TAYLOR FARENTINO TURNED around in the bed, feeling the sheet wrap around his middle. His soft Tigger toy fell to the floor as he waited for that familiar cold wet feel and the strong smell of his urine to assail him.
He turned around and glanced at the clock. It was almost seven and he waited for his mom and dad to come in and shout and give out. His hand slipped down to his pyjama bottom. It was dry! Maybe it had dried out in his sleep. He felt around him, then rolled out of the bed, pushing off his navy and yellow patterned planets and stars bedcover, letting his hand rest against his mattress cover. It was dry.
He blinked and ran across the landing, pushing into the unlocked bathroom behind his dad, who was busy shaving.
‘Hey, Taylor!’ he shouted.
Taylor made straight for the toilet and let the yellow gold of his urine flow down into the white bowl.
The lady had told him he could do it! She’d told him, and somehow he’d believed her.
Hank Freeman worked at his desk in the newsroom at WBZ4. The footage was great, Don had got the crowds and the Peterson guy walking back down the aisle. OK, so they didn’t have the actual moment of truth, but they had a bloody miracle on film.
Hank had wanted to run with the story on the Saturday nine o’clock spot but T.J., the show’s editor, had insisted on him checking out this Sean Peterson and getting confirmation of the bike accident he’d been injured in, and some background in case the guy was a con artist or some sort of nut. Hank had spent all day Sunday in the clippings room and had come up with a few lines about the Tragic Bike couple story. Taking the address, he had phoned and organized an interview with Sean’s mother. A born talker, she had told him all he needed to know. With the corroboration he needed the story would definitely run, T.J. saying the network might pick up on it too.