Christmas Every Day Part 5

"Saratoga?" He whispered her name in hopeful disbelief the way a prisoner did upon receiving a long-awaited parole from the review board. Nervously he moved to take her hand, then stopped, running bony fingers through his gray-flecked brown hair.

Because her father was nervous, Sara found the resolve to be strong.

"h.e.l.lo, Dad." She forced a distant smile she didn't feel to her lips.

"Funny running into you like this."

Raymond Santangelo was a policeman with eighteen years of service behind him. In his time he had faced down more than one criminal. And in all that time his hands had never felt this clammy. He brushed them against the back of his jeans and then found the courage to clasp his daughter's hand in his.

"Saratoga, you're beautiful."

She frowned. She referred to herself by that name at times, but no one else did any more. Most people didn't even know it was her legal name.

"I'd rather you didn't call me that. It's Sara now."

She had suffered years of teasing because of that name. She had endured it without complaint because her father had named her after the town he had met her mother in.

Sara had once thought it was the height of romance. After he left there hadn't seemed to be much point in Sara being reminded of it.

"Saratoga sounds too much like the racetrack."

Raymond nodded, uncomfortable at the reminder. Did she know, after all? Or just suspect? He'd tried so hard to hide it from her. " "

Sure. Sara. " His head bobbed again. " " Sounds fine. ; Fine."

Feeling awkward, needing somewhere else to direct his gaze, Raymond looked down at the doorstep. "Where's your luggage?" j " " In the car. " She nodded over her shoulder. The idea of going to a hotel was beginning to appeal to her. " " I thought that I'd-"

But Raymond was already striding past his daughter, intent on reaching the car before Sara. At least he could carry her bags for her. "I'll get them." He walked with a sense of determination as he crossed the Street "And you can park the car in my garage." He gestured behind him without looking. He was all right as long as he didn't see the accusing hurt in her eyes.

Raymond spoke quickly. "It'll be a tight fit, but it's supposed to be a two-car garage and- " He reached the car and suddenly swung around, carried away by the emotions swelling within him. He'd missed her so much. "G.o.d, Saratoga -Sara, I'm glad you're here. I know this wasn't easy for you: ' Sara reached the other side of the car and opened the trunk. " Easiest thing in the world. " She purposely kept her ! voice as distant as the physical s.p.a.ce she maintained between them. She saw her father raise his brow. " I buy airplane tickets all the time.

This gives me an excuse to see

Southern California again. It's been fourteen years. "

She wasn't unaware of the wince her words evoked from her father.

Guilty ? Good, you should be. But the thought brought her no satisfaction.

"Yes, it has been a long time...." His voice trailed off ! with nowhere to go.

As her father reached into the trunk for the first suitcase

Sara quickly stopped him like a no-nonsense nurse walking in on a patient about to light up a forbidden cigarette.

"I'll get them." She ignored the frustrated look on her father's face.

"I'm not the one having heart surgery," she reminded him crisply. "You are. You're not supposed to be carrying anything heavy."

"Sure. Anything you say."

Sara didn't bother to comment. She took out the first suitcase and then the second. The third was a small case with a shoulder strap.

Slipping it over her shoulder, she managed to pick up all three bags.

Raymond watched her helplessly. He licked his lips, wanting desperately to find the right words to break down the barriers that had grown between them. He knew that he deserved every bitter nuance that she tossed his way, but for far different reasons than she was aware of. He ached for the love he had been forced to turn away from so many years ago.

Sara walked back to the house. Raymond hurried so that he could hold open the door for her. " " You'll be staying in your old room. " He pushed the door back and the doork.n.o.b b.u.mped against the wall with a thud.

Sara crossed the threshold, valiantly shutting herself off from a fresh onslaught of memories. The familiarity clawed at her and she knew she shouldn't have come. But she was here and had to work with that.

"I don't remember staying in it often enough for it to be thought of as my room." She set down one suitcase to get a better grip on the handle. " " Are you sure I can't help. ? "

She wanted to throw her arms around him, to cry, to beat her fist against him and demand to know why he hadn't said those words years ago, when he could have helped.

Her grip tightened on the suitcase handle as she straightened'I can manage. I've been doing it for a long time. "

Raymond faltered slightly before turning and leading the way toward the rear of the house. "I'm sure you have."

Sara looked around as she followed him. There was hardly any furniture in the living room and the dining room was completely empty. The faded wall outlined bright rectangles of color where once paintings and framed photographs had hung.

Raymond turned to see the surprised look on her face. "It looks pretty Spartan," she commented.

Her father nodded. His second divorce had been bitter and painful.

"Joyce decided to take more than her share." He shrugged helplessly.

"I thought she'd earned it."

And what about us, Dad, Mom and me? Didn't we deserve more than we got ?.

Sara moved around her father as she entered the small bedroom, careful not to allow the slightest physical contact between them. "Very sporting of you."

Raymond heard the hurt in her voice, the brittleness, and wished he had the words with which he could cut down the brambles that had grown between them. Now more than ever he regretted what had happened.

But he was an optimist at heart. Even in the face of darkness he always believed that there would be light. Maybe soon.

Sara tried not to look around as she placed the suitcases down next to the bed. Memories ricocheted from the walls despite her efforts, threatening a fresh a.s.sault. She had known this was going to be hard, possibly the most difficult thing she'd ever done. But she hadn't fully realized that it was going to rip through her this badly.

She'd never forgive herself if she cried in front of him. She braced her shoulders as she turned to face him. Searching for something to say, she wrinkled her nose. "It's dusty."

Raymond leapt on the neutral topic like a starving dog onto a bone. He ran his hand along the foot board and wiggled his fingers at the layer of dust that coated them.

"I never was much on cleaning." Self consciously he wiped his hand on his jeans and then shoved both hands into his back pockets. "I kept meaning to get a woman to come in to clean after Joyce left, but you know how it is." He shrugged as if to punctuate his statement.

Sara picked up a suitcase, placed it on the light blue bedspread and snapped open the locks. "No." Her voice was lowq. "I don't know how it is. And I probably never will." She shook out a sweater and crossed to the narrow closet. It was empty inside.

"I'll get you some hangers," Raymond volunteered quickly, anxious to avoid any emotional confrontation.

Sara laid the sweater over the back of the chair that was next to the white, lacquered desk. The furniture was intended for a young girl. A young girl, she thought, who had barely gotten to use it.

Raymond stopped in the doorway. His voice grew even more uncertain.

"How's your mother?"

Sara tried to hold on to her anger. Her father had put her up in the same room she had occupied as a child and now he was asking about her mother. Didn't he realize how difficult he was making this for her?

It was all she could do not to give in to the need to hurl accusations at him. If this was going to work she needed to keep everything, all her emotions , under wraps. Maybe he was doing this intentionally.

Maybe he needed forgiveness, but she couldn't find it in her heart to give it to him.