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Sam's head snapped up, his eyes grew bright. "That's no problem. The best people in the world will be
standing in line to work for us. There won't be any time clocks. No assholes in three-piece suits telling
people what to do."
"But everything will be directed," Mitch said. "Everybody will be working together toward a common
goal."
"The goal of giving the world the best small computer ever made," Sam said.
"The goal of turning a profit," Mitch replied.
Susannah smiled and took a sip of tea. "You're absolutely right."
December passed sometimes a blur of activity, at other times painfully slow. Christmas was difficult for
Susannah. While they exchanged presents around Angela's artificial tree, garishly decorated with plastic
ornaments and ropes of pink tinsel, Susannah's thoughts wandered to the towering Douglas fir that would
have been erected in the entrance hall at Falcon Hill, its branches glimmering with French silk ribbon and
antique Baroque angels. Had Joel and Paige thought about her at all today? It had been foolish of her to
cherish even a dim hope that the Christmas season would magically bring them all back together again.
As she looked up at the plastic Santa on the top of Angela's tree, she felt unbearably sad.
She told herself she mustn't do it, but late that afternoon, while Sam and Angela were watching a football
game on television, she slipped into the kitchen and dialed Falcon Hill. The phone began to ring, and she
bit the inside of her lip.
"Hello."
Her father's deep, abrupt voice was so familiar, so beloved. Her own voice sounded thin in response.
"Father? It's it's Susannah."
"Susannah?" His voice lifted slightly at the end of her name, as if he might have forgotten who she was.
Her knuckles grew white as she gripped the receiver. "I I just called to wish you a Merry Christmas."
"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 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]