PROLOGUE
1946
I was in a Sears Department Store, the one in Boyle Heights, doing some last-minute shopping with my wife before the holidays. Christmas music filled the ground floor and everyone moved to and fro in a hurry. Children were everywhere too, running to see the toys that Santa might bring them or peeking into the bags their parents held. The line to Jolly Old Saint Nick was as long and wild as the Los Angeles River.
But not everyone was excited or jolly...
Karen, my wife, held my hand as we searched for Samantha, who had been with us, but disappeared.
“Ray, she’s only four years old,” said Karen as if I had forgotten my daughter’s age. She looked here and there, checking each child to make sure they weren’t our Samantha. “You’re a detective, aren’t you?”
She always threw that in my face. I smiled, but she didn’t smile back. Not that I could blame her. Losing your only child has a way of dampening your sense of humor. But I was confident Samantha was just playing hide-and-seek with me. I was our daughter’s pal, the fun parent. Mommie meant business.
“I bet she’s by those Christmas trees,” I said and tried to steer us that way, but Karen wouldn’t budge. “Sure, she is, doll. The kid’s just playing with us.”
“She’s four years old!”
I hadn’t forgotten.
Karen growled when I didn’t show signs of being as frustrated as she was.
“She needs her father right now, not her friend,” she said.
I knew this, of course, but when she said it like that it angered me. In the distance, I heard the yelp of a newborn puppy. And the detective in me knew that puppies attracted children. Out in the parking lot, an old woman had a box full of the mutts. Samantha was there with a collection of boys and girls and their parents. We rushed to them.
“Can we get a dog, Papa?” was the first thing Samantha said. She had these hazel eyes that were a mix of my dark ones and her mother’s green ones.
Karen inspected every inch of the kid. When satisfied that everything was where it should be, she said, “Don’t you ever walk away from us again!”
My daughter came to me with her thumb in her mouth and tears in her eyes.
“Give her a break,” I said. “You won’t do it again, will you?” I asked her.
She shook her little head, but Karen’s frown didn’t disappear.
“A dog won’t fit in our apartment,” said Karen. “Maybe Santa can bring you something in the store.”
This disappointed the kid and she skipped along, just in front of us.
“Maybe Santa will look into it,” I said and my daughter brightened up.
My wife pinched me and I yelped.
“Say, what was that for?” I said.
“We can’t keep a dog where we live or we’ll get thrown out,” she said and bore into me with her eyes. Under the artificial light, those emerald things glowed.
“Isn’t that why we’re looking at houses now?” I said.
“That’s not the point, Ray,” she said. “She needs boundaries or she’ll grow spoiled.”
“That’s a swell thought!” I said, cynically. “One thing won’t spoil her, Karen.”
She stopped us and crossed her arms. “Look into my eyes and tell me that. Tell me you’re right.”
I did look into her eyes, but I looked away quickly. She was right and I kissed her to let her know this. While Karen walked to the ladies’ room, I pulled our daughter aside. I picked her up and kissed her cheek.
“I want the brown one, Papa,” she said with a grin.
I gave her my best tough-guy smile--boy, let me tell you, Bogey would have been proud.
“Listen to me, kid,” I said, “Mom’s right. We can’t get a dog right now.”
“Why?”
“Our apartment’s too small and it won’t do.”
“Why?”
“A dog needs space to run around in.”
“Why?”
“That’s just how dogs are,” I said. She started to ask why again, but I put my finger on her lips.
Her eyes began to tear. “Santa’ll bring me a dog if I’ve been good, right Papa? I been good all year.”
I tipped my hat back. “Sometimes, Santa can’t bring the things we want ‘cause so many others want them.” I was no good at being stern with her. I tried to kiss her cheek, but she turned away. I turned her face back to me. There was a void of disillusionment in her eyes.
“Santa isn’t real, huh?” Her lips trembled when she said this.
That bothered me so much, I didn’t know what to say or do. I think this was the moment when she realized what we all realize in time. Our fathers are just men, not immortals. And I hadn’t helped this. Come to think of it, I had never really risen to fatherhood.
Maybe that’s why I told her, “Santa’s real alright, as real as the sun.” That made her smile. I cleaned the tears away. “Don’t cry, love. Papa’s real too. And he’s always going to be here for you. Promise...”
She hugged me and I squeezed her. I loved her so much. I really did mean to keep that promise. Too bad a few weeks later I would be dead. Shot down in the middle of the night by a gangster. And if that wasn’t enough for the kid, Karen followed me not long after: She gunned down the people responsible for my murder and was shot dead in the process.
Neither of us got the chance to raise our daughter because of death. But I knew better than to blame death. I had failed Samantha. The afterlife taught me that well.
