'You did? How unnecessary.'
She squeezed her eyes shut and her stomach twisted. He wasn't going to give in. How could she have let herself hope, even for a moment, that he would? 'Are you well?'
'I'm fine, Susannah, but I'm afraid you've picked rather a bad time to call. Paige has planned a marvelous meal, and we're just sitting down to eat.'
She was overwhelmed with memories of past Christmases-the sights and smells and textures of the season. When she was a little girl, her father used to lift her high up on his shoulders so she could put the angel on top of the tree. An angel for an angel, he had said. Now Paige would be sitting in her seat at the bottom of the table, and that special smile he had once reserved for her would be given to her sister.
She was afraid she was going to cry, and she spoke quickly. 'I won't keep you, then. Please tell Paige Merry Christmas for me.' The receiver hung heavily in her hand, but she couldn't sever this final connection by hanging up.
'If that's all?'
She hugged herself. 'I didn't mean to interrupt. It's just-' Despite her best efforts, her voice broke. 'Daddy, I got married.'
There was no response. No words of acknowledgment, let alone expressions of affection.
Tears began to run down her cheeks.
He finally spoke, in a voice as thin and reedy as an old man's. 'I can't imagine why you thought I'd be interested.'
'Daddy, please-'
'Don't call me again, Susannah. Not unless you're ready to come home.'
She was crying openly now, but she couldn't let him go. If she held on just a little longer, it would be all right. It was Christmas. If she held on just a little longer, there would be no more angry words between them. 'Daddy-' Her voice broke on a sob. 'Daddy, please don't hate me. I can't come home, but I love you.'
Nothing happened for a moment, and then she heard a soft click. In that moment she felt as if the remaining fragile link between father and daughter had been broken forever.
In the kitchen at Falcon Hill, Paige held the receiver tightly to her ear and listened to the click as her father hung up the telephone on her sister. She replaced the receiver on the cradle and wiped her damp palms on her apron. Her mouth was dry and her heart pounding.
As she returned to the stove, she refused to give in to the memory of herself standing in a dingy hallway with a dirty telephone cord wrapped around her fingers while she tried to pry some words of tenderness from her father. She refused to feel sorry for Susannah. It was simply a matter of justice, she told herself as she turned the heat down under the vegetables and pulled the turkey from the oven. She had spent last Christmas stoned and miserable in a roach-infested apartment. This year Susannah was the outcast.
The servants had the day off, so she was responsible for Christmas dinner. It was a task she had been looking forward to. The turkey finished baking in the oven along with an assortment of casseroles. The counter held two beautiful fruit pies with an elaborate network of vines and hearts cut into the top crusts. In the past seven months she had received a surprising amount of pleasure from simple household tasks. She had planted a small herb garden near the kitchen door and livened up the corners of the house with rambling, old-fashioned floral displays, instead of the stiff, formal arrangements Susannah had always ordered from the florist.
Not that her father ever noticed any of her homey touches. He only noticed the jobs she forgot to do-the social engagement she had neglected to write down, the closets she hadn't reorganized, the plumber she had forgotten to hire-all those tasks her sister had performed with such relentless efficiency. As for the latest Ludlum thriller she had left on his bedside table, or the special meal waiting for him when he got back from a trip-those things didn't seem to matter.
'Do you need some help, Paige?'
She smiled at Cal, who had poked his head into the kitchen. She knew that Cal was an opportunist, and she doubted that he would have proven to be such a good friend if she hadn't been Joel's daughter. But he understood how difficult Joel could be, and he listened sympathetically to her problems. It was wonderful to feel as if she had someone on her side.
'Let me just set the turkey on the platter, and you can carry it in,' she said.
Since there would only be the three of them for dinner, she had decided to forgo the huge, formal dining room with its long table for a cozy cherry drop-leaf set up in front of the living room fireplace, where they would be able to see the Christmas tree through the foyer archway.
When all the food was in place, she seated herself and removed the red and green yarn bow from her napkin. The center of the table held an old-fashioned centerpiece she had put together the day before with evergreen bows and small pieces of wooden dollhouse furniture she had unearthed in the attic. It had amazed her how many of her childhood toys had survived, even a few sets of tiny Barbie doll shoes. She couldn't believe those little plastic shoes hadn't been lost over the years, until she remembered how careful Susannah had always been with their toys.
While her father carved the turkey, old memories slipped over her. She saw Susannah's auburn hair falling forward in a neat, straight line as she dug out a tiny Monopoly house Paige had lost in the thick pile of her bedroom carpet. She saw Susannah in spotless yellow shorts stooping down on the brick terrace to rescue crayons her sister had left in the sun. Paige wouldn't use the crayons once the sweet, sharp points had worn off, but Susannah used them forever, patiently peeling back the paper until only a waxy nub was left. Unexpectedly, Paige felt a hollowness inside her.
Despite her careful preparations and Cal's attempt at conversation, the meal wasn't a success. Joel seemed tired and said little. Her own conversation was stiff. Paige didn't blame Cal for taking his leave not long after they had finished dessert. When she walked him to the door, he gave her a sympathetic glance and a friendly peck on the cheek. 'I'll call you tomorrow.'
She nodded and returned to the living room. Joel had seated himself on the couch with a book, but she had the feeling he wasn't really reading it. She felt even more lonely than when she was by herself.
'I think I'll go clean up the kitchen,' she said abruptly.
Joel slapped down the book and jabbed his hand toward the remnants of their Christmas dinner. 'I can't imagine what possessed you to crowd us around that ridiculous table when we have a perfectly good dining room that cost me a fortune to build.'
Paige could barely keep herself from lashing out at him. She struggled with her hurt. 'There were only three of us. I thought it would be cozier in here.'
'Don't do it again. Susannah would never have-' He broke off abruptly.
She went cold all over. 'Susannah isn't here anymore, Daddy. I am.'
He seemed to be waging some kind of internal war with himself. It was the first time she could remember her father looking uncertain, and she felt a queer stab of fear prick at the edges of her hurt.
He rose from his chair and said stiffly, 'I know you think I'm unreasonable, but I'm accustomed to having things done a certain way. I realize that may not be fair to you.'
It was the closest she had ever heard him come to an apology. He began walking toward the door. Just as he passed her, he reached out and gave her arm a single awkward pat.
At least it was something, she told herself as she watched him disappear. She went back over to the window and looked out on the immaculate December gardens of Falcon Hill. An image formed in her mind of another sort of Christmas Day. She saw herself wearing blue jeans instead of a silk dress, and standing next to a Christmas tree decorated with construction paper chains rather than an-tique Baroque angels. She saw noisy, rumpled children tearing at wrapping paper, a long-suffering golden retriever, and a faceless husband in a sloppy sweatshirt pulling her into his arms.
Angry tears stung her eyes. 'Fucking Norman Rockwell,' she muttered in disgust.
)
Chapter 18
'We can't afford it,' Mitch protested, dropping a heaping teaspoon of sugar into his coffee.
