Chapter 3
I t was the strangest feeling—I’d hated this place when I’d first arrived, how it was almost the exact opposite of the tiny home I’d shared with my father, how everything seemed like it was on display only to show off the wealth of its owner.
Silently, I said goodbye to this place that had tried to be my home for the past two months.
I knew, as long as I lived, that I would never forget it.
Even when the details would fade, the feeling of this place had crept into my bones and would always be with me.
As I reached the front door at the end of the antechamber, I heard Sinclair not far behind me.
“Wait.”
It wasn’t an order; it was a request.
Had I been calm, I might have listened.
Instead, I shook my head and, setting down one of the suitcases, I wrapped my hand around the doorknob.
“Lise,” Sinclair said, his voice almost a growl.
When I’d first moved here, that tone used to scare me even while it intrigued me, even when it made me want him.
Now, though, it slashed through me like a knife, leaving behind a scar that would never heal.
But Sinclair wasn’t a man to be ignored.
Before I could pick up the suitcase again, he took my arm, forcing me to look at him.
Except I didn’t see in his face what I’d expected.
Here, right now, was the man I’d fallen in love with.
His brow had softened and his eyes tried to hide the fact that I was hurting him .
Was it an act?
Was he trying to manipulate me into staying?
“At least take my car.”
Those were not the words I’d expected to hear—and, somehow, they fanned the flames of my fury.
“No! I don’t want to be beholden to you any more than I already am.” I was immediately aware of how my voice filled the antechamber, and I knew it would echo all the way up to the third floor and likely down the megaphone of the main hallway where it possibly even drifted down the rear hallways.
But I didn’t care if Edna or Greg and his wife heard our conflict.
It didn’t matter anymore.
Sinclair’s eyes grew dark.
This was the man I’d first encountered on that first night—not the charming man in the hallway needing directions to the presentation but the wealthy man who was my enemy.
And he looked like he was ready to go to battle.
His voice was low with a dangerous tone, and I knew I was the only one able to hear it, each word punctuated with finality.
“Just. Fucking. Take. It. ”
Even after experiencing and loving his softer side, I was no match for this version of him, his Mr.
Hyde side.
But all my words were gone.
I simply gave a quick nod as he closed the door and picked up the suitcase I’d set on the ground.
He’d said it .
Two months ago when we’d been bickering over the contract I’d just torn up moments ago, I might have spat out a sarcastic retort, making a dig about the fact that he had more cars in his garages than most people owned in a lifetime.
But I didn’t have that fight in me.
Not anymore.
Not since the tendrils of my heart had wrapped around him, holding him tightly, wanting to heal the pain of his loveless childhood, hoping to fill his heart with joy and beauty.
Now, though, as I followed him toward the west rear hall, I knew it had been impossible.
Those tendrils of my heart were being ripped away.
Eventually, they’d heal, but I now knew that Sinclair never would.
His wounds were too deep, the tendency to be cold too ingrained.
The man I’d seen when it had just been the two of us…
had he ever really existed?
Was he an act the real Sinclair put up even as much as the angry version of himself?
Would he always be protecting that young unloved child so much that he would never allow someone in?
As we walked by the kitchen, I kept my head buried.
I couldn’t allow myself to see Edna’s face, because if she were distraught about my leaving, I might second-guess myself.
Even she, the woman who served as his surrogate mother all those years, hadn’t been enough to counteract the damage his father’s coldness had wrought on his heart.
And if Edna hadn’t been able to change him, what had made me think I could?
When we reached the end of the hall, I again had the thought that I would never be back here and I said another silent goodbye.
Sinclair opened the door, letting me walk in first, so many unspoken words between us.
He led us straight to the silver Lexus and pulled some keys out of his pocket.
After removing a key fob, he started to explain to me how to start the car.
“I can’t take your Lexus.”
“You can and you will.”
After placing my suitcases in the trunk and giving me a quick explanation of everything I’d need to know about the car—including its built-in navigation system—Sinclair took me in his arms, holding me tightly like he had on Saturday night.
If he truly did view me as nothing more than a possession…
at least I was precious.
More precious than his car.
And then he kissed me—and it was like our first kiss had been…
consuming, greedy, dominating…
reminding me that I did love him, that part of me didn’t want to leave.
When his lips left mine, he asked, “Will you come back?”
I didn’t have to think about it.
“Yes.”
After I backed out of the garage, helped by the rearview camera, something my own car didn’t have, I gave Sinclair a tiny wave, as if I were just going on a quick run to the store.
Before leaving the alley, I programmed the navigation system with my old address in Winchester.
I hadn’t realized the first part of my journey would be delayed due to morning traffic—but the navigation system helped me relax despite the bumper-to-bumper vehicles on the road, and I allowed the tears to begin to fall again.
Silently, I thanked Sinclair, especially when I saw that the tank was full.
I hadn’t know at the time that it was a hybrid and burned gas far more slowly than my old yet reliable vintage vehicle back at home.
When I reached Monument, my stomach was growling and my throat was dry.
After pulling into the McDonald’s parking lot, I checked myself in the mirror.
It was evident that I’d been crying, so when I went inside, I went to the restroom first.
Then, using my debit card, I ordered a cheap breakfast, along with coffee and water, and sat in a corner by a window.
First, I called the clinic again and told them to keep my father’s appointment booked.
He and I would both be there on Thursday.
And then I called my father.
“Dad, I’m on my way home. I will be taking you to your appointment on Thursday.”
“Lise, I’ve already told them—”
“No arguments. I’ll be home soon.”
And that meant the time for tears had to be over.
The best-laid plans…
as soon as I took my father into my arms, the tears began to spill from my eyes like waterfalls.
It wasn’t just because of our reunion but it was everything overall.
He hadn’t been able to keep up with the housework and it was almost as if he were living in squalor.
He’d set a trashcan beside his recliner, but it was now overfull with tissues and discarded mail.
There were two coffee mugs, three water glasses, a bowl, plate, and silverware on the television tray he’d set to the side and a thin layer of dust over everything.
I was almost afraid of going to the kitchen.
However, I had several days here with my dad.
Although I’d promised Sinclair that I’d return, I hadn’t said when .
While it was comforting to see my father, I hadn’t missed Winchester.
Even had the ugly scars on the one hill just behind town been repaired when the Whittiers had been forced to stop mining, I wouldn’t have found it beautiful—because underneath it all was an ugliness I’d been forced to look at every single day of my life.
Unfortunately, I no longer knew when I’d be able to rescue my father from all this.
Would he even survive the ten years I had to repay Sinclair?
My hope was, if I returned as I’d promised, that I’d be allowed to come to Winchester as often as needed—not just to take my dad to his clinic visits, but to shop for him, cook meals in advance like Edna did for Sinclair, and tidy up the house.
As it was, it would take me a couple of days to get things back where they needed to be.
But sleeping in my old bed felt so strange.
When I awoke on Tuesday morning, I felt a bit of panic and disorientation, even though everything around me was familiar.
This was home…
and yet I didn’t quite feel like I belonged here anymore.
Having me around did wonders for my dad, though, convincing me that what I’d done was the right thing.
And, between playing games with him and eating meals together, I got the house back in shape and did all the shopping he hadn’t been able to do.
It was strange how tight and constricting the house felt now…
how confining it sometimes seemed—and yet, at other times, it felt cozy and warm.
I tried not to think about returning to Sinclair’s mansion, tried to avoid thoughts about late fall and winter and how my father would fare without me there.
He was doing all right now, but we’d just entered October.
Days were still warm even as leaves were changing and the days grew shorter.
Still, I had to focus on getting him to his first clinic appointment, his first treatment, one that had promised to reduce his brain lesions and prevent the disease from progressing, giving him a better quality of life.
Even as I lay in my bed on Wednesday night, unable to read and less able to sleep, I was glad I’d come to make sure he went to his first appointment.
Maybe this treatment would restore him to better health so that I wouldn’t have to worry as much while I was away.
Even while feeling relieved that I’d listened to my instincts, I lay in that tiny cold bed missing Sinclair.
The last night he’d held me had been Saturday night, when he’d gripped me for dear life, telling me about his childhood.
Sighing, I realized I’d picked the worst time to leave him as well.
Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I scrolled through my contacts until I got to the end of the alphabet.
I’d listed him as SC W, not wanting anyone to know the actual person, just in case they’d gotten hold of my phone.
Before I began typing, I paused, remembering how angry he’d been when I’d texted him about sending off my application to the University of Denver and how, later that day, he’d scolded me, telling me to never text again unless it was an emergency.
But we’d moved past that…
come up with abbreviations and codes.
It didn’t matter.
I’d keep it brief and I wasn’t going to beat around the bush.
I was going to be direct and honest and, if he didn’t want anyone seeing it, he could delete it.
And it was nighttime…
less likely he’d be in a staff meeting with curious eyes.
Dad’s appointment is tomorrow.
Glad I came, for he has not been doing well.
I’ve spent the last few days cleaning the house and restocking the kitchen.
Then, after I sent it, I sent another: I miss you.
His response was immediate.
Thank you for the update.
Can we talk?
I thought about it.
I couldn’t talk in here, not with my father in the next room.
He’d hear everything.
Give me a few minutes.
I got out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, clothes I hadn’t worn in months.
After getting on my shoes and pulling a jacket out of the closet, I sent another message to my father: Going out for a walk.
Text if you need anything.
Otherwise, be back soon.
My dad probably wouldn’t even see it until morning, but I wanted to cover all my bases.
Then I grabbed my house key out of my purse and closed the door behind me as I walked out into the darkened front yard.
The house was in the middle of the block where not much light shone and I hadn’t turned on the porch light to avoid waking my father, whose bedroom faced the front.
Unlike Denver and my encounter with the two guys my first night there, Winchester might have had poorer neighborhoods and most of the citizens might have hated us, but I’d never felt unsafe.
Once I was older, my dad had tipped me onto the fact that I probably should have been scared as a child, but it was almost as if, now, citizens knew they hated us but couldn’t quite remember why.
There were, of course, places I wouldn’t walk at night if I didn’t have to, such as along Main Street where most of the bars were located, but that was simply to avoid having an uncomfortable encounter with a drunk person.
Once I’d made it to the end of the block where I was bathed under the glow of a streetlight, I sent Sinclair another text message.
For a moment, I’d considered calling him but thought better of it.
I can talk now.
My phone, although silenced, lit up immediately—and I answered the call from SC .
“Hi.”
“Lise…it’s good to hear your voice.”
I began walking again, not wanting to disturb anyone sleeping—or, at least, if I kept moving, the disturbance would be minimal.
Of course, I hadn’t expected a dog to start barking as I passed by its house.
But I tried to ignore it as I made my way closer to Winchester’s downtown area.
“You too. I’m…sorry about throwing a fit.”
“No need to apologize. I was being stubborn…and we can make this work.”
It was the first time I’d felt like he was almost treating me like an equal.
Up until this point, he’d treated me like an employee—and, when we’d left the confines of his room, it was like we were different people.
So his tone was rather unexpected.
The dog’s barking behind me now, I continued walking, marveling at how different this neighborhood was compared to Sinclair’s.
The houses were closer together, of course, but there were homes, including the one I shared with my dad, that didn’t have lawns.
Many had yards full of nothing but crushed gravel while others simply had weeds growing behind their chain-link fences, ready to wither and die in a few weeks when the evenings would grow colder and the heavy frosts would set in.
Still, there were plenty of homes with well-maintained yards, but every single home in Sinclair’s neighborhood had been immaculate.
I suspected there would be no getting away with letting one’s yard look like the ones here.
But even Winchester had standards.
When my dad’s health had begun to deteriorate to the point where he couldn’t move as well, our yard had become weed-ridden—and the town had threatened to fine us if we didn’t get rid of them in a short amount of time.
Dad had tried—but it was at that point that I fully understood it was on me, and I’d pulled every single weed out of the ground, piling them next to the sidewalk, as if stacking dead bodies on a battlefield.
The ordinance enforcer hadn’t said thank you —but he also hadn’t bothered us again.
And, after that point, I’d taken care of them.
There was no way those rich people would allow that around their homes.
No way.
I knew that to my bones.
So why did I miss being there?
“Thank you. I’ll know more tomorrow at his appointment.”
“So tell me all about your dad’s health and what the appointment tomorrow entails.”
And it was my turn to tell him more about my childhood…
with one exception.
I wasn’t about to tell him our side of the Whittier-Miller clash.
That might be one part of our histories we would never discuss.