Mary Clark - The Shadow of Your Smile

“His last MRI was only three months ago,” Emily told Monica. “It was absolutely clear. They’ve all been perfect after that first year.” She smiled at her son, who was now fidgeting. “I know. You want to go to Kyle’s. It’s okay, but Dad will walk you over there, and he’ll pick you up later.”

Michael broke into a grin, revealing two missing front teeth. “Thanks, Mom. It’s nice to see you again, Dr. Farrell,” he said. “Mom told me that you really helped me to get better.” He turned and scampered out of the dining room.

Richard O’Keefe got to his feet. “Wait up, Mike,” he called.

After they were gone, Monica protested, “Mrs. O’Keefe, I didn’t help Michael get better.”

“You certainly did. You recognized what it was. You told us straight out to get other consultations, but that he was terminal. That was when I knew I needed to beg for a miracle.”

“Why did you choose to pray to Sister Catherine in particular?”

“My great-aunt was a nurse in one of her hospitals. I remember her telling me when I was a little girl that she had worked with a nun who was like an angel. She told me that you would think every child she held in her arms was her own. She would comfort them and pray over them. My great-aunt was convinced that Sister Catherine had been gifted from God with a special power of healing, that she had an aura about her that words couldn’t describe, and that everyone who was in her presence felt it, too. When you told us that Michael was going to die, my first thought was of Sister Catherine.”

“I remember,” Monica said quietly. “I felt such pity for you because I knew there was just no hope for Michael.”

Emily O’Keefe smiled. “And you still don’t believe in miracles, do you, Monica? In fact, didn’t you come here believing that no matter how well he seems, and no matter how clean his tests, that the tumor could come back someday?”

‘Yes, I did,” Monica said, reluctantly.

“Why can’t you believe in miracles, Monica? What makes you so certain that they don’t happen?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to believe, but as I testified to the beatification committee, I know from my medical training that throughout history events have occurred that seem to be miracles, but in reality they have a scientific explanation that just wasn’t understood at the time.”

“Have any of those events ever included a little boy whose massive and malignant brain tumor completely disappeared?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Monica, Dr. Jenner is one of several respected neurosurgeons who are testifying that there is no medical or scientific explanation for Michael’s recovery. I don’t know whether you realize it, but it will be a long time before the Church itself concludes that this was a miracle. They will follow Michael’s medical status for many years.” Then Emily O’Keefe smiled. “We had pretty much this same conversation yesterday with Dr. Jenner. He told us he believed that in twenty years or fifty years there will still be no scientific explanation for Michael’s cure.”

She reached for Monica’s hand and held it, gently. “Monica, I hope that you don’t think I’m overreaching, but I do very much sense that you are conflicted. And also that you are ready to accept the possibility that Sister Catherine intervened, and that because of her, our only child is with us now.”

Esther Chambers devoured the newspapers over the weekend with a combination of shock and disbelief. The fact that Peter Gannon had been arrested for the murder of his former girlfriend seemed to her absolutely incredible. Greg is the one who has a nasty temper, she thought. I’d believe it of him, but never of Peter. And the fact that Peter was the father of a baby girl who was in the hospital, a baby Peter had never seen, sickened her.

Poor little tyke, she thought. Her mother’s dead, her father’s in jail, and if these articles can be believed, none of her mother’s relatives are looking to claim her.

Greg’s public relations firm had issued the statement to the press saying that the family was standing behind Peter and believed he would be vindicated. I hope so, too, Esther thought. Peter spends the foundation money like water, but he’s basically a decent human being. In my wildest dreams I cannot imagine him strangling that woman and stuffing her into a garbage bag.

She deliberately went to work early on Monday to avoid having to face the other employees and hear the gossip that she knew would be sweeping the office. But when she settled at her desk, Esther realized that her hands were trembling. She knew that by now Arthur Saling must have read the warning she had mailed to him. Would Greg suspect her of having written it? If Saling decided not to invest, she was sure Greg’s whole house of cards would collapse within weeks.

Did I have the right to do that? she asked herself. The people from the Securities and Exchange Commission would probably be furious if they found out. But Greg was drawing in Mr. Saling, and I felt so sorry for him and his family. If Saling does invest, his money will be wiped out when the SEC closes in on Greg. Bad enough for the dozens of people who are going to lose everything-I just couldn’t let one more person get hurt, not when I could prevent it, she told herself.

Through the glass doors that opened into the area where the rest of the office staff worked, she saw Greg Gannon approaching. Help me, Lord, she prayed. I don’t know what he would do if Saling shows him that letter, and he thinks I wrote it.

With a hard push that sent the door flying open, Greg came into the suite and walked straight to Esther’s desk. “I assume you’ve read the newspapers and seen the television stories,” he said abruptly.

“Of course. I’m so very sorry. And I know it’s all a terrible mistake.” Esther was glad that she was able to keep her voice quiet and convincing.

“There’ll be plenty of phone calls from the media. Refer them to Jason at the PR firm. Let him earn his money for a change.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it immediately.”

“I’m not available for calls. I don’t care if it’s the Pope on the line.”

He surely wouldn’t be calling you , Esther thought.

Greg Gannon started toward his private office, then stopped. “But if Arthur Saling phones, put him right through. I expect to be meeting with him later today.”

Esther swallowed hard. “Of course, Mr. Gannon.”

“All right.” Greg took a few steps away from Esther’s desk, then stopped again. “Wait a minute,” he snapped. “Haven’t we got a foundation meeting with the Greenwich Hospital group scheduled for tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, at eleven o’clock.”

“Cancel it.”

“Mr. Gannon, if you’d allow me to offer a suggestion, that’s not a good idea. They’re very upset that the grant the foundation promised them hasn’t come through. I think it’s really necessary for you to meet with them and give them some reassurance. Otherwise, if they get the press involved, it could be ugly. You don’t need more pressure right now.”

Greg Gannon hesitated, then said, “You’re right as usual, Esther. Remind Hadley and Langdon to be here. It’s obvious my brother won’t be available.”

“Will you tell Mrs. Gannon yourself or shall I remind her, sir?”

Astonished, Esther watched Greg Gannon’s face darken with rage. “Mrs. Gannon is very busy these days,” he snapped. “I doubt she’ll be available.”

Oh boy, Esther thought, as she watched Greg stride into his office. Maybe there’s something to that rumor that Pamela has a boyfriend, and now Greg has heard about it. I wonder who the guy is?