Christmas Every Day Part 13

Her father had told her what the doctor had said. That there was always the possibility of a heart attack while on the operating table.

She distanced herself from the feelings that were pounding on the closed door of her heart with both fists. She didn't need this.

"tqlaybe. It's an angioplasty. He has a blocked artery." She looked away as her voice drifted off.

She was trying to appear nonchalant, but she wouldn't have dropped everything and flown here if she didn't think it was serious. Nik's heart went out to her. He remembered what it was like, walking down those long hospital corridors not once but twice, having to deal with the fact that one of his parents was slipping away from him. He remembered the impotent frustration raging within him because there was nothing he could do.

He stifled the urge to take her hand in his. "

" What time is the surgery? "

She shrugged, as if the detail was too inconsequential for her to remember clearly. Nik waited. "Ten," she mumbled , looking away.

At ten o'clock her father would be stripped of all defenses , facing a surgeon's scalpel. What ifNo , she didn't care. She didn't. What happened in his life was his business, not hers. He'd forfeited her caring about him when he walked out on her.

Nik watched in fascination as emotions played over her face like neon lights going off and on along a marquee. " " Want some company while you're waiting? "

His question took her by surprise, cracking the tight sh.e.l.l of her thoughts. She swallowed. The last thing in the world she wanted was someone there with her, offering her pity.

She took a deep, fortifying breath. "Are you planning on burning down the restaurant tomorrow?"

Talk about something coming from left field. Nik looked at Sara as if she'd just lost her mind. "No."

"Then you'll be busy, won't you?" she pointed out briskly. "But thanks for the offer." Fidgeting inwardly, she began folding her napkin into fours. "I won't be hanging around the hospital, either, actually. I'm just going to drop him off and then go shopping or something."

Sara sounded as if she was talking about boarding a dog at a kennel, Nik thought. For a moment he was annoyed at her flippant att.i.tude. But then he realized that it was all only a facade. She was having a great deal of trouble dealing with this. He could see it in her eyes.

Sara looked down and saw that she was wadding the napkin into a ball.

Carefully she laid it on the table and smoothed it out with the palm of her hand. " " California has some of the best malls in the country. "

If her tone was stretched any further to sound cheerful, it was going to crack right down the middle. Herqeyes s.h.i.+fted to his, daring him to take exception. Maybe I 11 even drop by here later and work on the mess you left."

Before he could say anything, Sara rose abruptly. "Thanks for the coffee, boss. I'll see you the day after tomorrow"

And with that she quickly walked away from the table and toward the front door.

Nik sat, silently watching her as she left. Was she as brash as she let on? He shook his head. He knew the answer to that before the question had even posed itself to him. Nik knew hurt when he saw it.

He'd lived through it more than once himself. Sometimes building up walls around yourself was the only way to deal with it.

But walls, he knew, kept you in as well as kept everything else out. He didn't think she was the type who wanted to remain in prison indefinitely.

Chapter 5.

The second night was even worse than the first had been. Sara woke up every half hour as if there was some sort of inner alarm clock ticking off the minutes within her. Each time her eyes opened, thoughts of the pending surgery would explode on her brain, haunting her. She tried to ignore it, reminding herself that she didn't care about her father anymore. He was just another human being on this planet. It didn't help.

At five she gave up all attempts at getting any additional restful sleep. Her father had to be at the hospital in less than two hours, so she might as well get up.

More dead than alive, Sara dragged herself to the bathroom , hoping that a shower might help restore some of her depleted energy. The blast of cold water that came out of the shower head when she turned the faucet toward H gave her an instant headache. It reinforced the tension that was throbbing in her temples like a bugle corps practicing for a recital.

The edginess within her was building. Sara tried to busy herself with the mechanics of getting ready, struggling to hold a tight rein on her thoughts. As she hurried, she found that she seemed to be all thumbs this morning. Sara shook her head disparagingly. It figured.

She was desperate for a cup of coffee and wanted to get into the kitchen to make one before her father was up. The doctor had forbidden him to have any food or liquids after midnight. Though she couldn't make herself forgive her father , it would be cruel to sit there drinking coffee in front of him when he had to abstain.

The hair dryer she was wielding with the kind of grace that a magician employed with his wand began to emit a tiny wisp of smoke. She saw it trail into the air as she glanced in the mirror. At the same time, an acrid smell a.s.saulted her nostrils. The motor was burning out.

Muttering, Sara shut it off. She ran her fingers through her hair. It was still damp in places, but it would have to do. She sincerely doubted that her father owned a hair dryer.

She grabbed her purse from where she had hung it on the bedroom doork.n.o.b and, carrying her shoes in one hand, made her way into the kitchen, confident that she had time enough to make the coffee.

She was wrong.

Raymond Santangelo was in the kitchen, his back to the doorway. It brought back memories from Sara's childhood , when she would tiptoe downstairs early on a Sat.u.r.day morning to find her father in the kitchen making breakfast for all of them. Her mother always liked to sleep in on the weekends.

Sara hesitated, fighting against giving in to the sentiments the memory created. She debated going back to her room. Her father turned around before she could make up her mind.

His wan face brightened immeasurably when he saw her. "You're up. Good morning, Sara."

He sounded so chipper, she thought, anyone would have thought that he was on his way to a picnic instead of a hospital operating room. Sara crossed stiffly over the threshold and walked into the kitchen. The room was too small and crammed to accommodate more than two people adequately. Sara felt almost claustrophobic being here with her father.

She nodded in response to his greeting. "Morning."

There was still a hundred miles between them, Raymond thought sadly, though his expression never hinted at the sorrow he felt. He gestured toward the coffeemaker. It was making spasmodic sounds as it used the last of the water to produce coffee. The pot was only one-quarter full. Just enough for one.

"I made you some coffee."

She remembered how much he always loved drinking coffee in the morning.

It was he who had introduced her to her first cup during one of those early Sat.u.r.day mornings they'd shared, sneaking it to her behind her mother's back. She'd been eight at the time.

Sara eyed the gla.s.s pot suspiciously. "You didn't have any-?"

He second-guessed her question. "Myself? No, some rules I can follow." He maintained a smile, though the edges appeared strained to her. "I'll just sit here and smell yours if you don't mind."

Raymond poured a mug full for her and placed it on the small kitchen table. Pulling out one of the two chairs, he sat down and waited for Sara to take the other seat.

Feeling awkward again, Sara lowered herself onto the chair slowly, as if she was trying to find the best way to sit on a keg of dynamite.

Raymond pushed the matching sugar bowl and creamer toward her on the table. Sara shook her head as she moved the mug closer.

It wasn't getting any easier facing him, she thought. She cupped her hands around the mug as if she was attempting to anchor herself to something real. If anything, it was getting harder each time she was alone with him. Her nerves were becoming more frayed.

Inactuality, they were never really alone. There were always ghosts in the room with them. Ghosts and a myriad of jumbled emotions swirling within her, trying to storm through.

Her fingers tightened around the mug. There was anger -no, more than that. It was rage fibrillating through her , rage at having all her old feelings awakened. Time had numbed her a little. The years had worn away all the sharp edges. Seeing him, being here like this, honed those edges to razor-sharp points all over again. And they were p.r.i.c.king her.

If she'd realized it was going to be this bad, she wouldn't have come.

Maybe she should leave now. Sara thought of the job she'd just undertaken. Unlike her father, she never left anything undone. She prided herself on always finis.h.i.+ng what she started. She couldn't leave.

And what about Nik?

The unexpected question exploded within her brain, startling her. Where had that come from? Slightly unnerved , she pushed his image from her mind. Nik had no place in any of this, other than the fact that he owned the restaurant where she worked. It was just being here with her father that had thrown her so off balance, making her mind wander.