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Daytime TV was trash, of course. He took the remote and turned on the VCR; maybe someone had left a tape in it that was worth watching, although the odds were that it was more of Henry's cartoons.It wasn't cartoons; it was the tape that Kirsten had made on the finish line at Sunday. He had already seen it seventeen times at least, but he watched the climactic moments once again: the teams racing across the ice, pounding along side by side, Tiffany so tiny behind the drive bow of the sled, but so intense and dedicated. Once again, he heard Kirsten's yell of "Come on, Tiffany," shouted right into the videocamera's microphone, and once again he followed the teams racing down the chute as Kirsten had panned to follow them across the finish line. He and Mark had seen the tape the first time as they sat shivering in the hot tub an hour after it happened, and though they'd watched this segment several times, they couldn't fault Ryan Clark's judgement of the viewfinder playback that Ringo. He’d never kiss her forehead. He’d never give her that secret smile which told her he was proud of her.How could he leave her like this? How could he go away? Didn’t he know how much she needed him? How much she relied on him?It was callous and cruel of him to go. She wasn’t ready for it, not yet. She should have had years and even decades before she had to say goodbye. There was an anger within her, a rage at him for leaving her. She wasn’t certain she’d ever be able to forgive him.Dueling with the rage was both a terrible fear and a terrible sense of loss. She was afraid she’d fall sometime in he future and no one would be there to pick her up. She was afraid she would need someone, and no one would be there. How could she go on without him?At first, she was too choked up to say anything, tears streaming from her face. Finally, her voice breaking, she whispered to the shrouded figure lying in state. “I love you, Father,” her whispered voice trembled. “I miss you – but I will never.
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