Read Online An Imperfect Miracle by Thomas L. Peters - Free Book Online Page B

getting old, and when you get old your body starts to give out a little.”
    â€œIs he gonna die?”
    She shook her head real fast.
    â€œNo, he’s not going to die. And quit your moping. Your dad was always pulling that stunt whenever something didn’t go his way.”
    In a few minutes we were sitting in Mom’s dinged-up green 2002 Chevy Cavalier that she’d bought used over the Internet for fifteen hundred bucks after Dad took off with our pickup truck. We were about to back out of the driveway when a cop car pulled up and parked right in front of our mailbox. Two cops climbed out and started walking toward us. One had a big belly and a shaved head, and if he’d just been a few inches shorter he would have been perfectly round. The other guy was so slumped over in the shoulders, and so skinny around the middle, and so milky and spotty in the face, that he reminded me of a sliver of crescent moon, which I had just learned about in Mr. O’Connor’s science class.
    Mom got a scared look in her eyes and took a couple quick breaths before the round cop leaned against the window and told her that they wanted to ask me a few questions. Then I got a little scared too and started thinking about what I’d done wrong lately.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Officer?”
    â€œNothing, ma’am,” the round cop said. “Just a few routine questions for your son.”
    â€œAbout what? He’s not in any trouble, is he?”
    â€œIt won’t take long, ma’am,” the skinny cop said, peering in at me from the other window, like they were ganging up on us or something.
    For as much trouble as Mom generally caused me, when other people were after me she mostly took my side. At least she didn’t tear into me right away until she found out what was really going on. We went back inside the house with Mom hugging me the whole way. Because those cops were dogging us so close, I didn’t try to squirm out of it either. Then the cops plopped their rear ends on our couch and started grilling me about Mary and whether I’d seen anybody paint her face on the concrete and stuff like that. They kept saying that some folks believed Mary was just a hoax. But I stuck to my story and told them what I’d told that snarly little newspaper reporter.
    â€œSo you have no idea how the image got there,” the round cop said.
    â€œMary put it there herself,” I said. “It’s her face, after all. She can stick it wherever she feels like.”
    Then Mom decided to jump in, like she had a few times when that doctor was asking me questions about Chewy.
    â€œNathan has an active imagination, Officer.”
    â€œSo I’ve heard,” the round cop said, and jotted something down on his little notepad.
    â€œI don’t make things up,” I said. “And if she isn’t really Mary, how come so many people are always showing up from all over the world to pray to her?”
    â€œDid you put her face on?” the skinny cop asked, leaning over and squinting at me. His squirmy little mouth sort of reminded me of the dried-up apricots Mom sometimes left out on the kitchen counter when she got tired of eating them. “Maybe your friend Carlos put you up to it, and then you made up that crazy story about the little drunk and his cut being healed to get some attention for yourself.”
    My heart exploded up into my throat so hard and fast that I couldn’t say a word. I figured that they’d found the little drunk, and he was calling me a liar for taking the credit for discovering Mary. After Mom watched me for a little while sitting there all frozen up, she decided to jump in again.
    â€œThis is ridiculous. He’s just a little boy.”
    â€œAnswer the question, son,” the round cop said, squinting at me now too, although he had so much flab hanging down from his face that it didn’t change his look much.
    Finally I got my