Christmas Eve, she thought, was slipping away. She drew out their list again and read about her own first “Christmas Miracle.” She needed to find a homeless woman named Maggie St. Johns. Boston was a big city. And, unfortunately, there were far too many homeless people in it. Lots of drunks, too, but they’d found Jimmy O’Connor easily enough. She drummed her fingers. She didn’t dare call on Gabriel for her first miracle. She drew out the little instruction book and turned to page one and read, “Always look for the obvious. Always make good use of coincidence; remember that the right set of coincidences can be miracles all on their own.” Look to the obvious… She glanced toward the men’s room, then slipped from her bar stool and hurried toward the front door of the pub. She thought she bumped into a man, but he didn’t notice; he walked right by. She bit into her lower lip, realizing that he had walked right through her. She was dead. Really dead. The thought made her want to cry; they’d had so much more left to do!
