his own restaurant.” She paused and the corners of her smile lifted a bit. “Sounds like you should make time for the meeting, Megan.”

“Mother … ” Megan leveled her gaze at the older woman and lowered her voice. “I’m not interested. And I hate when you push.”

“Mommy?” Jordan sounded forlorn. He tapped her hand with the end of his fork until she looked at him. “You don’t wanna meet Casey?”

Megan raised her eyebrows at her mother and then made a quick shift back to Jordan. “Of course I want to meet him, honey. Next Friday for sure, okay? I’ll clear my schedule.”

“Good, then I’ll call Casey today and tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“That he should get three tickets for the Nets game, not just two.”

“Hmmm.” Megan’s mother stood up with her empty plate and walked to the kitchen. Her voice still had that cheerful matchmaker tone Megan hated. “Sounds like a date to me.”