her father fight past his own disappointments and worries and knew she could do no less.
âYes, we do, Dad. Want me to go get them from the kitchen?â
âPlease. Take them into the living room by the tree.â He stood up, still smiling tightly. âIâll just give Clarissa a hand finding her cold medication and weâll join you.â
âOkay.â There was a knot in her throat but she wouldnât let her father down. If he wanted to have anormal Christmas morning, then thatâs exactly what they would do. As he started walking away, though, she said, âI love you, Dad.â
His smile was warm and real as he answered, âI love you, too, Anna. Now donât worry, all right?â
She nodded, though her concerns were still there. But she wouldnât contribute to her fatherâs worries, so she silently vowed to keep her anxiety well-hidden.
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âHave you heard from him?â Tula asked later that night over a Christmas dinner of takeout tacos.
Because Tula had no family, the two of them always had Christmas dinner togetherâwith only one rule. Nobody cooked. So every year, they looked around for any restaurant that happened to be open. This year, it was Garciaâs Familia. The food was terrific, but Anna wasnât enjoying it anyway.
Hard to eat when it felt as though there was a ball of lead in the pit of your stomach.
âSam?â Anna shook her head and took a sip of wine. She pushed the tines of her fork through the Mexican rice as if drawing a picture. âNo. And itâs better that way. Really.â
âYeah,â Tula told her. âI can see that. This is working out great for you.â
Sighing, Anna set her plate on the coffee table and sat back on her couch. Her gaze fixed blankly on the brightly lit Christmas tree, she wondered what Sam was doing. If he missed her as much as she missed him. And she wondered how he had become so important to her in such a short length of time.
âAnna, youâre miserable. Why donât you call him?â
She glanced at her friend and ruefully shook her head. âWhat would be the point? Nothingâs changed. Even ifitâs not a conscious notion, he still thinks Iâm after him for his money.â
âThatâs crazy,â Tula said with a snort of derision. Picking up her wine, she took a drink and said, âYou had a fight. People always say things they donât mean in a fight.â
âOr the truth comes out,â Anna suggested. Sheâd already had this same conversation with herself a dozen times. Sheâd thought about that last fight from every angle and each time she came to one conclusion. âEither way, itâs just over.â
The phone rang, but she didnât move to pick it up. She didnât feel like talking to anyone anyway. Her heart hurt, not just for what sheâd lost in Sam, but for her father. And there was nothing she could do about either situation.
âYouâre not going to get that?â Tula asked.
She shook her head. âLet the machine pick it up.â
Which it did a moment later. She listened to her outgoing message and then her heart jolted at the sound of Samâs voice.
âAnna?â His deep voice sounded commanding. âIf youâre there, pick up.â
Tula waved at her frantically, but Anna shook her head again. She had to curl her fingers into fists to keep from reaching for the stupid phone, but she did it. She couldnât talk to him. Not now. Maybe not ever again. It was hard, but it would be even more difficult if she didnât stay strong.
Sam sighed into the phone, then said, âListen, I, uh, wanted to say merry Christmasââ
Annaâs heart tugged a little at that and the twisting pain made her close her eyes. If things had been different, Sam might have been here right now, with her and Tula,having dinner and laughing. But things werenât different