she asked.
He placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m good,” he said
softly. “I’m fine. I got hurt and had to go to the hospital.”
She nodded. “I know,” she said, leaning into his arms again.
“You know?” he asked. “I told them not to call you. I told them you’d be worried sick.”
She shook her head. “No, no one called,” she explained, her
head nestled against his chest. “Johnny stopped by and told me that you were
okay. He said he knew I’d worry, so he
wanted to tell me himself.” She smiled.
“He also said that you are the best partner a guy could have.”
She heard the sharp intake of breath and she felt him
stiffen beneath her. Pulling away, she
looked up into his eyes and saw the tears. “What?” she asked frantically.
“What?”
“Johnny,” he replied haltingly. “Johnny didn’t…”
“Did something happen to him on the way back to the
station?” she demanded. “He was just here…”
He shook his head and placed his forehead against hers.
“Johnny was with me when we walked into the ambush,” he explained hoarsely. “He
was the first guy in. He…he didn’t make it.”
Chapter Three
There was silence once again in the living room when
Margaret finished and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “He was a good man,” she
said.
Tim nodded. “Aye, he was,” he replied. “And knew what it was
to be a good partner. Sometimes I still feel him watching over me.”
“Do you think that’s possible?” Mary asked. “Ghosts watching over people? Ghosts being here on the
earth?”
Tim took a deep breath and nodded. “I do, yes,” he said.
“And, actually, when I was a young lad growing up in Chicago I had an
experience that caused me never to doubt that there is a world out there that
few understand. And, since I believe it’s my turn, I’ll share the story with
the rest of you.”
The day had finally arrived, twelve year-old Timmy O’Reilly
was old enough to have his own paper route. How he’d envied those other boys with their pockets filled with change,
buying the latest comics books or stopping for a treat at the ice cream
parlor. He was at last, a working
man.
He had thought of nothing else that day in school. He got his knuckles rapped twice by his
teacher, a nun with a very sour disposition, for not paying attention to the
board work. But all he could think about
was the stack of papers that would be waiting for him when he got home that
afternoon.
He ran all the way, crisp autumn leaves crunching beneath
his shoes, the crisp wind turning his cheeks pinks and blowing his hair off his
face. Taking the front steps two at a
time, he dashed through the front door calling to his mother, “Are they here
yet?”
Coming from the back of the house, his mother smiled at her
eager son. “Yes, Timmy, they are,” she said. “Now, why don’t you take a moment
and study your route, then we can fold the papers and pack them in your bag.”
Timmy shook his head. “No, we have to fold them right away,”
he replied. “The circulation manager told me that I had to be real quick. So,
let’s fold them and I can learn the route on the way.”
Shaking her head, but allowing her son to lead the way in
his new business venture, Mrs. O’Reilly sat on the living room floor and began
to fold the papers and pack them neatly in the large canvas bag with the
paper’s name emblazoned on the side. With both of them working, side by side, the bag was soon filled and
Timmy was ready to go. With the canvas
bag handle looped around his shoulders and the bag resting on his back fender,
he straddled his bike, route addresses in hand and started off. “Bye Mom,” he
called, his face glowing with excitement. “I’ll be home for supper.” He only
said that because it was something his father had said and it made him feel like
a real working man.
“Good-bye dear,” she replied, biting back a smile. “Good
luck with your route and
He placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m good,” he said
softly. “I’m fine. I got hurt and had to go to the hospital.”
She nodded. “I know,” she said, leaning into his arms again.
“You know?” he asked. “I told them not to call you. I told them you’d be worried sick.”
She shook her head. “No, no one called,” she explained, her
head nestled against his chest. “Johnny stopped by and told me that you were
okay. He said he knew I’d worry, so he
wanted to tell me himself.” She smiled.
“He also said that you are the best partner a guy could have.”
She heard the sharp intake of breath and she felt him
stiffen beneath her. Pulling away, she
looked up into his eyes and saw the tears. “What?” she asked frantically.
“What?”
“Johnny,” he replied haltingly. “Johnny didn’t…”
“Did something happen to him on the way back to the
station?” she demanded. “He was just here…”
He shook his head and placed his forehead against hers.
“Johnny was with me when we walked into the ambush,” he explained hoarsely. “He
was the first guy in. He…he didn’t make it.”
Chapter Three
There was silence once again in the living room when
Margaret finished and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “He was a good man,” she
said.
Tim nodded. “Aye, he was,” he replied. “And knew what it was
to be a good partner. Sometimes I still feel him watching over me.”
“Do you think that’s possible?” Mary asked. “Ghosts watching over people? Ghosts being here on the
earth?”
Tim took a deep breath and nodded. “I do, yes,” he said.
“And, actually, when I was a young lad growing up in Chicago I had an
experience that caused me never to doubt that there is a world out there that
few understand. And, since I believe it’s my turn, I’ll share the story with
the rest of you.”
The day had finally arrived, twelve year-old Timmy O’Reilly
was old enough to have his own paper route. How he’d envied those other boys with their pockets filled with change,
buying the latest comics books or stopping for a treat at the ice cream
parlor. He was at last, a working
man.
He had thought of nothing else that day in school. He got his knuckles rapped twice by his
teacher, a nun with a very sour disposition, for not paying attention to the
board work. But all he could think about
was the stack of papers that would be waiting for him when he got home that
afternoon.
He ran all the way, crisp autumn leaves crunching beneath
his shoes, the crisp wind turning his cheeks pinks and blowing his hair off his
face. Taking the front steps two at a
time, he dashed through the front door calling to his mother, “Are they here
yet?”
Coming from the back of the house, his mother smiled at her
eager son. “Yes, Timmy, they are,” she said. “Now, why don’t you take a moment
and study your route, then we can fold the papers and pack them in your bag.”
Timmy shook his head. “No, we have to fold them right away,”
he replied. “The circulation manager told me that I had to be real quick. So,
let’s fold them and I can learn the route on the way.”
Shaking her head, but allowing her son to lead the way in
his new business venture, Mrs. O’Reilly sat on the living room floor and began
to fold the papers and pack them neatly in the large canvas bag with the
paper’s name emblazoned on the side. With both of them working, side by side, the bag was soon filled and
Timmy was ready to go. With the canvas
bag handle looped around his shoulders and the bag resting on his back fender,
he straddled his bike, route addresses in hand and started off. “Bye Mom,” he
called, his face glowing with excitement. “I’ll be home for supper.” He only
said that because it was something his father had said and it made him feel like
a real working man.
“Good-bye dear,” she replied, biting back a smile. “Good
luck with your route and
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