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One
December 20, 1943
When the black sedan stopped at the trafc light, Patrick rose
quietly to his knees in the backseat and peeked out the sidewindow. He fattened his palms against the glass, cold as ice,
but he didn’t pull back. His eyes were drawn to a large picture
window on a house at a nearby corner. Set deep within thenight shadows, the window gave the appearance o a paint-ing suspended in midair. Patrick would’ve given anything tobe a part o what he saw inside.
A plump Christmas tree glowed through the curtains. Twostockings dangled rom a replace mantel. Flames shimmeredagainst the glass ornaments on the tree. A real amily, a whole
amily—mom and dad, two kids, and a dog—sat in a semi-
circle around a radio. Probably listening to Christmas music,
Patrick thought. Maybe even “Silent Night,” his avorite.
The mom put her arm around one o the children, a boy
about his own age, and tenderly patted him on the shoulder.Tears welled up in Patrick’s eyes, escaping down his cheeks.
He wiped them away and looked toward the ront seat at
Dan Walsh,
The Unfinished Gift
,Revell Books, a division of Baker Publishing Group, © 2009. Used by permission.
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