Other Life-Changing Fiction Titles
BY KAREN KINGSBURY
Gideon's G~ft One Tuesday Morning
Redemption
Remember
Return
Waiting for Morning
A Moment of Weakness
Haay to Forever
When Joy Came to Stay
Where Yesterday Lives
On Every Side
A Time to Dance
A Time to Embrace
Other Life-Changing Warner Miracle Collections
BY KAREN KINGSBURY
A Treasury of Christmas Miracles A Treasury of Miracles for Women A Tresury of 
Miracles f Teens
re's
,A `Novel
iracle
KAREN KINGSBURY
0
VMNER
Tr
A Division of AOL Time Warner Book Group
i LL,
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the 
product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to 
actual events, locales, orperson, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copynght©2003 by Karen Kingsbury All rights reserved.
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The Warner Faith name and logo are registered trademarks of Warner Books, Inc.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing. October 2003
io 9 8 7 6 14 3 2 r
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kingsbury, Karen.
Maggie's miracle / Karen Kingsbury.
p. cm.
"Warner faith.
ISBN 0-446-53230-4
1. Single mothers-Fiction. 2. Fatherfgures-Fiction. 3. Portland (Or)Fiction.
4. Women lawyers Fiction. 5. Widows-Fiction. 1. Title.
P53561.14873M34 2003 813'.54-dc2l
Book Design by earn Cutler de Vicq
2003049699
dedicated to...
Donald, my forever prince Kelsey, my beaut ful laughter
Tyler, my favorite song
Sean, my indefinable joy
Josh, my gentle giant
EJ, my chosen one
Austin, my miracle boy
And to God Almighty, the author of life, who has for now-blessed me with these.
1 
~~
2 
The letter was his best idea vet.
Jordan Wright had already talked to God about getting
his wish, and so far nothing had happened. But a letter
... a letter would definitely get God's attention. Not
the crayoned pictures he liked to send Grandpa in California.
But a real letter. On his mom's fancy paper with
his best spelling and slow hands, so his a's and e's would
sit straight on the line the way a second grader's a's and e's
should.
That way, God would read it for sure.
Grandma Terri was watching her yucky grownup
show on TV. People kissing and crying and yelling at each
other. Every day his grandma picked him up from St. Andrews,
brought him home to their Upper East Side
apartment in Manhattan, got him a snack, and put in the
I
3 
video of her grown-up show. Jordan could make his own milk shakes or 
accidentally color on the walls or jump on his bed for an hour when Grandma 
watched her grownup
show. As long as he wasn't too loud, she didn't notice anything.
"This is my time, Jordan," she'd tell him, and her eyes
would get that in-charge kind of look. "Keep yourself
busy."
But when the show was over she'd find him and make
a loud, huffy sound. "Jordan," she'd say, "what are you
into now? Why can't you read quietly like other children?"
Her voice would be slow and tired, and Jordan
wouldn't know what to do next.
She never yelled at him or sent him to his room, but
one thing was sure. She didn't like baby-sitting him because
yesterday Jordan heard her tell his mom that.
"I can't handle the boy forever, Megan. It's been two
years since George died. You need a nanny." She did a
different kind of breathy noise. "The boy's wearing me
out"
Jordan had been in his room listening. He felt bad because
maybe it was his fault his grandma couldn't handle
him. But then he heard his mom say, "I can't handle him,
either, so that makes two of us."
After that Jordan felt too sick to eat dinner.
2
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
Ever since then he'd known it was time. He had to do whatever it took to get 
God's attention because if he didn't get his wish pretty soon, well, maybe his 
mom and his grandma might not like him anymore.
It wasn't that he tried to get into trouble. But sometimes
it was boring looking for things to do, and he'd get
curious and wonder what would happen if he made a
milk shake with ice cubes. But how was he supposed to
know the milk-shake maker had a lid? And using paper
and a red crayon to trace the tiger on the wall calendar
probably wasn't a good idea in the first place, because of
course sometimes crayons slip.
He took the last swallow from his milk and waited
until the cookie crumbs slid down the glass into his
mouth. Cookies were the best snack of all. He set the cup
on the counter, climbed off the barstool, and walked
with tiptoe feet into his mom's office. He wasn't allowed
in there except if his mom was working on her lawyer
stuff and he had to ask her a serious question.
But she'd understand today because a letter to God
was very serious business.
The room was big and clean and full of wood stuff.
His mom was the kind of lawyer who put bad guys in jail.
That's why sometimes she had to work late at night and
on Sundays. Jordan pulled open a drawer near his
5 
mother's computer and took out two pieces of paper and two envelopes. In case he 
messed up and had to start over. Then he snuck real quiet out the door, down the 
hall, and into his room. He had a desk and pencils in there, only he never used 
them because second graders at St. Andrews didn't get homework till after 
Christmas.
One time he asked his mommy what would happen if
he couldn't do the homework when he got it, what if the
stuff he had to do was too hard.
"It won't be too hard, Jordan." His mother's eyebrows
had lifted up the way they did when she didn't
want any more questions.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm completely sure."
"How come?"
"Because, Jordan, I've been through second grade
and I know all the answers. If you have trouble, I'll help
you.
His heart felt a little less scared after that. Not every
second grader's mommy had all the answers. If she knew
everything, then he could never really get in too much
trouble with his homework, and that was a good thing
because Christmas wasn't too far away.
He sat down at his desk, took a pencil from the box,
and spread out the piece of paper. The white space
4
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
looked very empty. Jordan stared at it for a long time. If God was going to read 
the letter, it had to be his best
work ever. Big words would be a good thing. He worked himself a little taller in 
the chair, sucked in a long breath through his teeth, and began to write.
Dear God, my name isJordan Wright and I am 8years old. I bap somthing to ask 
you. I tride to askjou befor but I think you wer biry. So I am ritingyou a 
letter insted.
Jordan's hand hurt by the time he finished, and he could hear music playing on 
Grandma's grown-up show. That meant it was almost done, and any minute Grandma 
would come looking for him. He quickly folded the letter in half, ran his finger 
along the edge, and folded it again. Then he stuck it in the envelope and licked 
the lid shut. With careful fingers he wrote "God" across the front, then his 
pencil moved down a bit and froze. He'd forgotten something.
He didn't know God's address.
His heart felt extra jumpy. God lived in heaven, so
that had to be part of it. But what about the numbers?
Jordan could hear footsteps coming closer. He didn't
want Grandma to see the letter. She might want to read
it, and that would ruin everything because it was a secret.
7 
Just between him and God. He looked around his room and saw his backpack near 
his bed. He ran fast to it and slipped the letter inside. He could give it to 
his mother on the way to school tomorrow. She would know God's address. 
She knew everything.
CHAPTER ONE
Me Wright tucked her blouse into her navy skirt as he rounded the corner into 
the kitchen. Her biggest opening argument of the month was in less than an hour. 
"Let's go, Jordan. Two minutes."
"Just a sec."
"Not just a sec." She blew at a wisp of hair as she
grabbed a cold piece of toast from the kitchen counter.
These were the times she missed George more than any
other because the morning routine had been his deal. As
long as he was at work by eight-thirty he'd been happy.
But she had briefings and depositions that started earlier
than that.
"Now, Jordan. I have a hearing today."
She poured two glasses of orange juice, snatched one
and spun toward the vitamin cupboard. Two C's, one A,
6
9 
one E, a B-complex, a CoQ and two garlics. She popped the pills into her mouth 
and swallowed them with a single swig of juice. George had been more than twenty 
years older than her, a man she respected and tried to love. But the fortress 
surrounding George's deepest emotions was unyielding stone and razor wire, and 
in his presence, Megan never felt like more than an amicable business partner. 
When the love she'd dreamed of never materialized, Megan allowed herself to 
become like him. Married to her job.
Neither of them had figured Jordan into the plans.
But surprise gave way to possibility, and for a time
Megan believed that maybe George would come around,
spend less time at work, and get caught up in fatherhood.
They would have quiet moments together, watching their
baby sleep and dreaming of his future. Laughter and passion
would finally find them, and her life would be all
she'd ever hoped it to be. But the dream never quite materialized.
George was nearly fifty by then, and thrilled
with the idea of a son, a child to carry on his name, but
he was as distant as ever with Megan.
"You treat me like part of the furniture, George"
Megan whispered the words to him one night after they
climbed into bed. "Don't you want more?"
His eyes had been steely cold. "You have all you could
8
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
ever want, Megan. Don't ask more of me than I can give."
George had been a bond trader, a financial wizard with a spacious office in 
Midtown. For two weeks straight he'd complained about a stiff neck, but neither 
of them saw the signs. When his secretary found him that October morning, arms 
spread across his desk, his head resting on a pile of client files, she'd 
thought he was merely resting. An hour later a client call came in and she tried 
to wake him. Her scream brought most of the office staff and fifteen minutes 
later paramedics gave them the truth. He was dead, the victim of a massive 
coronary.
Megan lifted the juice to her lips once more and
downed it in four swallows. It had been two years now.
Her grieving period had lasted only a few months. The
two of them had never loved the way Megan had
hoped, the way she'd once, a long time ago, believed
possible. She and George were business partners,
friends who ran a common household. She missed
George in a functionary sense-especially on mornings
like this-but he'd taken none of her heart with him
when he died.
The problem was Jordan.
The boy was the one person George had truly loved,
and what little free time and sparse emotions he was able
12 
to give had been completely reserved for their only child. Megan never admitted 
it, but more than once she'd found herself feeling jealous of George's love for 
Jordan. Because it was a love he'd never had for her. When George died, Jordan 
was devastated. In the two years since his death, the level of Jordan's behavior 
in school and at home had plummeted.
Grief and anger, his doctor had called it. A passing
phase. Megan and Jordan met with a counselor after
George's death, but the sessions were costly and timeconsuming,
and Megan didn't notice any improvement in
Jordan's behavior. She'd asked her doctor about medication
for the boy. Ritalin or one of the other drugs kids
were using.
"Let's wait." The pediatrician had angled his head
thoughtfully. "I still think his behavior is related to the
loss of his father."
That was three months ago, and Megan was tired of
waiting.
Her mother had lived with them since just after
George's death, an arrangement Megan had thought
would be best for all of them. Her mom had retired from
teaching in Florida that year and lived on a limited income.
They could share expenses, and her mother could
help her with Jordan after school and on the weekends.
I0
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
But Jordan was too much for her mother, especially now that the weather was 
cooler and they were inside more.
She set the juice glass in the dishwasher. "Jordan!"
Her son's tennis shoes sounded on the hardwood
hallway as he ran into view. "Sorry, Mom."
Megan looked at the boy and felt her patience waning.
"Jordan, orange and green?"
"Miss Hanson says October is orange month."
"Miss Hanson isn't your mother." Megan pointed
down the hallway. "Find something that matches, and do
it now We have to go."
"Okay." Jordan ran back down the hall, his steps a bit
slower this time.
Megan glanced at the clock on the microwave oven. 7:16 ,.. They'd have to catch 
every green light along Madison Avenue to make it on time. She darted into her 
bathroom, brushed her teeth, and checked her look. Trim and professional, dark 
hair swept into a conservative knot, makeup applied just so. She still turned 
heads, but not because she was pretty.
Because she was powerful.
At thirty-two she was one of the youngest prosecutors
in the borough, and she had no intention of getting
sidetracked. Not until the D.A.'s office was hers alone.
That hadn't been her goal before George's heart attack,
13 
but now-now that she was their single source of income, things would always be 
tight if she didn't keep climbing.
"Jordan . . ." She grabbed her leather jacket and flung
her bag over her shoulder. "Now!"
He was waiting for her near the door. "Beat ya!"
His crooked grin caught her off guard, and for half a
second she smiled. "Very funny."
"Big hearing?" Jordan opened the door for her.
Megan shut and locked it. "The biggest"
They hurried down the stairs and out onto the street.
It was raining, and Megan hailed the first cab she saw.
"Get in, Jordan. Hurry."
He tossed his backpack in and slid over. She didn't have
the door shut before she said, "Fifth and ioznd. Fast"
The routine was the same every morning, but sometimes-days
like today-they had less room for error.
They were a block away from school when Jordan pulled
something from his backpack and stuck it in Megan's bag.
"Hey, Mom. Could you mail this? Please?"
Megan jerked a folder from her purse and opened it.
The hearing notes were in there somewhere. She'd stayed
up until after midnight studying them, but she wouldn't
be prepared without going over them one more time.
"Mom?"
12
MAGGIES MIRACLE
The folder settled on Megan's lap and she looked at Jordan. "What is it, honey? 
Mommy's busy with her court notes."
"I'm sorry." His eyes fell to his hands for a moment. "I put something in your 
bag."
"Right ..." Megan concentrated. What had the boy
said? Something about the mail? "What was it again?"
Jordan reached into her bag and lifted a white envelope
from the side pocket. "It's a letter. Could you put the
'dress on it and mail it this morning? It's important."
"Address." Megan raised her eyebrows at him. Whatever
they taught kids at St. Andrews, it wasn't enough.
Her son's academic abilities were nowhere near Megan's
expectations for an eight-year-old child. Yes, he could hit
a ball over the fence and throw it to home plate. But that
wouldn't help him get into college. She patted his cheek.
"The word is address. Not 'dress."
"Address." Jordan didn't skip a beat. "Could ya,
Mom? Please?"
She dropped her eyes back to the folder and lifted it closer to her face. "Sure, 
yes." She cast him a brief smile. "Definitely." The letter was probably for his 
grandpa Howard in California. But usually he addressed them.
The cab rumbled along, inching its way through a sea
of early-morning yellow, but Megan barely noticed as she
16 
studied her notes. Getting a conviction on the case was a sure thing. The 
defendant was a nineteen-year-old up for murder one, the ringleader of a gang of 
teens who'd spent a week that past summer lying in wait for late-night female 
victims in Central Park. In each case, the young men studied their prey for 
days, watching them enough to know their walking pattern, the direction they 
came from, and what time of night.
At an opportune moment, they'd grab the victim,
strangle her with fishing wire, and rob her clean. They
dumped the bodies in the brush and made their escape
through back trails out to the street. The first two times,
the gang pulled off their deed without a hitch. The third
time, an off-duty police officer happened by and heard
someone struggling in the bushes. He darted off the
path into the bramble, and a gun battle ensued. The victim
escaped with bruises on her neck, but the police officer
and one of the gang members were killed in the
fight.
Megan wanted the death penalty.
The cab jarred to a stop. "St. Andrews." The cabbie
put the car in park and didn't turn around.
"We're here, honey." Megan leaned over and gave Jordan
a peck on his cheek. "Get your bag."
14
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
Jordan grabbed his backpack, climbed out of the cab, and looked back at her. 
"Don't forget, okay?"
Megan's mind was blank. "Forget what?"
"Mom!" Jordan's shoulders slumped some. "My letter.
Don't forget to mail my letter."
"Right ... sorry." Megan gave a firm nod of her
head. "I won't forget."
"Promise?"
Something desperate shone in his little-boy eyes, and
Megan felt as if she were seeing him for the first time that
morning. He was a great kid, really, and she loved him in
a way that sometimes scared her. But then why didn't she
spend more time with him? She had no answers for herself,
and suddenly she needed to hug him more than she
needed air. Even if she missed her hearing.
She slid out of the car and went to him, pulling him
into her arms and ignoring the surprise in his eyes. Her
answer was quiet, whispered against the top of his head.
"Promise." For the briefest moment she savored the way
he smelled, the way he felt in her arms-like a little boy
again. "Have a good day, okay?"
His arms tightened some, and he pressed his face
against her. "I'm sorry I'm so much trouble."
Megan shot a quick look at the cabbie. "You're not so
much trouble, honey. We'll figure everything out some15
17 
how" She glanced at her watch. "Okay, buddy. Mom can't be late. Love you."
"Love you." Jordan gave her one last look, then
darted up the sidewalk to St. Andrews. Megan climbed
back into the cab and watched until he was safely through
the front door, then she turned to the driver and raised
her voice a notch. "Supreme Court on Centre." She
straightened her notes and slipped them back in the
folder. "Fast."
It was nightfall before Megan had a chance to grab a cup of coffee, sit down, 
and go over the cases she'd worked on that day. The hearing had gone brilliantly 
The jurymade up of married women and retired men-was bound to be more 
conservative than most in Manhattan, and her opening remarks had been right on. 
By the time she sat down, half the jurors were nodding in agreement. The trial 
would take two weeks of formalities, and she'd have her conviction.
She liked to call Jordan after school, but the morning
hearing had blended into an afternoon briefing and two
late depositions. Now it was seven o'clock, and she still
hadn't gone over her files, five of them spread out across
her desk. One at a time she worked her way through each
16
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
document, checking the facts, going over witness lists, looking for loopholes. 
Trying to think like a defense attorney in case some small detail had slipped 
her mind. By seven-thirty she was convinced none had.
She was loading the files into a cabinet when the
phone on her desk rang. Megan grabbed the receiver and
kept filing. "Hello?"
"Megan, I can't take it. The boy made a racetrack in
the bathroom and flushed a Mustang down the toilet. We
have an inch of water on the floor, and the supe's on his
way up because Mrs. Paisley in 204 has a wet ceiling." Her
mother paused only long enough to refuel. "I fixed
chicken for dinner, but by then he didn't want to eat, so I
sent him to his room to read. He's been crying for the
past half hour."
Megan shut the file drawer and fell back into her
chair. "A wet ceiling? Mom . . . how long was it flooded?"
"Not long, and don't have that tone with me."
"You were watching your soap, weren't you? No wonder
he was playing in the toilet."
"Megan, the boy's crying. Come home. We'll talk
about it here."
Traffic was a nightmare, and Megan used the time to
think about her life. Tears were nothing new for Jordan,
not lately. She thought about her options, but none of
20 
them brought her peace. Her mother was right, the boy needed a friend-someone to 
take walks with and play sports with. But where would she find someone like 
that?
A fragment of a conversation played in Megan's
mind. A couple had been talking in the halls outside
Megan's office.
"Child support is fine, but he needs more than that."
The woman kept her voice to a low hiss.
"It's not my problem. I'm writing the checks; that's all
the court asked me to do."
"We wouldn't be here if you spent even a few days a
month with him, can't you see that? Kids need more than
food and a roof over their heads."
Megan stared out the window of the cab at the dark,
wet streets of New York City. More than food and a roof over
their heads ... The words echoed in the most solitary part
of her heart, the part she'd closed off the spring of her
thirteenth year.
That was the problem with Jordan, of course. He
was lonely, left with only a tired old woman far too often.
The truth made Megan's eyes sting and it roughed up the
surface of her perfect plans. She'd have time for Jordan
later, when she made a name for herself as a prosecutor,
when she was making big money and able to choose her
18
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
hours. Wasn't that what she always told herself? For now, Jordan had to know she 
loved him. She told him all the time.
It took Megan half an hour to get home. She rarely
felt tired after a full day in court; exhilarated but not tired.
Today, though, she wanted only to bypass the situation
with Jordan and go straight to bed. The three flights of
stairs felt like five, and Jordan met her at the door.
"Did you do it?"
Megan locked eyes with him as she walked in and
closed the door behind her. "Do what?"
"Mail the letter." Hope shone in his expression. "Did
you?"
Her heart skipped a beat, and she resisted the urge to
blink. "Of course."
"Really? You found the address?"
The he came easier the second time. She brushed at a
wisp of his hair and kissed his forehead. "Definitely."
Jordan flung his arms around her. "Thanks, Mom . . .
you're the best"
Guilt found its way to her throat and put down roots.
"Enough about that." She swallowed hard and pulled
back. "What happened in the bathroom?"
It was an hour later before they got through the story
and she tucked him into bed. By then her mother was
21 
asleep, and finally Megan took her bag and retreated to her bedroom. The letter 
was still tucked inside. As she pulled it out her heart stumbled. Jordan had 
scribbled just one word across the front of the envelope:
God. Suddenly she remembered. Jordan had asked her to address it before dropping 
it in the mail. Megan closed her eyes, clutched the letter to her heart, and 
exhaled hard. Then, afraid of what she'd find, she dropped to her bed and opened 
it. Inside was a single page, filled with Jordan's neatest handwriting.
Megan narrowed her eyes and began to read.
Dear God, my name is Jordan Wright and I am Ryears old. I have somthing to ask 
you. I tride to ask you befor but I think you wer bicy. So I am riting you a 
letter insted.
A sad, aching sort of pain ignited in the basement of Megan's soul, the place 
where she had assigned all feelings about God and prayers and miracles. Jordan 
had said it perfectly. God had always been too busy to hear the prayers of a 
lonely, forgotten woman, and now He was too busy for her son. She gritted her 
teeth and kept reading.
20
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
I hap a wish to ask you abot, and here it is: Plese God, send me a Daddy. My 
daddy died wen his heart stopped pumping, and now its just my mom andgramma and 
me.
Tears filled Megan's eyes and made the words blurry. She blinked and forced 
herself to continue.
My (rend Keith has a daddy who plays baseball with him and takes him on Saterday 
trips to the park and he ps him with his plusses and minuses evey day after 
stool. Mommy is too bi'v,y to do that stuff, soplese God, plese send me a Daddy 
like that. Chrismas would be a good time. Thank you very much. Love, Jordan.
Megan wiped her tears. She read the letter again and again, and finally a fourth 
time as the sobs welled within her. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs of the type she 
hadn't allowed herself since she was a little girl. She could give Jordan 
everything he needed, but never the one thing he wanted. A daddy-a man to play 
with him and love him and call him his own.
And the fact grieved her as it hadn't since George
died.
Megan slipped the letter back inside the envelope and
eased it under her pillow. Then, with her work clothes still
23 
on, she lay down, slid beneath the comforter, and covered her face with her 
hands. Suddenly she was thirteen again, alone on the sandy shores of Lake Tahoe, 
devastated by her own losses and desperate for answers.
The boy had been fifteen, tall and wiry with sundrenched
hair and freckles, and they met each other near
the water every day for a week. What was his name? Kade
something? The memory was dimmer than it had once
been, and she could barely picture his face. But Maggie
had never forgotten something the boy told her that
summer.
Hold out for real love, Maggie, because real love never fails.
Megan had gazed out across the chilly lake and shook
her head. It would take a miracle for that kind of love,
she'd told him. Nothing short of a miracle.
"Then that," the boy had said as he grinned at her, "is
what I'll pray for. A miracle for Maggie."
Megan rolled onto her side and let the full brunt of
the sobs come. For years she'd held on to the boy's definition
of love-a love that would never fail. But the boy
on the beach had been wrong. Love-whatever love
was-certainly failed. And miracles? Well, they didn't
happen for her, and they certainly weren't about to happen
for Jordan.
The sooner he understood that, the better off he'd be.
22
CHAPTER TWO
4ound, Saturday mornings were busy at Casey's P~ner in Midtown Manhattan. The 
smell of hot blueb°°rry pancakes and sizzling bacon drenched the air, while the 
clamor of clattering trays and a dozen conversations served as a backdrop for 
customers lined up at the door. The cafe was a hot spot for tourists from Texas 
to Tokyo and extremely popular among Midtown's business elite. With a menu that 
was "healthy eclectic," ripe avocado and alfalfa sprout sandwiches were served 
up alongside a half dozen styles of homemade cheesecake. The food was fresh and 
fast, and the atmosphere as diverse and dynamic as New York City itself. In the 
six years since Casey Cummins opened the cafe, it had practically become a local 
landmark.
One of the regulars was telling him a joke, and Casey
25 
KAREN KINGSBURY
had to remind himself to laugh. His mind was a million miles away, stranded on 
an island of memories and secrets he would share with no one.
Especially today.
Most days, Casey jogged to work. He wore his trademark
blue nylon sweats and white Nikes, same as always,
so that when the morning was behind him he could run
the twenty blocks through Central Park back to his apartment.
His routine was the same as it had always been, but
these days Casey logged more miles and rarely ran the
straight path to his front door. Not because he needed
the exercise, but because he wanted to be anywhere but
back at the lonely set of walls he called home.
It was the third Saturday in October, and Casey easily
drifted from one conversation to another as he made the
rounds. "Joey ... how's the new job at the bank?" or
"Hey, Mrs. Jackson, another Saturday closer to Christmas,"
or "Marvin, my man, how 'bout those Nets? Jason
Kidd'll tear 'em up this season."
Hours passed, and Casey kept himself in the moment.
Never mind that his thoughts were somewhere
else, the cafe routine was as familiar as putting one foot
in front of the other. Even on a day like this.
The crowd began thinning around noon, and Casey
found a seat at the counter. "Long morning, Billy-G."
24
MAGGIE''S MIRACLE
The old black chef peered out from his position in front of the kitchen stove. 
"Okay ..." He studied Casey for a moment. "Give it up."
Casey blinked and kept his gaze on the man's face.
Billy Gaynor was a quiet family man from Nigeria
who'd worked for Casey since the cafe opened. Billy's
culinary magic was as much a part of the success of
Casey's Corner as the quirky New York street signs and
Broadway memorabilia that hung on the hand-painted
walls. Casey and Billy-G were colleagues and friendseven
more so since Amy died. They were both widowers
now, and despite the thirty years between them,
there was no one Casey would rather spend an hour
with.
Billy-G was waiting, and Casey grabbed a nearby pitcher, poured himself a cup of 
coffee, and took a slow drink.
"Yes, sir." Casey peered over the top of his steaming
mug. "Another great Saturday morning in the Big Apple,
eh Billy-G."
His friend's eyebrows forged a slow path through the
thick skin that made up his forehead. "Ya ain't fooling
me, Casey." He lumbered around the corner and leaned
against the counter opposite Casey. "Ya gotta talk about
it." Customers still filled most of the seats, so Billy-G
27 
I
KAREN KINGSBURY
kept his voice low. "You can't fake it with me, Casey. I already know"
Casey set down his coffee and lowered his chin. He
thought about smiling again, but changed his mind.
"What ya know, Billy-G?"
"It's your anniversary." The man leaned closer. "One
month after mine, remember?"
A brief burning nipped at Casey's eyes. "That." He
sniffed hard and sat up straighter on the stool. "No big
deal, Billy-G. Life moves on."
"Yes." The old man leaned against the counter, his
eyes still locked on Casey's. "But only a fool would forget
a girl like Amy." He hesitated and took a step back toward
the kitchen. "And you ain't no fool."
"Yeah, well . . ." Casey narrowed his eyes some and
sucked in a quick breath. He set down his cup and gave
the counter a light slap. "Time for my jog."
Billy-G stopped and leveled his gaze at Casey once
more. "I'm here. Anytime you wanna talk, I'm here."
"Thanks." Casey glanced over his shoulder and mentally
mapped out a course for the door. His throat was
thick, and memories were drawing close to the surface.
Some days he could talk about Amy for hours and never
feel the tears. Times like those he liked nothing more
26
rrr..
MAGGIE's MIRACLE
than to hang out with Billy-G after closing time and talk about a thousand 
yesterdays. But not today.
He flashed a smile at Billy-G. "See ya tomorrow"
The pavement felt like ice beneath his feet, and Casey ran faster than usual. 
Some of the regulars had waved him down, hoping for a conversation or a laugh, 
but he couldn't pretend for another minute. Billy-G was right.
Casey Cummins was no fool, and today he could keep
up the happy-guy act only for so long. It was his eighth
wedding anniversary, and if Amy and the baby had lived,
they would've spent the day together, celebrating life and
love and cherishing that special something they'd had between
them, the kind of love so few people shared.
He headed north on Broadway and cut across the
street toward Central Park. The thing of it was, no one
wanted to hear about his loss. Not really. People had their
own tragedies, lost jobs and children in the Armed
Forces, broken relationships and bankruptcies. At Casey's
Corner everyone wanted a sympathetic ear, and he made
it his job to listen.
But rarely did he talk.
Casey slowed his pace some and headed into the park
on a paved path. He'd heard people question God after a
30 I
KAREN KINGSBURY
tragedy, wondering how a loving Creator could allow a world filled with 
devastation and loss. Some of his customers were so angry with God after 
September i i, they'd stopped believing.
Casey didn't feel that way at all.
Bad things happened in the world, it was that simple.
A fifteen-year-old rape victim, the mother of a toddler
killed by a drunk driver, the wife of a police officer shot
in the line of duty-each of them had their own September
i i, a day when they'd been forced to realize that
without faith, life didn't make sense.
Not a single minute of it.
Casey's had happened a week after the terrorist attacks,
on September 18. That was the day Amy went into
labor and began bleeding. He rushed her to Mount Sinai
Hospital, and even after the doctors ushered him into a
private waiting room, Casey thought Amy and the baby
were going to be fine. It wasn't until almost an hour later,
when a weary doctor shuffled up to Casey, that he realized
something was wrong.
"We lost them both, Mr. Cummins." The doctor had
tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry."
Amy had begun hemorrhaging when she went into
labor. The blood loss was too much, and there'd been no
way to save either of them.
28
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
Casey was breathing harder now. He rounded a corner and saw the familiar green 
and tan plastic play equipment and the giant slide to the right. The East Meadow 
play area wasn't the largest or most popular in Central Park, but it was the 
place where Casey and Amy had come after they'd moved to New York. Normally, he 
would run past the area with only a quick glance and a flash of memories. Past 
the worn-out bench anchored near the back by the big slide, past the place where 
he had given Amy a ring, the place where she'd told him she was going to have a 
baby. The quiet spot where they'd held each other and wept once the dust settled 
after the collapse of the Twin Towers.
He slowed his steps and came to a stop, his sides
heaving. The place, the bench, was a graveyard of memories,
and most days he was better off not to stop.
But today ...
Today, there was suddenly nowhere else he wanted
to be.
A chill hung in the air, and the bushes rustled with a
strong fall breeze. Casey gripped his knees and bent over,
waiting for his lungs to fill. After a few seconds, he
straightened and linked his hands behind his head. For
half a minute he moved his feet in small circles, until his
breathing was normal again. A dozen children were scat29
31 
tered amid the swings and slides, and not far away their parents stood in 
clusters or sat on other benches, chatting and sometimes yelling out at the 
little ones, warning them not to walk in front of swings or promising to play 
with them in a few minutes.
The voices faded, and Casey headed toward the back
of the play area. Their bench was empty, like always. It
was smaller, older than the others, and partially hidden by
an overgrown bush. Only half the play equipment could
be seen from that bench, so most of the parents didn't
bother with it.
He sat down and stretched out his legs. The ground
was damp, carpeted with a layer of month-old fallen
leaves. Casey kicked at a dark, wet clump and crossed his
feet.
Eight years.
If Amy had lived they would've been close to celebrating
a decade together. He let his head fall back a few
inches and stared into the gray. Come on, let me see her...
just once. He narrowed his eyes, willing himself to look beyond
the clouds to the place where Amy still lived, still
loved him and waited for him.
But all he could see was the swirl of late-autumn sky,
and his heart settled deeper in his chest. He closed his
eyes.
30
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
The pain is worse now than ever. I-He held his breath, determined to keep his 
emotions at bay. I miss her so much.
His eyes opened, and a robin caught his attention. It
hopped along the sidewalk a few feet away, studying the
ground, pecking at it. Then it stopped and tilted its head
toward the trees, and in a rush of motion, flapped its
wings and lifted into the air.
Casey watched until it disappeared. If Amy were here,
she'd slip her arm around his shoulders and tell him to
learn a thing or two from the robin. What good ever
came from muddling around on the ground? It had been
two years and Amy would've wanted him to fly again.
Live again ... love again. Amy, with her wheat-colored
blonde hair and light brown eyes, her easy laugh and tender
heart. The unaffected way she said exactly what was
on her mind.
Come on, Casey ... He could almost hear her, see the
sparks flying in her eyes. IVhat're you going to do ... stop
breathing? Get out there and live.
But where would he start? And with whom? And
how-after loving and losing the woman of his dreamswas
he supposed to fly again? So what if two years had
passed. He didn't want to fly yet, didn't want to move on.
Better to be alone with her memories than find someone
to replace her.
33 
The very idea made his stomach hurt.
"Jordan, not so high." A woman's voice broke the
moment, and Casey's eyes followed the sound. She was a
brunette, pretty in a professional sort of way, and she
stood a few feet from the play equipment. "Jordan ...
did you hear me?"
Casey shifted his gaze to the big slide and saw a young
boy, seven or eight years old. For a moment he looked as
though he might disobey her, but then he stopped,
turned around, and headed back down the ladder. Casey
blinked, and he was back in the hospital room again,
hearing the news about his wife and child for the first
time.
The baby had been a boy.
The doctor had said so right after telling him the
awful news. A boy who would've had Amy's eyes and
Casey's sense of adventure. A boy like the one climbing
on the play equipment. He would've been two years old,
and he would've loved the East Meadow, where the carpet
of green gave way to a view of the reservoir. Yes, this
would've been his favorite place. Amy would've been by
his side, holding his hand, and together they would've
watched their son run and skip and jump across the play
bridge.
Casey shifted his gaze, and the invisible picture disap32
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
peared. He sucked in a quick breath and slid a bit lower on the bench. Why was 
he letting his thoughts run wild? What good did daydreaming do him now? So what 
if it was their anniversary. Amy was gone-and with her every hope he'd ever had 
for the future. There was no
hand to hold, no happy ending, and no towheaded little boy to play with.
He stood and turned around, using the back of the
bench to stretch his legs behind him one at a time, loosening
his arches and calves for the run home. No reason
to stay another moment. The bench was nothing but a
tombstone now. A tombstone marking Amy's easy grin,
and a baby boy's unheard cry, and every other good thing
about life and living, all of which had died on the operating
table right alongside Amy and their infant son.
35 
Me i had caught glimpses of the man ever since she d Jordan arrived.
£' The park had been Jordan's idea, the least she could
do after reading his letter to God. She couldn't take the
place of a father, but she loved the boy, and the letter had
done nothing but underline the fact. Jordan needed more
time with her, and now she would do whatever she could
to be there for him. If that meant giving up a Saturday at
the office, she would find another way to get the work
done.
She'd been pushing Jordan on the swing, laughing at
something he'd said, when the man jogged up, cooled
down a bit, and sat on a bench at the far back near the big
slide. Megan met his eyes only briefly as he walked past,
but immediately she knew something was wrong. Megan
37 
was an attorney, after all. She could read body language and facial expressions 
as easily as she could read a court paper.
And she was an expert at reading eyes.
The man's were haunting, filled with the kind of private
pain you saw in theater seats and restaurants and office
places, a pain that was commonplace in New York
City. At least in the last two years. For a moment, Megan
wondered about the man's story. He looked nice enough,
and the way he held himself stirred something vaguely familiar
in her. For a moment she wondered. Had he lost a
parent or a child? A lover, maybe. Or was he merely
struggling with a rough workweek?
Ten minutes passed, and Megan considered the solitary
man. Maybe she should go to him, find out why he
was here and what made his eyes look that way. Maybe
he wanted to talk. Megan turned her attention to Jordan
and the idea passed. Crazy thoughts like that didn't flit
across her mind very often. The man was obviously sitting
alone for a reason, and Megan wasn't about to interrupt
him.
"Time me, Mom." Jordan waved at her. His eyes
danced as they hadn't in months, and Megan felt a ripple
of hope. Everything would be all right. She could do
this-this playtime thing. And eventually, Jordan would
36
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
see that he didn't need a father, not with how much she loved him.
"Time you?" She looked at her watch. "For what?" "See how long it takes me to 
run around the swings, climb the ladder, and drop down the slide, okay?"
"Okay." Megan did a salute in Jordan's direction.
"Whenever you're ready."
For the longest time, the two of them played the
game, and when Jordan was finally too tired to make another
go at it, Megan noticed that the man was gone.
Gone home to whatever family waited for him, whatever
it was that caused his eyes so much sorrow.
Jordan jumped off the slide and jogged over to her.
"Ready?"
"Yep." Megan pushed up the sleeves of her sweater
and rose to her feet. "Ready if you are."
He walked alongside her and yawned. "That was way
fun."
"TFay fun?"
"Come on, Mom ..." Jordan grinned at her. "You
know, like really, really fun."
"Oh . . ." Megan tilted her head back and shot him a teasing look. "All right, 
then I way liked being with you today."
"Yeah . . ." The silliness faded from Jordan's eyes, and
39 
he gave her the type of adoring smile she hadn't seen for years. "Me, too."
See, Jordan, she wanted to say. You don't need a dad.
"Wanna get lunch?"
"Don't you have to work?" Jordan stopped walking
and turned to her. His mouth was open.
"Nope." She tickled him in the ribs. "I'm yours all
day."
"Really?"
"Really."
Jordan jumped and raised his fist in the air the way he
did when his favorite football team scored a touchdown.
"Yes!"
Megan laughed, and the sound of it stuck in her
heart. Like a favorite song she hadn't heard in far too
long. She lowered her chin and grinned at Jordan. "Does
that mean pizza or hot dogs?"
"Hot dogs near the Conservatory. Definitely." They
started walking again, and this time Jordan tucked his
hand in hers. "Hey, Mom..."
"Yes." Megan ran her thumb along the side of Jordan's
hand and realized something. She'd told Jordan the
truth. Spending the day with him had been wonderful
and refreshing, the perfect break after a long week.
"You look pretty today."
38
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
Megan angled her head and gave a single nod in Jordan's direction. "Why, thank 
you, kind sir." She ran her fingers through her short dark hair. "Must be my new 
haircut."
"No . . ." Jordan shook his head. "It's the jeans. Mommies look nice in jeans."
The conversation veered from jeans to the zoo animals at the far end of the park 
to the open house at school the coming week to the one thing Megan had 
desperately hoped he wouldn't talk about.
The God letter.
It happened when they were twenty yards from the
hot-dog vendor. Jordan let go of her hand and pivoted to
a standstill. "Mom!" Concern flashed in his eyes. "You
mailed my letter, right?"
Megan's heart skipped a beat. "Letter?"
Jordan knit his eyebrows together. "The one I put inside
your purse. Yesterday, before school?"
"Oh, that"Megan urged herself to smile. "Of course
I mailed it." She started walking again and he fell in beside
her. "I already told you that."
"When did you?"
It took all of Megan's effort to spit out the lie. "Just
41 
after lunch." She kept her eyes straight ahead, moving along as though nothing 
were wrong.
"But you found the address?"
Megan felt two inches high. "Yes, Jordan." She
pointed at the vendor. "How 'bout hot dogs and chips?"
Jordan skipped a bit in front of her and tossed a smile
over his shoulder. "I knew you'd know the address for
God, you know why?"
Megan ordered herself to look relaxed. "Why?"
"Because you know everything, Mom. Even God's
address." He glanced ahead at the vendor. "Hot dogs are
perfect."
They were in line when Megan found her voice again.
"Uh ... Jordan ... about the letter ..
"Yeah?" "What ... what exactly did you tell God?"
Jordan lifted his shoulders twice. "I just sort of asked
Him something." He squinted his eyes and looked toward
the sky. The clouds had burned off, and blue
patches were showing above them. "It's a secret. Between
me and God."
Megan could kick herself for pushing the issue, but
she'd hoped he might tell her what it held. That way she
could break the news to him gently-that God wouldn't
be hand-delivering a daddy anytime soon. But if Jordan
40
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
wouldn't tell her what the letter said, she could hardly let on that she knew.
They moved up a bit in line, and Jordan looked at her once more. "Mom ... are 
you ever gonna get married again?"
The question shot darts at Megan's soul. "No." Her answer was quick and pointed. 
"Not ever."
Jordan let his gaze fall to his feet, and he kicked up a
bit of loose gravel. When he looked up again, his eyes
were flatter than before. "How come?"
A sigh filtered through Megan's tight throat. `Because ...' She took Jordan's 
hands in hers and faced him, ignoring the people in line on either side of them. 
"I'll never find anyone who loves me as much as you do, buddy. Okay?"
"You still believe in love, though, right?"
Megan felt his words like so many rocks. "Of
course." She squeezed Jordan's hands and managed a curious
smile. "Why would you ask?"
"Because one time-" Jordan hesitated. "One time I
heard you tell Grandma that you didn't believe in love
anymore."
"Well . . ." They were next in line, and Megan couldn't let her surprise show. 
She would have to be more careful about what she said around the apartment. 
"Sometimes I
44 
get sad about Daddy being gone, and I feel that way. But not most of the time, 
okay?"
"Okay." He smiled at her, but the spark from earlier
was gone.
They bought their hot dogs, and for the rest of the afternoon
Megan grieved the fact that Jordan had heard
her say such a thing about love. Worse, she grieved that
what she had said was true. She didn't believe in love, not
for a minute. How far had she come since that long-ago
summer when-in the midst of the worst days of her
life-she'd been given the gift of hope by a boy she
hadn't seen before or since?
And that night as she drifted off to sleep, she didn't
think about court cases or Jordan's loneliness or how a
person could wake up one morning with neck pain and
be dead of a coronary by noon. Rather, she allowed
twenty-year-old memories to surface like seaweed, memories
she'd buried long ago. And as she did, she felt herself
drift back in time, back to a Lake Tahoe beach, and a
boy named Kade, and a kind of love that lasted forever.
A kind of love she no longer believed in.
42
CHAPTER FOUR
rt 'Megan allowed the memories, they came like old ends and took her back to a 
place when she was barely tlbre than a child.
She and her younger brother had lived a life that seemed idyllic to everyone, 
especially Megan. They had a home with a swimming pool in West Palm Beach, and 
every summer they took family vacations. After work her father would come in 
from the garage, drop his keys in the apple jar by the telephone, and clap his 
hands. "Where's the best kids in the world?" he'd ask.
When she was a little girl, Megan would wait for him
by the front window and at the sound of his voice she
would run and jump into his arms. Her father wasn't very
tall, but to her he was strong and bigger than life. Once
when Megan was six years old, her father had been teach43
45 
ing her how to ride a bike at Farlane Park. He jogged alongside her, and when 
she grazed a tree and began to fall, he caught her by the waist and kept her 
from hitting the ground.
Caught her in midair.
It was something Megan never forgot. When she was
older, her brother did the running and jumping, and
Megan would call from the next room, "Hey, Dad, how
was your day?"
And every evening he'd find her and kiss the top of
her head.
When he was home, that was.
Now she knew that her parents had often been fighting,
arguing over whether her dad was sleeping with other
women or stepping out secretly without her mother
knowing it. But Megan and her brother had no idea.
Not until the day their father walked out.
She could still hear her parents' voices, the way they
sounded that awful day. Hear them as clearly as if they
were standing beside her bed. At first Megan hadn't believed
the loud noises could be coming from her parents.
She figured her father must've been watching something
on television. Her brother was only seven that spring, and
he played in his room, unaware that the story of their
lives was being rewritten in the kitchen below
44
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
Megan had gone to the top of the stairs and listened. That's when she realized 
the loud, angry words weren't coming from the TV at all, but from her parents. 
Her parents, who never yelled at each other. Megan had felt the blood drain from 
her face. She sat down, hugged her knees to her chest, and concentrated on what 
they were saying.
"Walk out now, and don't bother coming back!"
The words had belonged to her mother, and they terrified
Megan. Walk out? What was that supposed to mean?
Daddy had just come home from work, and they hadn't
eaten dinner yet. He would never have gone back out
now.
"I didn't want it like this." Her father's voice hadn't been as loud, but it was 
filled with fury. "You're the one who made the phone call."
"Of course I made the call." Her mother's tone rose
a notch. "I find a receipt for roses in your coat pocket?
When you haven't given me flowers in five years? The
phone call was a natural, Paul. The florist was more than
willing to give me your girlfriend's name, so blame him."
"Okay, I've got a girlfriend. What're you gonna do
about it?"
"No, Paul, what're you going to do?" Her mother
sounded half crazy, desperate.
47 
"Nothing." The word was an explosion in the kitchen below. "There's nothing I 
can do now"
"Yes, you can! You can tell her it's over, tell her we're
going to get counseling and try to work things out. Tell
her you have a family."
"No, Terri. You have a family I have a job and a mortgage
and bills to pay. The kids barely know me."
Megan gripped the staircase and closed her eyes. Her
head spun and she felt sick to her stomach. What was her
father talking about? Of course they knew him. Whenever
he was home they read books together and went for
walks and ...
That's when she'd realized something. Her father
hadn't been home much since Christmas, really. Once in
a while she'd heard her mother comment about the fact,
but never with so much shouting. Megan hadn't thought
anything of his absences. Her father was a banker, a busy
man, and sometimes his work kept him out late. That was
all it was. Right?
Her mother began to weep, a loud, wailing cry Megan
had never heard before. "Forget the girl, Paul. I can if
you can." She was shrieking, panicking, and the sound of
her voice made Megan's heart race. "Don't leave us now,
please, Paul. Think about the kids!"
46
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
That's when the shouting and crying and angry words had suddenly stopped. Her 
father's voice was calm once again, and he said only two words, the last words 
Megan ever heard him say.
"Good-bye, Terri."
That was it. Nothing about even hearing her mother's
plea or possibly breaking up with the girlfriend, whoever
she was. No final words of love passed on to the kids, no
words of concern for Megan and her brother. Just
"Good-bye, Terri."
Megan had held her breath as she peered down into
the foyer and watched her father leave. She could still see
him, the way he stood by the door with a single suitcase
in one hand, a briefcase in the other, dressed in his business
clothes. He gave one last look around the living
room, then he turned and walked out, shutting the door
behind him.
At first Megan had figured it was some kind of bad
joke, or maybe even an awful nightmare. A girl in Megan's
third-grade class had a father who left them on New
Year's Day, and a few years later Sheila Wagner's mother
ran off with the assistant principal.
But never, in all her imaginings, had Megan considered
such a thing could happen to her family. After all,
49 
her family went to church on Sundays and prayed before every dinner and kept a 
Bible on the coffee table downstairs. 
Fathers didn't run out on families like that, did they?
Megan had swallowed her fears, and for the first two
days she said nothing about what she'd seen and heard at
the top of the stairs that night. But on the third day, her
mother pulled her aside and choked out the truth. Her father
was gone, and until he came home they'd have to
fend for themselves. Her brother was too young to understand
what had happened, and their mother told them
only that Daddy wouldn't be home for a while.
Looking back, Megan figured her mother held on to
that idea-that her father would come home one dayfor
the next two months. Then in June, something happened
and Megan's mother no longer peered out the
window after dark looking for their father's car to pull up
in the driveway.
The day school was out, they set off in the station
wagon for Lake Tahoe-where Aunt Peggy lived. The
only explanation Megan and her brother got was that
they all needed some time away.
Four days later they arrived at Aunt Peggy's house on
the lake. Her brother was in the pool before they unpacked.
That entire first day, Megan did nothing but sit at
48
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
the far end of the living room and pretend she was reading a book. Really, she 
was listening to her mom and Aunt Peggy talk about her father. Something about 
the money he was sending and some kind of papers he'd had delivered to her.
"At least the jerk's sending you support," Aunt Peggy
said, and then she shot Megan a glance. "Megan, honey,
why don't you go out and play with your brother?"
By that point, Megan had felt sick to her stomach
going on two months straight, and when her aunt suggested
she leave the house, Megan was more than happy
to go. She didn't understand exactly what her aunt and
her mother were talking about, but it was something bad,
something about her father. And Megan knew deep in
her heart that her daddy wasn't coming home, maybe not
ever.
She wandered outside, past her brother splashing in the pool, and through a 
thicket of pine trees out onto the beach. It was a private stretch of sand 
shared by only the houses in Aunt Peggy's neighborhood. Megan kicked off her 
shoes and walked along the shore about a hundred yards until she spotted a 
fallen tree trunk. She sat at one end, stared out at the water, and wondered.
Why had her father left, anyway, and where was love?
Was it real? If people like her parents could split up, how
51 
could it be? And what about her and her brother? Since he'd been gone, their dad 
hadn't called or visited. Not once. So what was the point of growing up and 
getting married if it all fell apart in the end?
If only her father would come home. Then she would
know love was real after all, and that God answered
prayers.
"Where are you, Daddy?" Her whispered question
mixed with the breeze rolling off the south end of the
lake and sifted through the tree branches behind her. But
she heard no answer.
Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them back. She'd
always done her crying in private, and this wasn't the time
for tears. I missyou. She gazed up at the sky to a place she
wasn't quite sure existed. I want him to come home and kiss the
top of my head like he used to. God, you can make miracles happen,
so please make one happen now for me.
As she sat there a little while longer she realized
something. Her father's routine-the way he came home
each day and showered Megan and her brother with attention-had
been something that made her feel safe and
protected. Now, without him, Megan felt unattached, like
she was falling without a parachute.
She was about to head back to her aunt's house when
something in the opposite direction caught her eye. A
50
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
boy, about her age, was walking a white Lab along the beach. He noticed her, and 
before she could escape, the boy waved and headed over.
"Hi." He came up and stood in front of her. "You
must be new"
Megan shrugged and tried not to feel interested.
The boy had clear, blue eyes and something about the
way he looked at her made her feel as though he'd
known her forever. She struggled to find her voice.
"Just visiting."
"Us, too. My grandpa lives here. We come up each
June." He sat down a few feet from her on the fallen log.
"I'm Kade."
"I'm Maggie."
He hesitated a minute, and a smile played on his lips.
"Okay, Maggie, tell me this. If you're on vacation, why're
you sitting here looking like it's the end of the world?"
For some reason, Megan felt safe with the boy. She
tilted her head and felt the pretense fade from her expression.
"Because it is."
Kade's smile dropped off like the bottom of the lake.
"Ya wanna talk about it?"
And Megan had.
For the next week, she and Kade met out on the
shoreline and talked about everything from the meaning
53 
of life to Kade's passion for baseball and his dream of playing in the big 
leagues. But whenever the topic would turn to Megan's father and her situation, 
Kade would tell her the same thing: Real love never fails, and where there is 
that type of love, there is hope. Always.
Kade's father was a minister at a small church in Henderson,
Nevada, just outside Las Vegas. His daddy had
told him that in a town nicknamed "Sin City" it was important
to know what real love was.
"But what about when love dies? Like it did for my
parents?" They were walking along the beach, their arms
occasionally brushing against each other.
"Maybe they never understood real love." Kade
stopped and picked up a flat rock from the sand. He
skipped it across the water and turned to her. "You know,
the kind of love in the Bible. The love that Jesus talks
about."
That was another thing. Megan had never met anyone
her age so versed in Scripture. Not that he talked about it
all the time. In fact, they spent most of their hours playing
Frisbee or swimming in her aunt's pool or splashing in
the lake. One day she found a dozen pale purple azaleas
growing wild near a clump of bushes just off the beach.
"Here." She picked the prettiest one and handed it to
Kade. "So you'll remember me."
52
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
"Okay." The hint of a smile played on his mouth, and his eyes sparkled. "I'll 
put it in my Bible and save it forever." 
They teased and laughed and played hide and seek
among the pine trees that lined the beach. But each afternoon
as the sun made its way down toward the mountains,
she and Kade would find their place on the fallen
log and he'd say something profound about love or God's
plan for her life. Something that didn't make him seem
anything like a fifteen-year-old boy.
Late one afternoon, she narrowed her eyes and studied
him for a minute. "You sure you're not an angel or
something?"
"Yep, that's me." He let his head roll back, and his
laugh filled the air around her. "An angel with a mean
fastball and a .35 o batting average."
She breathed hard through her nose. "I'm serious,
Kade. What kind of kid knows about love like that?"
"I told you." His cheeks were tanned from the week
in the sun, and his eyes danced as the laughter eased from
his voice. "My dad's a preacher, Maggie. The Bible's like,
well . . ." He gazed out across the water. "It's like the air
in our house. It's all around us."
"And the Bible talks about love?"
Megan hadn't known anything about the Bible, really.
55 
Sure it sat on the coffee table, and she and her family had gone to church once 
in a while when they were little. But never in the past few years. Especially 
not since her father left.
Kade pulled one leg up and looked at her. "The Bible
talks all about love. How it's kind and how it never fails."
On their last afternoon together, Megan admitted
something to him, something she hadn't really understood
until then. "I want to believe, Kade. In love ... in
God ... in all of it." She let her gaze fall to her hands.
"But I don't think I know how anymore."
Kade slid closer to her on the fallen log and took her
fingers in his. "Then what you need, Maggie, is a miracle.
So that one day everything we've talked about will really
happen in your life."
"A miracle?"
"Yep." He scooted closer still and tightened the grip
he had on her hand. "Close your eyes, and I'll pray."
Then, while a funny, tingling sort of feeling worked
its way down Maggie's spine, she and Kade held hands,
and he asked God for a miracle for her, that her father
would come home and that no matter what else happened
or didn't happen, one day she would know the type
of love that never failed.
They made a plan then, that they'd meet there on the
54
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
fallen log every June, so long as their families came to Lake Tahoe. Before she 
left, Kade hugged her and gave her the briefest kiss on the cheek. "I'll pray 
for you, Maggie. Every day. That you'll get your miracle." He gave her a sad 
smile. "See ya around sometime."
When she and her mother and brother left for home
the next day, Megan couldn't decide what to feel. She
hated leaving Kade, but her heart soared with a hope she
hadn't felt before the trip, and she found herself convinced
of several things. First, that God was real, and second,
that He was going to give her the miracle they'd
prayed for. That one day she'd know for herself a kind of
love that didn't walk out the front door one night before
dinner. A love that never failed.
58 
Casey pulled open the blinds and stared up between the buildings that surrounded 
his apartment. Rain, again. Cold, driving rain. He pulled away from the window, 
padded across the living room, and found his running shoes. Rain was good. Clean 
and honest and simple, reducing the moment to nothing but Casey and the air he 
breathed. Besides, the cafe wouldn't open for another hour and now, while it was 
still dark, there was nowhere he'd rather be than running the streets of New 
York City.
Rain, sleet, or snow, he would run.
Three days had passed since his anniversary, and still
Casey couldn't pull himself from the past. Crazy, really,
that a calendar day could send him into a tailspin of
memories and longing. Anniversaries, birthdays, Valen57
hk~
59 
tine's Day, Christmas. The trigger was any day the two of them would've been 
together.
Freedom was out on the pavement, where it always
was. Running gave Casey a chance to think about life the
way he couldn't at his crowded cafe or in the confines of
an apartment where every square inch held memories of
Amy.
He laced up his shoes and noticed that his shoulders
felt lighter, as though the mountain of sorrow and regret
he lived under couldn't follow him out onto the streets.
Three flights down the ancient stairs that ran through the
core of the apartment building and he was outside. A
wind gust slapped him in the face and sprayed his cheeks
with rain. The air was colder than it looked, but it was
clean, and Casey sucked in three mouthfuls as he set off.
Five minutes later it happened, the same thing that
happened every time he ran. The early-morning commuters
and sounds of the waking city faded to nothing,
and Casey gained entrance to a world where Amy was still
alive and memories of her came easily. A world where he
could catch a glimpse of the place where she and their
son still lived, where the pain of existence was dimmedif
only for an hour.
He'd run enough over the past two years that come
spring he was going to do a marathon. Why not? He
58
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
would put in the miles one way or another. It gave him a reason to run more, 
something to tell Billy-G and the regulars at the cafe. He was training. Not 
that he needed the time to relive his past or sort through how he could've done 
something different that awful day, how he could've helped save Amy and the 
baby.
He had to run to be ready for the race.
Since Saturday, he'd used his running time to indulge
himself in the rarest luxury of all. The luxury of going
back to the beginning, back to the days when he and Amy
first met. Casey brushed his gloved hand over his face
and wiped the rain off his brow. He had to be careful
how often he did this, this going back to the beginning
thing. Because each time he allowed himself, the sound of
her voice, the feel of her hand in his were more vivid. Intoxicatingly
vivid.
And each time it was harder to find his way back to
real life.
But here, on this rainy Tuesday morning, Casey didn't
care. One more time wouldn't hurt. Besides, memories
were all he had left, all he'd ever have. And they were
worthless if he didn't spend time with them every now
and then.
He turned right and headed toward Central Park, no
longer seeing steamy manholes and cabdrivers vying for
61 
early riders. Instead he was in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, his sleeves rolled up and 
sweat beading on his forehead.
From the time he started high school, Casey had
known what he wanted to do in life. He had no intention
of becoming a preacher or a doctor or any of the things
his parents had figured for him. He would get his MBA
and do something different, something where he could
keep his own hours and be his own boss, work around
all types of people. Then he'd meet a nice girl, get married,
and have the kind of life his parents had shared.
But first, he would travel.
A month after he graduated from high school, he
turned down three track-and-field scholarships for a oneyear
position working as a driver for an orphanage in
Haiti. The job paid nothing but food and expenses, but it
taught him more about life than he could've learned in a
dozen college courses.
He drove a twenty-year-old pickup truck with
boarded sides and an engine that started only half the
time. At first the road conditions terrified him. Traffic
ran in multiple directions without any clear sense of
right-of-way, and people honked their horns as often as
they hit their gas pedals. Vendors littered the roadways,
and children darted into traffic at every intersection wav60
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
ing rags and squirt bottles, hoping to make a dime or two by cleaning a dirty 
car window.
The food was rice and beans and an occasional
skimpy chicken leg. Meat wasn't refrigerated in Haiti,
showers were scarce, and hot water unheard of. Every
mosquito bite carried the threat of malaria. During the
day, when Casey was driving the streets of Port-auPrince,
not only was he an oddity because he was American,
but he was often the only white person amid
hundreds of thousands of teeming people on the main
thoroughfare. Casey knew enough Creole to say, "I'm
here for the supplies," and "I'll be back next week," and
a few other key words, but the language barrier felt like
the Great Wall of China. Rats ran the floor of the orphanage
at night, and at times the adjustment period felt
as if it would stretch on forever.
But after a month in Port-au-Prince, Casey felt more
comfortable. He no longer noticed the strange looks he
got from people he passed on the streets, and the traffic
was somehow invigorating. When he took the time to
smile, people treated him kindly. He spent his days getting
supplies, shuttling children to various appointments,
and helping the ministry team when they staged outreaches
on the street corners.
63 
At the end of the first year, Casey signed up for a second. 
"What about college?" His father had been worried,
but not nearly as much as his mother.
"Have you gone mad?" Her voice was pinched with
fear. "Universities won't wait forever."
Casey figured they would. He was still in great shape
and ran the hilly side streets at the far end of Port-auPrince
four times a week.
Halfway through his second year, a group of high
school youth-group students came to the orphanage for
spring break. Casey had been in the driveway on his back,
working on the muffler of the old pickup truck, when the
students filed through the high security gate. He paused,
taking in the group of them as they made their way into
the complex.
That's when he saw her.
She was at the end of the line, listening to one of the
counselors point out details about the orphanage, and
Casey did a double take. Even looking at her upside
down, he could feel his breath catch in his throat. She
wasn't striking in the typical sense. Her hair wasn't
streaked with blonde, and she wore no makeup. She was
a simple kind of beautiful, like wildflowers scattered
across an untouched mountain pasture. Casey's hand
62
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
froze in place, the wrench poised a few inches above his sweaty forehead. She 
didn't yet know he was alive, and already something in her light brown eyes had 
worked its way into his heart.
Casey picked up his pace, ignoring the way his legs screamed for relief. The 
pain of running felt good, especially now. He blinked and allowed the memories 
to continue. 
Her name was Amy Bedford. By that evening Casey
had found out enough about her to know that his first
impression had been right on. She held no pretense and
spoke with a wisdom that was far beyond her sixteen
years. The youngest of five girls from central Oregon,
her father was a science teacher for a small public high
school, her mother a homemaker. Amy's sisters were in
college, anxious to get degrees in something other than
education and move on to anything more lucrative than a
teacher's salary.
Not so Amy.
"My dad's the best man I know," she told Casey that
night. "He's touched a thousand hearts in his lifetime,
and I want to do the same." She rested her elbows on the
old wooden table. "How 'bout you?"
65 
"Well . . ." He gripped the bench he was sitting on and straightened his back. 
"I want to open a cafe."
"A cafe, huh?"
"Yeah," He gave a few thoughtful nods. "I can be my
own boss, make my own hours, and meet new people
every day" His heart felt light at the prospect. "I've been
thinking about it for a while."
"Wow. I never met anyone who wanted to open a
cafe."
Quiet filled the space between them for a moment.
"My parents aren't real thrilled about the idea."
She smiled then and said something Casey would remember
for the rest of his life. "Someday I want to eat
there, okay? At your cafe."
Casey wasn't sure if it was her faith in his dreams or
the sincerity in her voice or the way her skin glistened in
the hot, humid night, but with every passing hour he felt
himself falling for her. The week passed in a blur of
painting the orphanage kitchen and talking late into the
night. Three years separated them, but Casey didn't notice
a minute of it. Amy was as true as an orphan's smile,
guileless and able to speak her mind. Something about
her made Casey want to wrap his arms around her and
protect her from anything cold or cynical, anything that
would dim the warmth in her smile.
64
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
They finished the kitchen and moved into the room where twenty-two orphans slept 
on eleven small wire cots.
"Let's paint the door red," Amy told him.
"Red?" Casey made a face and flicked his paintbrush
at her. "Why red?"
"Because." She tapped her brush on the tip of his nose. "Red is the color of 
giving."
And so they painted the orphans' bedroom door red.
On Amy's last night in Port-au-Prince, Casey asked if
he could write to her.
"Yes." They were sitting on a bench in the orphanage courtyard just before 
midnight and the air around them was stagnant, silent but for the sound of a 
distant drumbeat. She lowered her chin and locked eyes with him. "I'd like that"
He wanted to kiss her, but he didn't dare. He was on staff, and she was a 
student, a minor. Instead he swallowed and tried not to notice the way their 
shoulders brushed against each other. He dropped his voice a notch. "Know 
something, Amy?"
"What?" She leaned back against the crumbling facade of the orphanage wall and 
met his eyes again.
"I had fun this week."
"Me, too."
67 
"I'm ... well, I'm gonna miss you."
She nodded, and her eyes glistened, hinting at tears. "I
have to go. The counselors want us in bed by twelve."
"I know" He smiled so she wouldn't see how hard it
.was to say good-bye. They'd be gone in the morning before
sunup, and chances were he'd never see her again.
"Be safe."
"And get that cafe going." Her chin quivered, and she
hesitated just long enough to draw another breath. Then
she reached into the pocket of her jean shorts and pulled
out a folded piece of paper. "Here." She tucked it into his
hand. "I've been practicing my Creole."
He started to open it, but she closed his fingers
around the paper before he had a chance. "After I go."
She took a few steps back and then turned and ran lightly
up the steps. When the door closed behind her, Casey
opened the piece of paper and saw that she'd written
only three words.
Me reme ou.... I love you.
66
CHAPTER SIX
Case had already run four miles-more than his usual route. But today the 
memories were crisp and vivid. He would've run to California if it meant giving 
them a reason to continue.
And so he kept running, his strides long and even, eyes straight ahead.
Me reme on.
He could still see the words, the way she'd scrawled them on that piece of 
paper. The truth of what she'd written had dropped his heart to his knees and 
made him certain that somehow, someway, he would see her again. They wrote to 
each other for the next six months, and by the following summer Casey had 
enrolled at Oregon State University and made plans to move to Corvallis.
He'd visited the campus just once and met with the
69 
track-and-field coaches. Running the hills of Port-auPrince had paid off, and he 
was offered a full scholarship. Casey was thrilled, but by then he was convinced 
of one thing. His future wasn't in running or jumping or throwing
a javelin.
It was in business.
And OSU had exactly what he was looking for. An
excellent business school and a full-ride scholarship. And
something else.
A twenty-minute drive to Amy Bedford's house.
His parents knew nothing about Casey's attraction to
Amy because Casey wasn't sure about it himself, In some
ways, even with their letter-writing-the week he'd
shared with Amy in Haiti felt like a wonderful dream, as
surreal as nearly everything about his time there.
After he enrolled at OSU, he returned home to his
parents, sat them down one night after dinner, and broke
the news.
"I ... I thought you'd go to a Christian college,
Casey." His mother's lips drew together. "You've been
gone so long, and now, well, you'll be gone again."
His father crossed his arms. "Your mother's right,
son. You can't learn much about God at a place like
OSU."
It was a moment of truth, and Casey gripped his
68
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
knees. "Dad . . ." He met his father's gaze. "I already know about God." Silence 
stood between them for a moment. "Maybe it's time I learn something about 
people."
In the end, his parents agreed. Where better to practice
his faith than out in the real world? Despite their
reservations, they sent Casey off with their full support.
"Be careful," his mother warned him the night before
he left. "The Northwest is a liberal place, and the
girls ... well ... they don't have the same standards
you're used to."
Casey had to stifle a smile. "Okay, Mom."
He had only one girl in mind, and they met up again
that September, a couple of hours after his first day of
classes, at a coffee shop just off campus. Amy was seventeen
by then, a high school senior. The moment she
walked through the door of the shop, Casey knew his
feelings for her weren't some sort of strange dream.
She moved across the room, past the other tables.
Even from ten yards away Casey could see how her eyes
danced. When she sat down, he took her hands in his and
struggled to find his voice. "There's something I have to
tell you, something I couldn't say in a letter."
Curiosity mingled with hesitation and took some
of the sparkle from her eyes. "Okay." She studied him.
"Tell me."
71 
He waited until he could find his voice. "Me reme eu." Turning back wasn't an 
option for either one of
them. The next fall, Amy joined him at OSU, and four
years later they married and left the Northwest for a small
apartment in Manhattan and the chance for Casey to
open the cafe he'd always dreamed about.
"It's perfect, Casey." Her eyes would light up every
time they talked about it. "Let's make it happen."
Casey's Corner was still a crazy idea to his parents, but
never to Amy. She took a job at a local preschool and
stood by Casey as he got the loans he needed to open his
shop. On the weekends, they worked side by side decorating
and collecting memorabilia for the walls. At the
grand opening, no one was prouder than Amy.
The years that followed blurred together like a kind of
larger-than-life tapestry of brilliant reds and oranges and
thoughtful shades of blue. She had been everything to
him-his closest friend, his confidante, his greatest support.
Losing her had been like losing his right arm, and
the pain of it made every breath an effort.
Even after two years.
Casey slowed his pace to a walk. He had worked his
way through five miles of trails-two more than usualand
he was only a few blocks from the cafe. The memo70
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
ries had been stronger than usual, more vivid, and he fought the urge to keep 
running.
What was wrong with him anyway? If he could feel
like this after two years, maybe he'd never move on, never
find a way to get through life without her. Maybe this
hazy underwater feeling of going through the motions
was how life would always be. His breathing settled back
to a normal rate, and he locked his eyes on a narrow
stretch of sky as he walked. She was up there somewhere,
probably elbowing God in the ribs, bugging Him to give
Casey a reason to live again.
His cafe was a diversion, for sure. He spent most of
the week there-talking to customers, helping Billy-G
behind the counter, fixing up the place so it never lost the
look Amy had given it way back when. But nothing about
it made him feel alive, the way Amy had made him feel.
He reached the cafe and stared at the front door.
Someone had hung a fall wreath on it, plastic leaves of
orange and red and yellow and a nervous-looking turkey
at the center, poking his pinecone head out at everyone
who walked by. Thanksgiving was in a month and after
that, Christmas.
Amy's favorite time of the year.
Casey gritted his teeth and pushed the door open. He
73 
zigzagged his way past a dozen tables, chatting with the regulars and saying 
hello to a few newcomers. It wasn't until the morning rush was gone that he 
sauntered over to the counter and dropped onto one of the barstools. "Hey, 
Billy-G."
His friend wiped his hands on his apron, reached beneath
the counter, and pulled out a section of newspaper.
"Saved this for you." Billy-G took a few steps closer and
spread the paper out in front of Casey. "Something you
need to think about"
Casey kept his eyes on the old man. "Not another
one." He was always telling Casey about a support group
here or a Bible study there. "I'm fine, Billy-G, I don't
need your help."
"Yeah, okay" The man tapped at the paper. "Everything's
great." He began to walk away. "Just read it."
Billy-G was back in the kitchen again when Casey released
a long, slow breath and let his eyes fall to the newspaper.
It was a small, two-column story, buried deep in
the Times' Metro Section. The headline read "New Program
Pairs Willing Adults with Grieving Children."
Casey blinked and thought about that for a moment.
Grieving children? People were hurting all over the
place, people who'd lost sisters or uncles or husbands or
72
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
friends. But grieving children? It was something Casey hadn't considered.
The article was only five paragraphs, and he gave himself permission to read it. 
When he finished, he picked it up, held it closer, and read it again. After the 
third time, the idea began to sink in. It was both simple and profound, really. 
A children's group in Chelsea had designed a program called Healing Hearts, a 
way to pair up grieving children with single adults. Children who had suffered 
the death of one or more parent would be linked with single adults. The article 
provided a phone number for people to call if they were interested.
Casey imagined for a minute Amy sitting beside him,
breathing the same air, sharing his every thought and
knowing the things in his soul before they even came into
focus.
"It's a perfect idea, Casey," he could almost hear her saying. "Let's make it 
happen"
There was a problem, of course.
He wasn't any other single adult; he'd suffered his
own loss and maybe the program director would hold
that against him, maybe his own grief would minimize
his ability to help a hurting child. But he doubted the program
organizers would turn him away. Somewhere out
75 
there in the big, vast city was a child who needed a mentor, someone to help 
bridge the gap between his old life and the life he'd been forced to live these 
past two years. A child who needed love and direction and a reason to live the 
same way Casey, himself, needed it.
He could make the call and go through the screening,
let the organization set him up with a child, and find a
way to bring a little light back into both their lives. There
were a hundred places where he could take a child in
Manhattan, places where the two of them could find an
on-ramp back to the highway of the living. Yes, he could
make the call, and in maybe only a month or so he
could"Interesting,
huh?"
Billy-G's gruff voice interrupted Casey's thoughts,
and he dropped the paper to the counter. "Yeah."
"So?"
Casey folded the paper in half and slid it a few inches
from him. "So what?"
"Whadya think?"
"I think you ask too many questions, Billy-G." Casey
stood up and gave his friend a half smile. "I also think it's
time I get going. I'll be back for a few hours around dinner."
"I knew it." Billy-G's smile held a knowing.
74
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
"Knew what?" "You're gonna call."
Casey shrugged. "I'll think about it."
"Okay." Billy-G gave a few soft chuckles. "You do
that."
Casey turned to leave, desperate to appear noncommittal. The idea was too 
fragile, too new, to expose it to the light of open conversation-even with 
someone like Billy-G. He needed to play it out in his mind first. Important 
decisions were always that way for him, taking root and growing in the hidden 
places of his heart before making their way out into the open.
Casey turned around before he left. "Great job today, Billy-G."
His friend peered at him over his shoulder through
the small window that separated the kitchen from the
front counter. "Make the call."
"See ya." Casey raised his hand and headed toward the front door.
Under his arm was a folded-up newspaper. And stirring across the barren plains 
of his heart was something he hadn't felt in a little more than two years.
The early-morning winds of hope.
77 
The bad guys were getting the upper hand.
The first part of November was always this way, and
Megan was suddenly too busy to worry about real love or
long-ago summers or even her own lonely son. Crime
was up 1 i percent from a month ago, and Megan had two
murder-one cases spread across her desk. Months like
this could make or break a prosecutor, and Megan
wouldn't be broken by anything.
Besides, things were okay at home. Jordan's behavior
had improved some, and she was making a point of lying
down with him for a few minutes every night before he
fell asleep. Maybe that was all her son had needed, after
all. A little more one-on-one time.
The idea was as comfortable as a bed of nails.
Who was she kidding? It was like her mother kept
80 I
KAREN KINGSBURY
saying. Jordan needed a man in his life, someone to wrestle with him and lift 
him onto his shoulders and take in a basketball game with him every now and 
then.
"You work too much," her mother had told her the
night before. "You'll never find a father for Jordan with
your schedule."
The comment had made Megan's cheeks hot, and Jordan's
letter to God came to mind as it had nearly every
day since she'd read it. "I'm not looking for a father for
Jordan. Life doesn't work that way."
"It could, Megan." Her mother's voice was softly persistent.
"It could if you'd look for it."
Megan huffed and planted her hands on her hips. "You
didn't exactly go looking for a father when I needed one."
Her mother had been silent for a moment, and a
handful of emotions flitted across her eyes. Shock and
anger, shame and regret. "I was wrong, Megan." She
stood and took a step toward her bedroom. "You're
young. Don't make my mistakes all over again. It's not fair
to Jordan ... or yourself."
The conversation had played again in Megan's soul
several times that day, even as she held conversations
with judges and researched precedents for her current
cases. Don't make my mistakes all over again. Its not fair to for
dan ... oryourself.
78
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
Megan pushed back from her desk and drew in a sharp breath.
It was nearly six o'clock, and she had two more hours
of going over briefs and depositions before she could go
home. The office was quiet, most people gone except for
a few evening clerks and an occasional assistant, finishing
up whatever assignment had been passed down from one
of the district attorneys.
She stood and headed down the hall to the break
room. A cup of coffee would clear the cobwebs, stop
her from thinking about her mother's words and her
son's sad eyes and the letter he'd written to God. It
wasn't her fault things were such a mess. She and George
hadn't exactly been given a choice about how their lives
had played out.
The break room was empty. Megan went to the
coffeemaker, grabbed a tall Styrofoam cup, and poured
herself some coffee. She opened the freezer door on the
refrigerator, took two ice cubes, and dropped them into
her cup. She liked her coffee black and lukewarm. Hot
coffee took too much time to drink.
She was holding her cup, stirring the ice cubes with
her little finger, when her eyes caught something on a
folded section of the New York Times. Someone had
placed the paper beneath the coffeemaker, and it had col79
81 
lected a circle of brown spots around the base of the pot. A headline showed 
near the top, and without meaning to, Megan read it.
"New Program Pairs Willing Adults with Grieving
Children."
She stopped stirring and set down her cup. A program
for grieving children?
The newspaper was stuck to the bottom of the
coffeemaker, and Megan lifted the pot, careful not to tear
the article. She slid it out and held it close as she read
through it. A children's club in the city had set up a program
called Healing Hearts that would pair adults with
children who had experienced the death of one or both
parents.
Suddenly Megan didn't need the coffee. Her hands
were shaking as though she'd already had five cups. A
program for grieving children? It was exactly what Jordan
needed! Megan left her cup on the breakroom
counter and took the newspaper back to her desk. The
club was probably closed at this hour, but it was worth a
try.
She picked up the phone and punched in the numbers.
Someone answered on the first ring.
"Manhattan Children's Organization, may I help
you?"
80
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
Megan opened her mouth, but no words came. Tears filled her eyes, and with her 
free hand she massaged the lump in her throat until she could speak. "I ... I 
read about your program."
The woman on the other end identified herself as
Mrs. Eccles. "We have quite a few programs, ma'am.
Could you be more specific?"
"Yes . . ." Megan found the newspaper once more,
and her eyes darted over the text. "It's the Healing Hearts
program. My ... my son is a child like that."
"I see." The woman's tone was noticeably softer.
"Well, then, the first step is for you and your son to come
down and fill out the paperwork, give us a chance to meet
you and interview both of you. Then we'll try to pair
your son up with one of our male volunteers as quickly
as possible."
"You have ... volunteers waiting for children?"
The idea knocked the wind from Megan. Why hadn't
she heard of this sooner? She glanced at the date on
the newspaper and saw that the article was nearly two
weeks old.
"Yes, ma'am. The program's quite popular." She
paused, and Megan heard a rustling sound in the background.
"Can I sign you and your son up for an appointment?"
83 
Megan thought of all she had to do at work, the depositions and briefs and 
precedents that had to be studied. An appointment would take time, maybe an 
entire afternoon. Time she certainly didn't have. A single teardrop rolled down 
her cheek, and she dabbed at it with the sleeve of her silk jacket. "Yes." She 
sniffed quietly and closed her eyes to stave off any more. "Yes, I'd like that 
very much."
44
The appointment took place a week later, and four days after that Megan took the 
call at work. It was Mrs. Eccles, and her voice rang across the phone line like 
a kind of early Christmas carol. "I have good news for you, Ms. Wright. We've 
found a match for your son."
Megan leaned back in her office chair and held the
phone more tightly to her ear. "You have?"
"Yes. I think you'll be quite happy with our choice."
"Is he ... is he young or old?" Megan's voice was
breathy, and she could see the buttons on her blouse
trembling with every heartbeat. Jordan hadn't stopped
talking about the program since they signed up. "Tell me
about him, please. Did he ... has he always wanted to
help children?"
"Well . . ." The woman hesitated. "His story's a bit
different than most."
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
Megan's shoulders fell a bit. Wasn't that the point of the program, pairing 
children with adults who had a strong desire to help a lonely boy or girl? "Then 
... why did you pick him?"
"His wife died a few years ago, delivering their first
child. The baby didn't make it, either." Some of the
cheerfulness faded from the woman's voice. "He saw the
article about Healing Hearts and was very interested.
Thought maybe it'd be good for both him and a hurting
child."
Remorse tapped at the door of Megan's conscience.
"Oh." She wanted to let excitement grow within her
again, but it all seemed so sad. "I'm sorry." How could a
man with that type of loss be any kind of positive influence
on Jordan? She kicked her doubts back into the
closet and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What else?
Tell me about him."
The woman gave as thorough an overview as possible.
The man's name was Casey Cummins. He was thirtyfour
and ran his own cafe in Midtown. He was interested
in basketball, football, baseball, and anything outdoors,
and, because of his job, his hours were flexible.
"He jogs three miles a day and has a master's in business
administration. He'd be happy to help with homework."
85 
Megan glanced at the murder files on her desk and felt the door to her closet of 
doubts creak back open. "What about the screening process?"
"We went over that at the interview."
Megan crossed her arms and pressed her fist into the
hollow near her lower rib cage. "I know that, but tell me
anyway. I'm a district attorney, remember?" She paused
and forced a more polite tone. "Specifically ... how did
this Casey check out?"
"No record of any criminal behavior with either the
FBI or the local police. He's never served time, never
been arrested, no history of drug abuse. Never even had
a speeding ticket, as far as we can see. He pays his bills on
time and has an apartment about twenty blocks from his
cafe. We spent several hours interviewing him here at the
office, and of course we had a licensed social worker
check out his residence."
"And . . ." Megan hated her suspicions, but after a
week of waiting, the whole setup sounded too good to be
true.
"We give our volunteers a rating, Ms. Wright. It's not
something we usually share with the child's parent, but in
this case-given your job-I think it might be okay to tell
you. Mr. Cummins earned the highest possible marks in all
categories. He's the kind of volunteer we're desperate for."
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
Megan exhaled and felt herself relax. "So, then. When do they meet?"
"Today's Monday.... The woman's voice drifted off,
and Megan heard her flipping pages. "Fridays are good
for him, so let's try for this Friday, November 14, say
three o'clock?"
She shot a look at her own calendar. A hearing would
take up most of the afternoon, and normally Megan
would use early Friday evening to go over her notes from
the past week. Still, maybe there was a way to make it
work. "I have to be there, right?"
"Yes." Megan could feel the woman's disapproval.
"Of course. You'll come in with Jordan, and the two of
you will spend an hour or so getting to know his special
friend. Then, if you're all comfortable with the idea, Mr.
Cummins can spend another hour or so with your son either
at the club or across the street at the park."
"Right." Megan pictured Jordan, the way his eyes
would light up when he heard the news. He deserved
this; she believed that with all her heart. Work would
simply have to wait. "Okay, that'll be fine." She killed a
heavy sigh before it could escape. "Three o'clock Friday."
As she hung up, Megan realized something. Already
she was looking forward to Friday, to meeting this Casey
87 
man and watching the way he might interact with her son. It was a wonderful 
idea, one that didn't rely on her dating and coaxing someone into being a 
surrogate father for Jordan. Healing Hearts was a program based on honesty and 
need, where expectations and guidelines were spelled out from the beginning.
Jordan and Casey would get together once or twice a
week and possibly speak on the phone. All of them
would meet with the counselors at the Children's Organization
every month to discuss how the relationship was
progressing, and to give each of them a chance to ask
questions or air concerns.
Of course it was a good thing, and it was worth every
minute of work she might have to forfeit to see that the
setup was successful. Megan had planned to wait until
after work to tell Jordan about the phone call, but suddenly
she couldn't think of anything else. She picked up
the receiver again and dialed her home number. Jordan
answered after only a few seconds.
"Hello?"
His young voice filled her heart, and her eyes felt watery.
"Hi, honey. It's Mom."
"Hi! When're you coming home?"
"Soon." She gazed out her window and tried to picture
his face. "Jordan, I got a call from the Children's Or86
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
ganization today. You know ... the ones trying to find you a special friend?"
Jordan sucked in a loud breath, and his words were
louder and faster than before. "You mean ... they found
y
'm., "Yes ... yes, they found him." A sound that was part laugh, part sob 
slipped from Megan's throat, and for a few seconds she covered her mouth with 
her fingertips. "In fact, I think they found someone just right for you, buddy."
The phone was ringing as Casey slipped through his apartment door and tossed his 
jacket on the chair. Work had been busy, but the wind gusts were worse than 
usual. At least once for each of the last ten blocks he'd thought about giving 
up and grabbing a taxi. But he'd pressed on, and now he was glad. He felt alive 
and awake, the same way he'd felt since doing the interview with the people at 
the Children's Organization.
He hadn't even been assigned a child yet, and already
Healing Hearts was living up to its name.
He darted around the back of his old, worn sofa into
the kitchen, and picked up the phone just as the answering
machine clicked on. "Hello?" He cradled the receiver
89 
between his cheekbone and shoulder and tore the gloves from his hands. The 
moment his fingers were free, he punched the Off button on the answering 
machine. "Hello?"
"Yes, hi, this is Mrs. Eccles at the Manhattan Children's
Organization. We've matched you up with an
eight-year-old boy, and we were wondering if you were
available to meet him this Friday?"
The room began to spin. Casey felt behind him for
one of the kitchen chairs. He positioned it and sank to
the seat. "This Friday?" His words were little more than
a whisper, and he repeated them again. "This Friday, the
fourteenth?"
"Yes." The woman gave a happy laugh. "If that works
for you."
Mrs. Eccles had said it could take six weeks to make a
match between volunteers and children, but Billy-G had
disagreed. "Two weeks tops." He had given a wave of his
favorite spatula. "I have a feelin'. Two weeks, Casey."
Indeed.
Casey switched the receiver to the other hand and
leaned back in the chair. "Friday would be perfect. Tell
me ... tell me about the boy"
"Okay." Mrs. Eccles drew a quick breath. "Well, he's
a darling little guy, eight years old and midway through
88
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
second grade. He likes a lot of the things you like, and he lives with his 
mother and grandmother on the Upper East Side."
"His father?" Casey almost hated to ask because the
answer was obvious. The boy wouldn't be in the program
if his father were alive.
"The man was in his fifties, a bond trader who died of
a massive heart attack a few years ago at work. Since then
the boy's mother and teachers have noticed a change in
his behavior, enough that he's had counseling and other
help. He's responded lately to spending more time with
his mother." Mrs. Eccles hesitated. "Unfortunately, his
mother is a district attorney, and she can't be home with
the boy as often as she'd like."
The picture was as clear as air. The boy's mother
loved him enough to sign him up for the program. But on
her own, she simply couldn't make up for all the boy had
lost when his father died. Casey stood and poured a glass
of water. He wasn't dizzy anymore, but a certain kind of
giddiness had come over him.
A child needed him!
He was about to get involved in the life of an eightyear-old
boy, something he was certain Amy would've
wanted him to do.
Mrs. Eccles was going over some of the details, and
92 
Casey tried to focus on what she was saying. Something about coming at three 
o'clock and expecting an hourlong meeting with the boy's mother, and possibly 
having another few hours with the boy after that. Then, if the first meeting 
went well, he'd be given the boy's phone number and address.
"If Friday's a success, you can take the boy out for
pizza. Something to break the ice."
Casey wrote "pizza" across the top of a pad of paper.
The woman was about to hang up when Casey remembered
something. "You didn't tell me his name."
"Oh ... sorry" He could hear a smile in the woman's
voice. "His name's Jordan."
It was all Casey could do to finish the phone call. The
boy's name was Jordan? How was that possible? He hung
up the phone and walked across his apartment to the
bedroom he'd shared with Amy. Her journal still lay in
the nightstand beside their bed, and now he opened the
drawer and pulled it out.
The book was worn and flimsy, with a light tan
leather binding. Amy had saved favorite sermon notes
and Bible verses on pieces of paper that still stuck out
every twenty pages or so. Casey held it carefully, as
though any sudden movement might break it in half. In90
I
I
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
side the front cover, Amy's name was barely visible, scrawled in blue ink across 
the center of the page.
It was the same journal she'd had with her in Haiti,
the year Casey had first met her.
He ran his fingers across the letters of her name and
flipped past the accounts of how the two of them had
met and the detailed feelings she'd had for him even back
then, past the entries she'd made when they were dating,
past every other passage, all of which she'd shared with
him many times.
Then, at the back of the journal, he found it.
A list of baby names, names Amy and he had discussed
and agreed on for their first child. He already
knew what he'd find on the list, but he had to look anyway,
and as his eyes scanned the names he saw he'd been
right.
Amy had thought she was having a boy, but they'd
come up with names for both a boy and a girl-just in
case. The list held ten names, five for a girl, and five for a
boy. And next to the name they liked best, Amy had doodled
a happy face.
Her favorites were written over several times and
stood out in bold on the finely pressed piece of paper.
Kaley for a girl, and for a boy they'd chosen the name
they'd most easily agreed upon.
93 
Jordan Matthew.
Casey stared at the name and imagined the odds that
Mrs. Eccles would pair him up with a boy named Jordan.
Seconds passed, and chill bumps rose on Casey's arms
and across the back of his neck. What was it Amy liked
to say? Something about Christmas miracles. Yes, that
was it. She used to tell him that Christmas miracles happened
to those who believed.
He would tease her and tell her she was wrong. With
her in his life, miracles happened every day of the year.
But she had been adamant, insisting that something special
happened to people at Christmastime, and that
Christmas miracles were there if only people looked for
them.
Casey shifted his gaze to the picture of Amy that
hung on the wall nearby. Wereyou right? All this tinge ... ?
If Christmas miracles really were a special kind of
something that happened once a year for those who believed,
then Casey was certain that wherever Amy was at
that very moment, she was smiling down at him, glowing
with that special something that had won him over so
easily the first day he met her.
Because here and now, six weeks before Christmas,
Casey was suddenly convinced that a miracle was in the
92
MAGGIE's MIRACLE
works, and that somehow it involved an eight-year-old boy named Jordan.
Even if the two of them wouldn't meet until that Friday
afternoon.
96 
God had finally read his letter.
That was the only way Jordan could explain the things
that were happening to him. He and his mother had
spent more time together the past month than all the
months before as far back as Jordan could remember.
And then she'd found out about the special program.
Healy Hearts. At least that's what Jordan thought it was
called, not that it mattered, really.
The important thing was, God had found him a
daddy.
Well, not a daddy really, but a pretend daddy. Someone
who would play with him every week and take him to
the park and help him with his pluses and minuses the
way Keith's daddy helped him.
Jordan was so excited about the whole thing, he could
97 
barely sleep. He'd lie in bed and stare at the blue-andwhite-striped wallpaper 
and the little row of baseball gloves and bats that went around the top of his 
room, and picture God getting his letter and opening it and knowing that the 
program, the Healy Hearts thing, would be the perfect way to give him a daddy.
He tried not to, but lots of times that week he asked
his grandma questions about that coming Friday.
On Wednesday he found her and tugged on her
sleeve. "How many days, Grandma?"
"Until what?"
"Until I meet him. How many days?"
His grandma let out another huffy breath and patted
his head. "Two days, Jordan. One less than yesterday.
Don't keep asking."
"Do you think he'll be nice?"
"Very nice."
"Should I tell him my knock-knock joke about the
chicken and the bulldog?"
"Sure, Jordan, tell him the joke." His grandma turned
her attention back to the television. "Most men like jokes."
"What if he wants to be my daddy, Grandma. What
then?"
"Jordan ..." His grandma put her hands over her
face and sort of stretched out the skin on her forehead
96
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
until the bunches disappeared. "Your mother already talked to you about that. 
The man's name is Casey, and he won't be your daddy. Just a special friend."
"But kind of like a pretend daddy, right, Grandma?"
"No, Jordan. Not like a pretend daddy. Like a special
friend. That's what he is, a special friend."
"Oh." Jordan thought about that for a minute. "But if
he wants to move in with us, can he sleep in my bedroom?"
Grandma took tight hold of the arms of her chair
and her eyes got wide. "He won't be moving in with us,
Jordan. You need to understand that. Not now and not
ever"
"Okay." Jordan waited until his grandma turned back to the TV one more time. 
Then as soft as he could, he did one more tug on her sleeve.
"My goodness, child." Grandma's voice was louder
than before, and her eyebrows disappeared into her forehead.
"Can't you leave an old woman in peace?"
"Just one more question." Jordan made his voice nice
and quiet, the way Grandma liked it. Then he smiled just
in case she might say no.
"Oh, bother." Grandma slid down a little in her big
chair, and her bones got smaller in her shoulders. "Go
ahead."
99 
"What if ... what if he doesn't like me?"
Grandma sat up straight again, and her eyes got
softer. "Of course he'll like you." She reached out one
arm and gave him a half hug. "Just don't ask him a hundred
questions."
By Friday morning, Jordan was so excited he couldn't
eat breakfast. This time the questions went to his mother.
How many hours until they could meet him? What would
he look like? Where would they go and what would they
do? And most of all, what if Casey didn't like him? His
mommy was starting to breathe hard, and Jordan was
sure she was going to get mad at him, when all of a sudden
she did something really strange, something she
never did when she was getting ready in the morning.
She laughed.
Then she messed up his hair and set a glass of orange
juice down in front of him. "Jordan, I don't have all the
answers this time. Besides, I should be the one asking
how many hours until we meet him." She planted her
hands on her hips. "Because then you'll finally have all
the answers you need."
Jordan laughed, too, but after that he tried not to ask
any more questions the rest of the morning. His mother
was right. She didn't know all the answers, but God did.
And a little while later, on the way to school, Jordan
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
added a P.S. to his letter. A P.S. was when you wrote a letter and remembered 
one more special thing you forgot to say.
His mother was reading one of her files, so Jordan looked out the window of the 
cab and made his P.S. extra quiet. So only God could hear.
"P.S., God. Please make Casey like me."
Jordan hardly listened to Miss Hanson that day, and
twice he had to sit at the back of the room for not paying
attention. But that didn't matter because when the
bell rang, his mother picked him up in a taxi, and off they
went to the kids' club, the place where he was going to
meet his pretend daddy.
Except he wasn't going to tell that to anyone else, just himself. Because other 
people would call Casey a special friend, and that was his 'ficial title. But 
Jordan knew the truth. They walked in, and the same lady they met before took 
them to a room, and just then his mommy's pager went off.
"Phone call," she said. She smiled at the lady and held up her finger. "Just a 
minute."
When his mommy hung up, she talked to the lady in
private for a long time, and Jordan heard only a few of
their words. Something about an emergency situation and
how it would never happen again and that his mother was
101 
very sorry. Then the lady from the club gave Mommy a mean sort of look and did a 
frowny face for a long time and said just this once maybe.
Finally, Mommy and the lady came over to him.
"Sweetheart"-his mother scrunched down so they
were the same size-"Mommy has a special meeting at
work, and I can't stay to meet Casey. Not this time." She
looked at the other lady. "But Mrs. Eccles will stay with
you after Casey comes, and everything will be fine. I'll
meet him next week, okay?"
Jordan had a hurt feeling in his heart, but he decided
this wouldn't be a good time to cry. Besides, his mommy
had special meetings all the time, and at least he was still
going to meet Casey. "Okay."
His mom left, and after another minute, Mrs. Eccles
came back, and this time she had a man with her. A man
who looked tall and strong and happy like Brett Favre of
the Green Bay Packers. He walked up and held out his
hand and did a kind of smile that made Jordan feel all
warm and safe inside. "Hi, Jordan. I'm Casey."
"Hi, Casey." Jordan shook the man's hand, and right
then and there he knew for sure. Casey was a pretend
daddy, not a special friend. Because sometimes Jordan
dreamed about having a daddy again, and every time the
daddy in his dream looked the same way.
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MAGGIE's MIRACLE
Tall and strong and happy, and exactly like the man
standing in front of him right now.
Casey had to wait five minutes before he could meet Jordan, all the while 
listening to Mrs. Eccles rail on about Jordan's mother leaving early.
"I mean, it's the first meeting!" The woman gave several
short shakes of her head. "No one leaves early at the
first meeting."
Casey didn't really care. He hadn't given much
thought to Jordan's mother. It had been meeting the boy
that had kept him up at night and put an extra spring in
his step as he jogged to work and back each day that
week. New York City was the prettiest place in the world
at Christmastime, and already the transformation was
taking place. The first snow had fallen, and Central Park
was white except the paths and play areas. Police were
making provisions for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade,
and lights were being wound into trees and along
storefronts throughout Manhattan.
The closer Friday drew, the more Casey thought that
Amy must've been right after all. Christmas miracles did
happen to those who believed, and somehow, some kind of
miracle was definitely coming together for him and Jordan.
103 
Mrs. Eccles finished explaining that this timeagainst her better judgment-she 
was going to let Casey meet Jordan even though the boy's mother wasn't there, 
and finally Casey was ushered into the room where the child was waiting. The 
moment he saw the boy, he had the strangest sense. As though somehow he'd seen 
the child before, maybe at the cafe or at the park somewhere. 
He took the boy's hand in his own and shook it, and
in that instant Casey felt it. A bond, a connection so
quick and immediate he could compare it to only one
thing-the way he'd felt when he first met Amy.
They spent an hour talking with Mrs. Eccles, and by
the time Jordan started telling knock-knock jokes, Casey
and the social worker nodded at each other and knew it
was time.
"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
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
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."
105 
"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.
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
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.
107 
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
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
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 ..
111 
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
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MAGGIE's MIRACLE
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 staved 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 any109
112 
thing 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.
Jordan 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
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
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."
III
113 
Megan had heard Casey's name so often in the past three weeks, he seemed Eke 
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,
115 
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?"
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
"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.
118 
"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? IT 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."
"Wait a minute!" Jordan jumped up from the table
and ran to the drawer near the telephone. "That lady
from the kids' club gave me a letter for you. She said it
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MAGGIE's MIRACLE
was extra important that you read it." He grabbed an envelope from the drawer 
and jogged back to Megan. "Here." He hesitated. "Read it, Mom. What's it say?"
Megan slid a single sheet from the envelope, opened
it, and read silently to herself. It was from Mrs. Eccles,
and it was short and to the point.
DearMs. Fright.: We have tried on several occasions to contact you and relay to 
you the importance of your presence at a meeting with your son and his special 
friend. Parental involvement in the program is absolutely essential. Because you 
missed three consecutive meetings here at the club, we are giving you the 
opportunity to set up a meeting with Jordan and Mr. Cummins outside the arranged 
Friday meeting time. Below you will find the mans home and cell-phone numbers so 
that the two of you can-find a way to meet. If you do not follow through with 
this program stipulation, we will be forced to remove Jordan from the program 
and assign Mr. Cummins to another child. Sincerely,
Mrs. Eccles.
"Well, Mommy, well ..." Jordan gripped the edge of the table and did two little 
jumps. "What does it say?"
Megan stared at her son, not sure what to tell him. Her
mother was in the kitchen washing the frying pan and
119 
mercifully wasn't there to add her own questions. The nerve of the social 
worker, threatening to remove Jordan from the program. So what if she hadn't met 
this ... this Casey, whoever he was. He was Jordan's special friend, not hers. 
Why were the people at the Children's Organization so set on the fact that 
parents be involved?
Her questions dissolved like springtime snow.
It didn't matter if Megan agreed with the rules, she
had no choice but to play by them. Jordan had lost one
man in his life; she wouldn't stand by and watch him lose
Casey, too. Not because she hadn't done her part to follow
the program guidelines.
"Jordan . . ." She folded the letter and slipped it back
in the envelope. If they had to meet, they might as well
get it over with. "How would you like to have Casey over
for dinner?"
"Yes!" Jordan ran in a tight circle and made his trademark
jump straight into the air, his fist raised toward the
ceiling. "That'd be the best thing in the world, Mom!
When can he come?"
Megan thought for a minute. She could get her Sunday
work done early and share a meal with the man tomorrow.
That way, she could call Mrs. Eccles on Monday
and tell her the requirement had been met. Besides, her
mother had bridge on Sunday nights, so no one would be
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
around to pressure Megan into anything more than a casual dinner meeting. She 
smiled at Jordan. "How about tomorrow?"
"Yes! Yes ... yes ... yes . . ." Jordan darted over to
the phone, grabbed the receiver, and ran it back to
Megan. "Here!" He was out of breath, his eyes vibrant
and alive. "Here, Mommy. Call him now"
From the kitchen her mother had caught on to what
was happening, and she had the knowing look of a
Cheshire cat as she dried the frying pan. Megan clenched
her teeth and managed a smile. "Your friend doesn't
know me, honey. Why don't you call. Tell him six o'clock,
okay?"
Jordan raised his shoulders a few times and grinned.
"Okay. I'll call his cell phone." He punched in numbers
that had become familiar to him over the past few weeks,
and the following conversation was short. When Jordan
hung up he smiled big at Megan.
"He was at work. He says he'll be here at six." Jordan
set down the phone, wrapped his arms around Megan's
legs, and squeezed. "Thanks, Mom. I just know you'll
love him as much as I do."
Megan couldn't figure out why she was nervous.
121 
It was a few minutes before six on Sunday evening. She'd made meat loaf and 
baked potatoes and everything was ready, but still she had a funny feeling. What 
if they clashed somehow? What if he'd read about her work in the paper and 
didn't like female prosecutors? What if the evening ahead of them made Casey 
care less for Jordan than before?
Megan banished her thoughts and turned off the
oven just as the doorbell rang. She ran her fingers
through her hair one last time and watched as Jordan tore
out of his room and raced for the front door.
"Casey!" He opened it and shouted the man's name at
the same time. "Come on, I'll show you my room!"
"Hold on a minute, buddy. I think I'd better meet
your mom first." The door opened a bit more, and a man
appeared in the entryway, holding hands with Jordan. He
was tall and broad-shouldered, and he wore faded jeans
and an NYC sweatshirt. His dark hair was cut close to his
head, and his eyes were a kind of clear blue, like the water
off the Florida Keys. And something else, something familiar
Megan couldn't quite figure out.
She set a pair of pot holders down on the counter and
joined them in the living room. "I'm Megan. Thanks for
coming."
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
"Casey." He nodded once and shook her hand. "Thanks for having me."
An awkward silence planted itself between them, but
only for a few seconds. After that, Jordan tugged at
Casey's arm again. "Come on, I have to show you the
transformer plane you gave me. It's all set up and everything!"
Casey and Megan chuckled and exchanged a quick
smile. "I better take a look."
"Go ahead. We'll eat in a few minutes."
Megan had dinner on the table in no time, and with
Jordan filling in every spare moment, there was no need
for conversation between the two of them. Finally,
Megan had to tell him to stop talking and eat. The moment
Jordan was quiet, Casey turned to her, his expression
polite and guarded.
"Jordan tells me you take him to the East Meadow,
my favorite play area. The one with the big slide."
"Yes, we've always-" Megan stopped herself.
"Wait ... that's where I've seen you."
Casey set down his fork and cocked his head, confused.
"I don't remember meeting."
"We didn't meet." Megan could see the moment
clearly in her head now. "You jog, don't you?"
"Every day."
124 
"A month ago I took Jordan out to play, and I think that was you sitting on a 
bench at the back of the play area by yourself." Megan could suddenly see the 
pain in the man's eyes that day, and she chose her words carefully. "Jogging 
suit, knit beanie. You seemed kind of pensive."
Casey looked from Megan to Jordan. "Okay, now it's
coming together. This whole time Jordan was familiar to
me, like I'd seen him somewhere before." He hesitated
and shifted his attention back to Megan. "That was a long
day for me, the day I stopped on the bench. At work, I
mean. I saw Jordan playing, and I thought he looked
like ... like a nice boy."
Megan searched Casey's eyes and saw holes in his
story big enough to drive a truck through. But they were
none of her business. Besides, the dinner meeting was
only a formality. She forced a polite smile. "Small world,
then."
"Very small."
Jordan jumped back into the conversation, and they
talked about the past baseball season and whether the
Nets would have a good run this year or not.
Casey turned away from Jordan for a moment and
caught her eye. "Jordan told me to get three tickets for
Friday. Will you join us?"
Megan was trapped. She lowered her fork to her plate
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
and looked from Jordan to Casey. The man was only being polite, but Jordan was 
practically desperate for her to say yes. "Sure." A sigh stuck in her throat, 
and she swallowed it. "I'd love to go."
"Cool! We'll have the best time!" Jordan ate a bite of
potatoes and looked at Casey again. "I got flash cards in
my room for pluses and minuses. If you wanna do 'em
after dinner."
"Sure, buddy, I love flash cards."
The easy conversation continued, and Megan did her
best to stay out of it. That way she could watch this man,
the man she'd seen at the East Meadow play area that day,
and wonder about his past. He'd lost his wife and baby, she
knew that much. And certainly that explained the look in
his eyes that day at the park. But how had he and her son
gotten so attached, so quickly-almost as though they'd
known each other for years?
They finished dinner, and Megan cut off the flash
card session at seven-thirty. "School tomorrow, Jordan.
Sorry ..."
She and Jordan walked Casey to the door, but Jordan
turned around and ran back toward his room. "Don't go
yet. I forgot something."
When Jordan was gone, Megan caught Casey's gaze
and held it. Now that she'd met him and seen how won123
125 
derful he was with her son, she felt awful about not showing up the past three 
Fridays. "Casey, listen." She kept her voice low so Jordan wouldn't hear her. 
"I'm sorry about the other meetings. I should've made it a priority." 
"No big deal. Tonight'll satisfy old Mrs. Eccles."
Casey winked at Jordan as he raced up to them once
more and thrust a drawing into Casey's hands. "Besides,
we had a good time anyway, didn't we, sport?"
"Yep." Jordan gave Casey a high five and pointed to
the drawing. "That's a picture I made for you."
"Wow." Casey admired it for a long moment. "It's
perfect. I'll save it forever, okay?"
"Okay." Jordan's eyes danced a little more than usual.
"Should we tell Mommy about the prayer?"
"No." Casey gave Megan an easy grin. "Let's make the
prayer a secret for now."
"A secret prayer, huh?" Megan gave Jordan a teasing
look. "I take it that's a good thing."
"Yes." Jordan gave a hard nod in Casey's direction.
"Very good."
They agreed on where to meet for the basketball
game that coming Friday and said their good-byes. When
Casey was gone, Megan helped Jordan to bed and went to
her office to work.
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
It was only then that she realized she'd forgotten to ask Jordan about the 
secret prayer. Whatever it was, no harm could come from the two of them praying 
for her. Even if it had been a lifetime since she'd put any faith in praying. 
She opened the notes she'd been working on and positioned her hands on the 
keyboard.
But nothing would come. Not then or any time in the
next hour.
At half past nine that evening, she finally gave up trying
to work and headed for bed. The last thought on her
mind before she fell asleep wasn't about how to win the
case on her desk, or expose a witness, or find a missing
bit of evidence. It wasn't even about Jordan.
Rather, it was the dimpled smile of a man she'd only
just met. A man she felt as though she'd known her entire
life, all because of a chance encounter in Central Park.
Casey stayed up late that night, thinking about Amy. She and Megan Wright had 
nothing in common.
Where Amy was simple, Megan was cultured. Amy's lack
of guile was in utter contrast to Megan's cunning in the
courtroom. No question Jordan's mother was beautiful,
but a woman with a walled-up heart was not someone
Casey wanted to spend a lot of time with.
127 
Still, he prayed for her that night, as he had every night since he and Jordan 
made the deal. A secret prayer, he'd called it earlier that evening. And it was. 
Because Casey guessed if Megan had any idea they were praying for her to believe 
in love again, she'd order the whole thing off and forbid it. She had that kind 
of commanding presence.
Casey was glad Megan had figured out where they'd
known each other from. The park, of course. It made
perfect sense. If they both frequented the East Meadow,
they were bound to have run into each other that afternoon.
But as Casey fell asleep in his recliner watching
SportsCenter that night, he was baffled by a strange
thought.
He must've seen the woman only briefly that day at
the park. The moment she'd described with him on the
bench wasn't one he could remember, because he'd been
too caught up in his past to notice a strange woman staring
at him from across the way.
But if he couldn't remember seeing her, then why in
the world was she so familiar?
126
CHAPTER TEN
Megan wanted to know more about Casey Cummins, and she used the Nets game as her 
chance to find out.
It was halftime, and the two of them were anchored
outside the men's room waiting for Jordan. "Casey. . ."
She leaned against the wall and nudged him with her
elbow. "I have a question for you."
"Shoot."
"Why was it such a long day?"
Casey couldn't have looked more confused if she'd
asked him to fly down the stadium stairs. "What do you
mean?"
"That day at the park, when I first saw you." Her tone wasn't flirtatious or 
pushy, just matter-of-fact. She hoped it would make him drop his defenses a 
little and talk to her. If her son was going to be crazy about the man, she
129 
wanted to know more than his name and job description. "Why was it a long day?"
The muscles in his face relaxed some, and the pain
Megan had seen that afternoon at the park flashed once
more in Casey's eyes. "It was my anniversary. Eight years."
"Oh." Megan let her gaze fall to the tiled floor. "I
shouldn't have asked."
"It's okay." Casey slipped his hands into the pockets
of his jacket and rested his shoulders against the same
wall. "The reason I noticed Jordan was because he made
me think of my little boy"
Megan wanted to crawl into a hole. Whatever Casey
had shared with his wife, it had been far richer, far more
meaningful than the marriage between George and her.
She was about to apologize when he spoke up.
"Now it's your turn."
She gave him a sad smile. "That's fair."
He tilted his head back a bit, his eyes locked on hers.
"Why don't you believe in love?"
Before Megan's heart had a chance to find a normal
rhythm, Jordan skipped out of the rest room and found
his place between them. "Mom, can we get a hot dog before
the second half? Please?"
In the space above his head, she whispered, "Not
now, okay?"
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
"Okay." Casey grinned, and his expression told her that he doubted she would 
have given him an answer anyway. 
At the end of the night, Casey told them he had a
couple of extra tickets to a football game that Sunday at
Giants Stadium. This time when Casey asked her to
come, Megan found herself agreeing more quickly.
When Sunday arrived, the game was a nail-biter, and
by the end of the evening the three of them were yelling
at the top of their lungs.
"Nothing like Giants football!" Casey shouted the
words above the roar of the crowd.
"Nothing like it!"
By the end of the weekend, Megan felt even more
strongly that she'd known Casey Cummins all her life. She
kept waiting for his attention to die off, fade into nothing
as she expected it to. They'd met the program requirement,
after all. Casey's interest was in Jordan, not her. But
a few nights later Casey called, and Megan answered the
phone. "Hello?"
"Guess what?"
"What?" Megan had kept their friendship very simple
and businesslike, despite her probing questions at the
basketball game. But at times like this, she couldn't help
but feel a little thrill at the sound of his voice.
131 
"It's snowing!" Casey sounded not much older than Jordan.
"Yes." She giggled. "And it's seven o'clock."
"That's the perfect time for skating at the park." He
hesitated. "Wollman Rink, Megan. What do you say? You
and Jordan get ready, and we'll surprise him, okay?"
"Well ..." The whole thing made her wonder what
was happening to her resolve, her steely determination.
But she didn't dare voice her feelings. She'd kept them
from her mother so far, and if she had any sense, she'd
keep them from herself. After all, the man wasn't looking
for a relationship. He was still in love with his dead wife.
Besides, nothing smart could come from letting herself
fall for Jordan's special friend. She was too busy, her heart
too closed, for a man like Casey.
She glanced at the clock on the microwave. "Right
now?"
"Ah, come on, Megan. You only live once."
"I don't know ..." Megan hesitated just long enough
for him to pounce.
"Good! I'll pick you both up in twenty minutes."
Jordan was thrilled with the surprise, and he didn't
stop talking until, halfway around the rink the first time,
Megan fell smack on her backside.
Jordan's face twisted in concern, but Casey stifled a
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
laugh as he held out his hand and helped her up. "If the judges could see you 
now"
"Stop." Megan made a sound that was more laugh than
moan. When she did, Jordan relaxed and joined in. She
winced as she made her way to her feet and brushed the ice
off her woolen slacks. But she didn't fall again the rest of
the night, and at the end of the evening Jordan gave Casey
a quick hug and ran into the apartment, leaving Casey and
Megan at the door still breathless from the adventure.
Their eyes met and held for a moment, and Megan
thought of a dozen things she wanted to ask him. What
were they doing and where was it leading? And most of
all, didn't it feel wonderful to laugh again? But she was
certain questions like that would send Casey running. Besides,
she was feeling this way only because skating at
Central Park in December was somehow magical. And
magic didn't always make sense.
The moment passed, and the days began to blend
together. Every time she joined Casey and Jordan for an
evening out or a few hours at the park, she figured it
was the last time, that she was still out of place in their
midst because now that she'd fulfilled the program requirement
and met Casey, the arrangement was intended
for the two of them.
Not the three of them.
133 
But Casey kept inviting her, and she kept hearing herself say yes.
They saw a Christmas play at an off-Broadway theater,
and a few nights later he took them to his cafe. It
was warm and brightly decorated with Broadway posters
and street signs. A big man behind the counter welcomed
Megan and Jordan with a hearty handshake. "So, you're
the reason old Casey hasn't been around much, huh?"
His smile lit the room.
When Casey sat Megan and Jordan at one of the tables
by the window, she watched him head through the
cafe and make brief conversation with a few of the customers.
He was obviously a successful businessman, liked
by all types of people. She watched as he made his way
back to the counter, and she saw the man behind the
counter lean close and whisper something.
Casey only smiled in response and lifted his hands in
the air. When he returned to the table, Megan asked him
about it. "Okay, what's the story? You're in trouble with
your staff because of us, right?"
"Hardly." Casey grinned. "Now, whatre we having for
dinner?"
14
As busy as November had been for Megan, December saw the court calendar grind to 
a halt. Most of the hear132 
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
ings were used only to gain continuations until after the holidays, and Megan 
found herself looking forward to the time she spent away from the office.
Still, she worried about what would happen come January,
when the calendar got busy again and the newness of
her friendship with Casey wore off. She had to keep reminding
herself that he wasn't in their lives for her, but for
Jordan. And she promised herself that after December,
she'd let the two of them get back to meeting without her.
"He's falling for you, Megan." Her mother confronted
her one day as she was heading off to work. "And you?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Mother. We're grown adults,
and neither of us is falling anywhere. I'm only helping
Jordan get to know him better."
"Yes, and I'm the Easter Bunny." Her mother clucked
her tongue and narrowed her eyes in silence for a long
while. "Don't you hurt that boy, Megan. I know you."
"Mother, my goodness. I'm the one who took Jordan
down and signed him up for the program. The last thing
I'd do is find a way to hurt him where Casey's concerned."
Her mother only lowered her chin and gave Megan a
look that shot arrows at her soul. "I'm not talking about
Jordan." She paused and dropped her voice. "If you're
not falling for him, then don't lead him on."
138 
Anger and frustration mingled and boiled near the surface of her heart. How 
could she tell her mother that yes, she was falling. Especially when she was 
almost convinced Casey didn't share her feelings? Besides, she didn't believe in 
love. Wasn't that her? Maybe her mother was right. Maybe it was time she 
reminded herself of that fact so neither of them got hurt.
She sniffed hard. "I'm not leading him on. He's a
friend, Mother. Nothing more."
The days melted away, and still the three of them continued
to find ways to be together. They walked through
Central Park and had a snowball fight on the meadow between
the tennis courts and the reservoir, and Casey's fingers
nearly got frostbitten.
"Where's your gloves?" Megan dropped beside Casey
on the closest park bench and watched Jordan as he
pelted bushes with one snowball after another.
"Lost 'em at the cafe last week." Casey shrugged. "I'll
live. I can always use my coat pockets."
They shopped at Macy's and saw the lights of the city
from a horse-drawn carriage. After her mother's warning,
Megan was careful never to so much as let her arm brush
against Casey's so that he wouldn't get the wrong impression.
And as wonderful as their evenings together were,
he never gave her any hint that he was interested in her.
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
Two days before Christmas, Casey called and talked to Jordan for a few minutes. 
Then he asked to speak to her.
"Hello?"
"Hey ... listen, I want to bring by a gift for Jordan.
Would tomorrow be okay?"
Megan's heart ached at the sound of his voice. The
month was almost over, and she had the strangest feeling
that these were their last days together, that after the New
Year everything would change. But for now she couldn't
bear to miss an opportunity for the three of them to be
together again. "That'd be perfect. Why don't you come
for dinner? Mom and I make turkey on Christmas Eve."
"You don't mind?"
"Of course not." Megan kept her voice casual. "We'd
love to see you."
Jordan was ecstatic about the idea, and Megan's
mother promised to be on her best behavior. Casey arrived
with a box of roasted almonds and a bouquet of
white roses for Megan.
He handed them to her and rubbed his bare hands together.
"I hope they're not frozen."
Megan took the flowers and for just the flash of a
moment wondered if he'd chosen white over red on purpose.
"They're beautiful, Casey. Thank you."
139 
"I figured a New York City prosecutor probably didn't get flowers too often." He 
looked down at Jordan and handed him a wrapped box. "Besides, your son here 
wasn't much help with Christmas suggestions for his mom."
"Can I open it?" Jordan held his fingers poised near the crease in the wrapping 
paper, waiting for the goahead signal.
Megan and Casey laughed, and Casey nodded. "Sure, buddy."
Jordan tore off the paper, and inside was the kind of baseball glove he'd wanted 
for three months. "Wow ... I can't believe it. Can we try it out; huh, can we?"
"Tell you what ..." Casey dropped down to Jordan's
level. He took the glove and folded it in half near the
base of the thumb. "Keep it like this and tuck it beneath
your mattress. By the time the snow melts, you'll be able
to catch 'em better than McGwire."
The night passed in a pleasant blur of getting the
meal ready and eating together. Afterward, Jordan gave
Casey a framed photo of the two of them for his cafe
wall, and Megan gave him a pair of gloves.
Red gloves.
"Jordan told me you said red was the color of giving." She tilted her head. "I 
figured there's no one more giving
136
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
than you these past few months." Her tone changed and became more teasing. 
"Besides, without gloves you aren't worth much in a snowball fight."
A sad, distant sort of look worked its way across his
expression but only for a moment. "Yep." Then he
smiled and slipped the gloves on his hands. "Red's the
color of giving, and with these"-he shot a look at Jordan-"I'll
be giving some pretty mean snowballs."
When they finished with the gifts, they played Monopoly
and watched It',r a Wondeful Life. Long before the
angel got his wings, Megan's mother excused herself for
bed and Jordan fell asleep. When the movie ended the
TV went dark, and the room was lit only by the glow
from the nearby Christmas tree.
Megan was about to carry Jordan to his room, when
Casey stood and held out his hands. "Let me."
She sat back down and watched him sweep her sleeping
son into his arms and carry him toward the bedroom.
Don't do thi
s toyourself, Megan. Nothing good can come from what you're feeling. It's a 
shadow, a trick, a hoax. Keep the walls in place, and no one'llget hurt.
But when Casey walked back into the room, the sight
of him made her heart skip a beat. She could hardly order
herself to keep the walls standing when Casey's kindness
had long since knocked them to the ground.
137
i I
140 i
KAREN KINGSBURY
He poured two mugs of coffee and returned to the spot next to her on the sofa. 
"Here."
"Thanks." Her voice was softer than before, and she
was glad for the shadowy light, glad he couldn't see the
heat in her cheeks. "Jordan was tuckered out."
Casey chuckled and shook his head. "I've never
known a kid so full of life."
Megan wanted to say that Jordan hadn't always been
that way, but she felt suddenly shy, unable to think of
the right words. With Casey so close she could smell his
cologne, she couldn't decide whether to bid him good
night or find a way to stretch the night for another
hour.
"Okay" Casey took a swallow of coffee and lowered
the mug to his knee. "You can't run from the question
this time."
"What question?"
Casey hesitated, and his eyes found hers. She could
feel his gentle heart, his concern, and the fact that he
wasn't joking. "Why don't you believe in love?"
Megan took a moment to catch her breath. Then she
did her best to give him a teasing look. "Why do you want
to know?"
"Because . . ." Casey reached out and brushed a section
of hair back from Megan's face. The touch of his
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
fingers against her forehead made her ache for his kiss in a way that shocked 
her. He let his hand fall back to his lap, and his voice was barely more than a 
whisper. "Because sometimes I think you wouldn't recognize love if it sat next 
to you at a Giants game."
Megan tried not to read anything into his sentence.
Instead she drew a long, slow breath and set her cup
down on an end table. "You really want to know?"
Casey nodded. "Really."
"Okay, I'll tell you." Then with careful words sometimes
soaked in sorrow, she did just that. She told him
about her father and how he'd left their family without
warning, and about meeting George and believing their
lives together would be everything her parents' lives were
not.
"But he didn't love me, either. Not really." She felt her
lip quiver, and she bit it to keep from crying. "He wanted
me to work, but a few days after I passed the bar exam, I
found out I was pregnant."
"He loved Jordan." It was a statement, as though
Casey knew more than Megan realized.
"Yes, he did. But it was different with me. I was never
more than a business partner to George."
"And that's why? Why you don't believe in love?"
Casey's voice was gentle, tender, and something about it
141 
made Megan want to tell this man everything, even the things she'd never told 
anyone before.
"I did believe once, a long time ago." She drew her
legs up and angled herself so she could see Casey better.
"I was thirteen, and my mother took us to Lake Tahoe, to
a private part of the lake where my aunt owned a house."
Megan rested her cheek against the sofa cushion. "The
first day there I met this boy" She felt herself drift back
again, the way she had a few months ago when she'd
given herself permission to remember that time in her
life.
"Lake Tahoe?" Casey leaned a little closer and sat up.
He seemed more alert now, taking in every word Megan
said.
"Yes." Megan smiled and felt a layer of tears fill her
eyes. "The boy's name was Dade, and that's all I remember,
really. Kade from Lake Tahoe. He was fifteen, and he
told me something I'll never forget." Megan wiped at a
single tear. "He told me real love was kind and good and
came from the Bible. A sort of love that never ends."
Megan gave a quiet sniff. "He told me he'd pray for me
every day, that I'd get a miracle and wind up knowing that
kind of love." She reached for her glass again and took a
sip. "I never saw him after that. I guess I figured maybe
he was an angel."
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MAGGIES MIRACLE
"Hmm." Casey stirred across from her, and Megan noticed that he didn't look as 
comfortable as before. What had she said to change his mood? Had the talk about 
love scared him? Or was he merely missing his wife on another Christmas Eve 
without her?
"Sorry. . ." Megan looked at her watch and gave a
stiff little laugh. "I've bored you and now it's late."
"No ... no, you didn't bore me, Megan." He slid to
the edge of the sofa and moved closer so that their knees
were touching. Then he lifted his hand to her face and
framed it with his fingertips. "I think it's a beautiful story
and one that ... that doesn't have to have a tragic ending"
It took all Megan's effort to concentrate on finding an
answer. The nearness of Casey made her emotions war
within her in a way she couldn't sort out. "It ... it already
did. George died before we ever figured out a way to love
like that"
Casey lifted Megan's chin so that their eyes met and
held. "What was your name back then? Your maiden
name?"
The question pulled her from the moment and made
her want to laugh. "Why?"
"Because . . ." Casey searched her eyes, looking to the
depths of her soul. "I want to picture everything about
143 
the way you were, back when you still wanted to believe in love."
"Howard was my maiden name." Megan lifted her
shoulders. "And I wasn't Megan, I was Maggie. Maggie
Howard."
Even in the dim glow of the Christmas tree, Casey's
face seemed to grow a few shades paler. Again, Megan
wasn't sure what she'd said, but the magic of the moment
was gone. Casey stood and gathered his red gloves and
the photo of him and Jordan. "I guess I better go."
"Yes." Megan chided herself for being so transparent.
A man like Casey had his own ghosts to deal with on
Christmas Eve.
They walked to the door, and before Casey left he
cupped his hand along the side of her face once more,
leaned close, and for a single instant brought his lips to
hers. The kiss was over before Megan realized what had
happened, and Casey whispered, "Merry Christmas,
Megan."
Not until he was gone did Megan realize something.
The glistening look in Casey's eyes hadn't been a reflection
from the Christmas tree.
It had been tears.
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was'a miracle.
No other explanation existed, except that in His everlasting
mercy, God had stepped into Casey Cummins's
world and handed him a Christmas miracle. The kind
Amy had always believed in.
But not the one he'd been praying for these past few
weeks. And not one he was sure he wanted. Not yet, anyway.
Casey's head spun, and his heart wasn't sure whether
to take wing or drop to his shoes. Under the circumstances
he couldn't possibly ride a taxi home, so when he
reached the ground level of Megan's apartment he began
to walk. Strong and hard and fast into the chilly night,
and after less than a block he felt his eyes well up.
He hadn't asked for any of this. He'd wanted only to
145 i
KAREN KINGSBURY
befriend a young boy, to bring hope and light and healing to a heart that had 
grieved as much these past two years as Casey's had. If he'd known he would find 
love, he wouldn't have made the call. Amy deserved more than that. It had only 
been two years, after all. Two years. How dare he give his heart to someone else 
after so little time?
His feet pummeled the ground, carrying him south
and taking him into Central Park. The lights were still lit,
and couples strolled the paved walkways. Casey stayed on
the less traveled paths and let the tears come.
He walked until he reached the bench at the back of
the East Meadow play area, the place where he and Amy
had come so many times before. Then he sat down and
dropped the gifts from Megan and Jordan on the cold
wood beside him. How was it possible? The whole time
while he'd been taking Megan and her son out, God had
been orchestrating the events to lead up to this one night,
that one conversation with Megan.
And that was something else. What had he been
thinking, kissing her?
Amy ... Amy, if you can hear me, I'm sorry, honey. I love
you, still. I'll always love you.
His tears came harder now, and he covered his face
with his hands. The thing of it was, it had already hap144
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
pened. All of it. And there was nothing he could do about it. Being angry at God 
wouldn't change the truth. He loved Megan with a fierceness that scared him, 
loved her in a way he hadn't even realized until a few hours ago. Loved Jordan, 
too. And now ... after what he'd just learned ... he was certain he would share 
his life with them, love them and live with them forever.
As sure as Christmas, it was all about to play out.
Casey wished for just a moment that Amy could be
there beside him again, to hold his hand and hug him, tell
him it was all okay. That none of them could do a single
thing about time or the way it marched on without respecting
loss or feelings or memories.
That sometimes life could hurt as much as death.
His fingers were wet from his tears, and an occasional
icy gust of wind burned against them. He sniffed and remembered
the gift Megan had given him. The red gloves.
He pulled them from their wrapping once more and slid
them onto his fingers. Then ... as he stared at his hands,
he realized something.
Amy had told him that red was the color of giving.
That had come from her, not him. And if there was one
thing she would've wanted to give him this Christmas, it
was the gift of freedom. Freedom from the pain of losing
her, freedom from holding on.
147 
Freedom to love again.
She'd given him so much in life, and now, in death,
she would give him this. But if that was true, if he was
going to let go and move on with life, he needed this time
to tell her good-bye. He lifted his eyes to heaven and
spoke in a voice that even he could barely hear. "Amy ...
I never wanted it this way, you know that. But ... it happened.
And the way it happened ... well, it can't be anything
but a miracle."
He dried his tears with the red gloves and thought
back to the night with Megan. "I love her, Amy. I love her
son. Even before I found out about the miracle. And I
was wrong about the two of you. I think you would've
liked her. Maybe a lot." He felt another tear spill onto his
cheeks, and his voice grew tight. "I'll always hold you
close inside, Amy. But for now ... for now I have to let
go.
For a long while he sat there, longing for a chance to
see her again. Instead he closed his eyes and felt it. Something
had released in his heart, and at the same instant, he
felt as new and alive inside as the fresh fallen snow He
dried his eyes one last time and stood. Then, without
looking back, he jogged to the closest street and hailed a
cab.
The time for tears had passed, and Casey grasped the
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
reality at hand. It was December 24, and a miracle no less amazing than 
Christmas itself was about to occur. Carrying Jordan's gift under his arm, he 
raced up the stairs to his apartment and headed for his bedroom. The box was at 
the bottom of his closet near the back corner, tucked behind his clothes in a 
place where it had been all but forgotten. 
Casey slid it out and tore through it until he found the old Bible.
The one he'd had as a fifteen-year-old boy.
Then, as carefully and quickly as he could, he
thumbed his way to the back, to the thirteenth chapter of
1 Corinthians, to a place where he was convinced he'd
find it. And sure enough, there it was. The pressed purple
flower, the one Maggie had given him that week. And
written in his own youthful handwriting was this simple
sentence:
Pray for a miracle for Maggie Howard.
Casey stared at it until the words faded and became
pine trees, tall and proud, anchored in the sandy shore of
Lake Tahoe. He'd gone there every summer with his parents,
even after he met Maggie. Every year until he graduated
from high school he'd looked for her, but she never
returned to the lake.
She had seemed so sad back then, so sure that love
149 
was a fraud. And he, a preacher's boy, had been so sure otherwise. Love was good 
and kind and pure and true. Love never failed. Wasn't that the message of his 
boyhood days, the message his father preached from the pulpit every Sunday?
His name was Kade Cummins, and back then he'd
gone by Kade.
But sometime during his freshman year on the baseball
team, the players began calling him by his initials,
K. C. And in time, it was the only name he knew Casey
Cummins. He'd kept his promise to Maggie, praying for
her every time he opened his Bible until he left for Haiti.
That year his father gave him a new Bible as a goingaway
present, and his old one was packed away in a box
of baseball trophies and old high school mementos.
He still thought about Maggie often that first year in
Port-au-Prince.
But after he met Amy, his thoughts took a different
direction, and not until tonight, when Megan told the
story, did the pieces all finally and completely fall together.
He'd spent years praying for Maggie Howard,
praying that she'd find real love one day. And thenwhen
his life had been little more than a chance to remember
the past-God had brought the two of them
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
together so that he, he himself, could be the answer he'd prayed for all those 
years ago.
And it had all happened on Christmas Eve.
If that wasn't a Christmas miracle, Casey wasn't sure
what was.
Of course, it wasn't a complete miracle, not yet. Not until he could look into 
Maggie's eyes, the eyes he'd first met as a boy, and know without a doubt that 
she believed in love again. The kind of love he'd taught her to believe in back 
on the sandy shores of Lake Tahoe.
It was nearly midnight, but Casey didn't care. He
picked up the phone, punched in Megan's number, and
waited. She answered on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Megan, it's me, Casey. I'm sorry to call so late."
"No ... no, it's fine. I was up." She hesitated. "Are
you okay? You sound like something's wrong."
"Everything's just fine, actually, but I have a favor to
ask you."
"Anything, Casey." He could hear the relief in her
voice. "Whatever you want"
Casey kept his words as slow and calm as possible. "Have your mother watch 
Jordan tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. Meet me at the East Meadow, at the bench
152 
near the big slide." He stopped himself from saying anything more. "Please, 
Megan."
She paused. "Of course. I'll be there at ten."
After they hung up, Casey found a blank Christmas
card and began to write. When he was finished, he
searched his top dresser drawer until he found an old velvet
box. His heart raced as he checked the contents. It
might not be a perfect fit, but it would work for what he
wanted to do.
Sleep came slowly, in fits and starts, but Casey didn't
mind. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened,
and more than that, how the timing was so utterly
fitting. Everything was coming together on the most
beautiful day of the year, the day when miracles truly did
happen all around them.
Christmas Day.
I50
CHAPTER TWELVE
egan arrived at ten o'clock exactly.
It was cold and windy, a Christmas morning when
nearly everyone else was still opening gifts and enjoying the warmth of their 
families. Megan looked beyond the empty play area to the bench at the back near 
the big slide, the one nestled against the bushes. She pulled her long wool coat 
tight around her neck, and lifted the collar to ward off a gust coming off the 
reservoir.
Casey was nowhere.
She checked her watch and saw that it was a minute
after ten. Strange ... Casey wasn't usually late. Careful on
the icy gravel, she slowly made her way toward the bench.
She was ten feet away when she saw it.
Sitting squarely on the middle of it was a wrapped
gift. Megan's heart beat faster, and again she glanced
153 
around, looking for Casey. Had he already come and left her this present? It 
seemed an odd thing to do. After all, he'd brought her roses the night before, 
and if he'd had another gift, he would've given it to her then.
She shivered and walked the remaining distance to the
bench. The gift was large, about the size of a big book.
On the top was a card with her name written across the
front, and tucked beneath. the ribbon was a small pressed
azalea, pale purple and tinged brown around the edges of
the petals. Megan brought it to her face and breathed in
the faint musty smell. Something about the flower was
strangely familiar. Where had she seen it before?
She lowered the gift and turned enough to scan the
play area. "Casey?" She waited, but there was no response.
He must've left the gift, but why? Why here, and
why hadn't he waited for her?
She opened the card, pulled it from the envelope, and
began to read.
I've prayed foryou a thousand times, Maggie Howard. Open
your present and turn to i Corinthians, chapter 13. Then you'll
know what I mean.
Megan's hands began to shake, and once more she
glanced around, looking for Casey. A wind gust played
with her hair, and she brushed it away from her eyes.
Whatever did he mean, he'd prayed for her a thousand
152
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
times? And why had he referred to her by her maiden name, the name she'd used as 
a little girl? She took the delicate pressed flower and set it in the card, then 
slipped them both into her pocket.
Without waiting another moment, she slid her fingers
into the seam in the paper, and pulled it off the gift. Beneath
the wrapping was an old, worn Bible, cracked and
faded from the years. And embossed at the lower right
corner was the owner's name.
Kade Cummins.
Megan gasped and nearly dropped the Bible. With her
free hand she brought her fingers to her mouth and
stared at the cover as everything around her began to tilt.
How had Casey gotten Kade's Bible? And what about the
flower? Was that the one she'd picked twenty years ago,
the one she'd asked Kade to hold on to so he wouldn't
forget her? And what did Casey mean by having her open
it here, now?
She tucked the Bible beneath her arm and checked
the card once more. i Corinthians, chapter 13. Megan slid
the card into the front part of the big book, and after a
few frantic moments she found the place. There, written
in fading ink, were words that made her heart stop.
Pray for a miracle for Maggie Howard.
Nothing made sense, and Megan wondered if she
155 
might faint. If this was Kade's Bible, then how had Casey gotten it? And why had 
he said in the card the prayers had come from him, and not Kade? She was about 
to gather the Bible to her chest and sit down on the bench when she heard 
something behind her. Her heart jolted into an unfamiliar beat and she turned 
around.
"Merry Christmas, Maggie." Casey was coming toward
her, his eyes sparkling as he made his way.
"Casey ... what . . . how'd you get this?"
He stopped a few inches from her, lifted the Bible
from her arms, and set it on the bench. Then he took her
hands in his and spoke words that made the blood drain
from her face. "Kade, Maggie. My name's Kade."
"No . . ." she shook her head. "That's ... that's impossible.
Kade was ... he was blonde and skinny and
freckled and ... you're Casey ... you couldn't be ..."
Her voice faded, and she could no longer find the words.
As strong as Megan Wright could be in court, she was
suddenly thirteen again, desperate to believe in a love that
wouldn't fail.
"Maggie, it's me. I promise." Casey must've known
she was about to fall. He pulled her closer, let her lean on
him for support. "I lost the blonde hair and freckles
when I turned twenty. And everyone's called me by my
initials since high school."
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MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
An explosion of feelings went off in Megan's heart. Disbelief and shock and the 
overwhelming sense that she was dreaming. "You ... filled out." She remembered 
to breathe.
"Yes." A low chuckle sounded in his chest and he stroked her hair.
"I can't ... is ... is it true? You're really him?"
"I am. And see, Maggie, I was right all those years
ago, wasn't I?"
She was still too shocked to answer, too amazed that
she was in the arms of a man who so long ago had given
her a reason to hope, a reason to believe in love. And
now ... now he'd done that all over again before she'd
even known it was him.
"Remember the secret prayer Jordan and I had for
you?"
"Yes ... yes, I remember." Strength was returning to Megan's knees, and now her 
shock was being replaced by an explosive joy and a hundred questions. "What did 
you pray?"
"We prayed for a Christmas miracle, that you'd believe in love again."
"You did?"
"Uh-huh. Not so different from the way I prayed for you every day back when I 
was a boy."
157 
Megan peered into his soul. "Kade Cummins, is that really you?"
He didn't answer her with words. Instead, he took her
face in his hands and kissed her. Not the momentary kiss
from the night before, but a kiss that silenced her doubts
and her questions as well. When he drew back, he whispered
her name against her cheek. The name he'd known
her by nearly two decades.
"Maggie, l have something else to tell you. Something
about Jordan."
She was lost in his embrace, falling the way she hadn't
believed it possible to fall. Still, she forced herself to find
his eyes again, to search them for whatever he had to tell
her. "Okay ..."
"I can't be Jordan's special friend anymore." Casey
pulled back and studied her face. "Because after all of
this, I could never be just a special friend to him."
Megan stared at Casey, not sure what he was saying.
Why had he kissed her if he wasn't planning to stay?
,,you ... you mean you're leaving us?"
"No, silly." Casey took her hands and kissed her
again. "I didn't say that."
"You said you couldn't be his special friend anymore."
"No. I can't be his special friend." Casey locked eyes
156
MAGGIE'S MIRACLE
with her once more, and she felt her heart come to life within her. "Not when 
all I want ... is to be his daddy." He let go of one of her hands, reached into 
his coat pocket, and pulled out something small and shiny. "This . . ." he held 
it out to her, "belonged to my grandmother." 
It was a diamond solitaire, brilliant and set in band of
exquisitely etched white gold.
Her gasp was soft, but loud enough for him to hear.
He smiled at her, his eyes glazed with tears, and suddenly
she knew what was coming, knew he was about to say the
words that would change all their lives forever.
And rather than fear it or dread it or doubt it in the least,
Megan could hardly wait to say yes. Casey held the ring to
her finger and slipped it over her knuckle. Then he kissed
her again and spoke the words she was dying to hear.
"Marry me, Maggie Howard. Marry me, and let me
love you the way you've always wanted to be loved. Let
me be a daddy to Jordan, and let me show you that real
love never fails." He hesitated, and she felt tears in her
own eyes now. "And together I promise we'll spend forever
remembering this moment and believing that yes ...
Christmas miracles really do happen."
159 
It was-October again, a year since he'd written the first letter, and now he 
could hardly wait to write this one. Jordan's parents were in the next room, so 
he took a piece of paper from his desk drawer-the place where his thirdgrade 
homework lay stacked neatly inside. Then he picked his nicest pen from the box 
on his desk, and steadied his hand over the paper.
Dear God...
He smiled at the way his letters looked, then he
sucked in a big breath and began again.
Pve wanted to write you for a long time, but I orated so I could tell you how 
good everything is. Plus also my spelling is better so I can write more stuff 
now. I hope you get this letter, because the daddy you sent me is the best
161 
daddy in the whole wide world. And plus something else. My mommy believes in 
love again. I beard her tell that to Daddy the nite before they got married
I got to ware my nicest clothes for the wedding, and
everyone said they could feelyou there with us. I could feel
you, too, and not just because it was Valentines Day. Becauseyourkind
of love is there every day of the year.
I know it because Daddy says so, and Daddy knows a
lot about love.
Anyway, I wanted to tellyou thanks for reading my letter
and making everthing turn out so great. I'll write you
again nextyear. Love, Jordan.
P.S. Thanks for hearing my prayer about a baby sister.
Mommy says she'll be here before Christmas.
THE RED GLOVES SERIES
Last year, many of you journeyed with me through the pages of my first Warner 
Christmas story, Gideon's Gift. In that book, I shared with you the miracle of a 
sick little girl and an angry, homeless man, and the gift that changed both 
their lives forever. And in honor of Gideon's precious gift, at the back of that 
book I suggested several Red Gloves Projects for you and your friends and 
families. 
In the hundreds of letters you've written me since then, I've heard one theme 
resonate loudly. You love the idea of the red gloves. Red for Christmas, red for 
a heart full of love and hope and Christmas miracles.
Red, the color of giving.
And because of that, I've decided to let the red gloves
of Gideon''s Gift play a cameo role in each of my Warner
160
165 
Christmas stories. The Red Gloves Series, we're calling it, and each book will 
have a new list of Red Gloves Projects. As one of you told me last year, "I 
bought fifty copies of Gideon''s Gift to give to everyone I know. My prayer is 
that we'd see red gloves all around us in the coming years, that they'd grace 
the hands of the homeless and widowed, the children without parents and parents 
without hope. So that red gloves would forever be the symbol of Christ's love at 
Christmas."
In that light, I bring you this year's Red Gloves Projects. 
MORE RED GLOVES PROJECTS
Adopt an orphan through WorldVision or another international
organization you feel is trustworthy. For
usually pennies a day, you can make a difference in the
life of at least one child and be to that little boy or girl
a Christmas miracle every day of the year. Once
you've chosen your child, send him or her a pair of red
gloves. Then cut out the child's picture and attach it to
a red glove, which can hang in your home all year long.
2. Contact your local branch of Social Services and find out how many children 
in your area are awaiting fam162 
THE RED GLOVES SERIES
flies. Make a list of the names of those children and commit along with your 
friends or family to pray for each of them. Buy gifts for these children, along 
with several pairs of red gloves, and take the wrapped presents to the local 
Social Services office. Ask that they be delivered to the children waiting for 
families.
If you're single and able to be more involved, check if your area has an 
organization that pairs lonely children with willing adults. Make a yearlong 
commitment to a child, and make your first gift to him or her a pair of red 
gloves with an explanation that red is the color of giving.
4. Talk to your local public elementary school or contact your church leaders, 
and locate a needy family in your area. Purchase presents for the family, and 
deliver them while wearing red gloves. Adorn the packages with red gloves for 
each of the children in the family.
I pray this finds you and your family doing well this Christmas, determined to 
mend broken relationships and let fall the walls that have come between you and 
those you love. God gave us the greatest gift of all that first Christmas Day. 
How much richer we-like Casey Cum163 
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mins-are when we follow His example and give something back.
Especially something to a child.
Please check out my Web site at www.KarenKingsbury.com
for more information about the Red Gloves
Projects that have happened since last year. And leave me
a note in my guestbook. As always, I'd love to hear from
you, and if you have a Red Gloves Project idea you'd like
to share with me, please do. I'll add it to my Web site and
perhaps suggest it in my Warner Christmas story next
year.
Until then, may God's light and life be yours in the
coming year.
In His love,
Karen Kingsbury
www.KarenKingsbury.com
164
AN EXCERPT FROM
GIDEON'S GIFT
1 he gift that changed them all had led to this: a Christmas wedding.
Nothing could have been more appropriate. Gideon
was an angel, after all. Not the haloed, holy kind. But the
type that once in a while-when the chance presented itself-made
you stare a little harder at her upper back. In
case she was sprouting wings.
From his seat in the back of the church, Earl Badgett's
tired old eyes grew moist. A Christmas wedding
was the only kind for Gideon. Because if ever angels
shone it was in December. This was the season when
Gideon's gift had mattered most.
Gideon'.rgift.
A million memories called to him. Had it been thirteen
years? Earl stared at the vision she made, sur165
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from Gideon's Gift
rounded by white satin and lace. The greatest miracle was that Gideon had 
survived.
He brushed the back of his hand over his damp cheeks. She actually survived.
But that wasn't the only miracle.
Earl watched Gideon smile at her father-the glowing,
unforgettable smile of a young woman on the brink
of becoming. The two of them linked arms and began a
graceful walk down the aisle. It was a simple wedding,
really. A church full of family and friends, there to witness
a most tender moment for a girl who deserved it
more than any other. A girl whose love, whose very presence,
lit the room and caused people to feel grateful for
one reason alone: They had been given the privilege of
knowing Gideon Mercer. God had lent her a little while
longer to the mere mortals who made up her world. And
in that they were all blessed.
Gideon and her father were halfway down the aisle when it happened. Gideon 
hesitated, glanced over her shoulder, and found Earl. Her eyes had that haunting 
look that spoke straight to his soul, the same as they always had. They shared 
the briefest smile, a smile that told him he wasn't the only one. She, too, was 
remembering the miracle of that Christmas.
The corners of Earl's mouth worked their way up his
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from Gideon's Gift
worn face. You did it, angel. You got your dream. His heart danced with joy. It 
was all he could do to stay seated, when everything in him wanted to stand and 
cheer.
Goget'em, Gideon!
As they rarely did anymore, the memories came like
long lost friends. Filling Earl's mind, flooding his senses,
linking hands with his heart and leading him back. Back
thirteen years to that wondrous time when heaven orchestrated
an event no less miraculous than Christmas itself.
An event that changed both their lives.
An event that saved them.
Time flew ... back to the winter when Earl first met
Gideon Mercer.