Free All We Know of Heaven by Jacquelyn Mitchard Page A

group has helped me. Bill has gone with me a couple of times. It’s at least something to know you’re not alone, even in a town as small as ours. But no, we’ll never
    be the same.”
    You bet you won’t , Neely thought. She said, “Well, I’m glad. But, well. It’s not that. It’s something more personal.”
    “Something we left? Something of Maury’s? Something

    we forgot to take care of?” Jeannie asked, puzzled. She had only this week cleaned Maury’s room, then let herself lie on her daughter’s bed and cry until she was exhausted and fell asleep.
    “Yes, yes. Something we all forgot to take care of. And it’s truly urgent. Please. If you can . . .”
    “The father is here now. Do you still need to talk to him?”
    “I’d like to speak to him if I can,” Neely said, sighing with relief.
    “Anthony Genovese here.”
    “Father, this is Neely Cavendish. . . .” “Of course. Hello.”
    “Father, I really need you to come to my office at Anne Morrow Lindbergh with the O’Malleys as soon as you pos sibly can.”
    “I understand,” the priest said evenly. “Of course I want to know the reason.”
    “Father, what I’m going to say is going to either sound to you like a lie or a miracle or a hoax or just plain crazy. But it’s absolutely true. The medical staff here believes that the girl upstairs in the rehab unit is actually Maureen O’Malley. They believe she is not Bridget Flannery. The girl you buried was Bridget Flannery.”
    “Well,” said Father Genovese. “Well, and how was this, ah, discovered?”
    “Yesterdaymorningthedentalsurgeononcallcompared her teeth to the records of Bridget’s teeth. And they did not

    match. The hospital did blood tests. And now she’s doing other things, making a clicking noise with her tongue. . . . Amber Kresky, a nurse—”
    “I know Amber. I married Amber and Mitchell.”
    “I gather, from what Amber says, that this is how Mau reen called her dog. . . .”
    “Yes. That’s true. I’ll go into my office now. Thank you, Jeannie. Yes, you may hang up now. Great.” Neely heard the priest’s voice drop to a harsh whisper. “How could this have happened? How can you be sure? This is so traumatic. Of course, for the O’Malleys it will be the answered prayer. But there are so many complications. The Flannerys will be completely devastated. I don’t know how to minister to them. This is a unique situation. So how can you be sure?” “We have the proof. We . . . well, the doctors have al ready determined that she has type A-negative blood, like Maureen. Bridget was type O. We have Maureen’s dental
    records. They match this girl’s teeth.”
    “Jeannie was in agony when she was pregnant with Mau reen, thinking Maureen would die because of the Rh fac tor,” said Father Genovese. “The danger grows with every pregnancy. Especially seventeen years ago. But she took the shots so that Maury wouldn’t have to be fully transfused at her birth. I was the assistant pastor then.”
    Neely went on. “Father, this mistake isn’t as outrageous as it seems. It’s happened before. It shouldn’t have hap pened, but I have found at least two other cases within the past ten years where it did happen in the United States.

    There was so much injury to both girls. So much swelling from the injuries and the fluids the doctors administered. And it was Maureen’s car. We assumed she was the girl in the driver’s seat. But we believe now that Bridget may have been driving, for some reason. They were so similar in every way. Height. Weight. Hair color. Eye color.”
    “But how can we determine if she really is Maureen?” “It’s an easy test. A DNA swab from the inside of Bill
    O’Malley’s cheek will determine the paternity within twenty-four hours.” Neely paused. “Obviously, the doctors here fought to the greatest extent of their ability to save Maureen and Bridget. And there was never any negligence.”
    “No one thinks that. Well, in any case,