Chapter 11
A fter we ate lunch, Sinclair said he had to get back to Denver.
Although dad had seemed to find a reserve of energy, the meal and discussion had worn him out.
Once he was situated in his recliner, I walked Sinclair out to his BMW.
“When do you think you’ll be able to return?”
His tone implied that the decision was completely my own.
As I considered my answer, I felt a sharp pang of melancholy, knowing that once I returned, the clock would begin counting down when I’d have to leave him for good.
When I’d first arrived at the mansion, I couldn’t bear the thought of being there for ten whole years, and now I mourned that I only had days or weeks at most.
“I’m not sure. If dad keeps rallying like he is, maybe as early as Monday.”
“Just keep me posted.” As he used his fob to unlock the car, he asked, “How are you liking the Lexus?”
“It’s a really nice car.”
“Would you rather drive this one?”
I pursed my lips, not wanting to tell him that I’d avoided driving his car as much as possible because it didn’t feel right.
Still, I would have to drive it back to Denver when I returned.
“No. The Lexus is fine.”
Unexpectedly, Sinclair cupped my cheeks in his hands and kissed me, stirring my heart and soul with bottomless emotion.
Reminding me of just how much I loved him.
When the kiss ended, I was gripping the back of his sweater as if wanting to make him stay—but he was no doubt as uncomfortable in my world as I’d been in his when I’d first arrived.
“Call me if you need anything.”
I nodded, still in agony as I knew any time we’d have together would be short—and it was all the more difficult as he continued to reveal what a perfect man he really was for me.
As he drove down the street, I watched the car as it moved through one intersection, then another, and then, at the third, kept staring even after it turned onto the main road to leave Winchester.
I could still feel his kiss on my lips, that possessive sensation he gave off that he didn’t want to let me go…
and yet I knew he understood just as I did that we were now on borrowed time.
Like the night before, I cried myself to sleep, and even though the reason was still due to Sinclair, it was an entirely different set of circumstances…
tragic ones.
On Sunday morning, I asked dad what he wanted for breakfast.
Between lunch and dinner the day before, he’d eaten all his Chinese food and I tried not to get my hopes up, but it seemed as though his appetite had returned.
The confirmation was when he sat at the table and said, “Let’s have some more of that lasagna.”
“For breakfast?”
“Why not? We used to eat leftover pizza in the morning when you were a kid.”
Nodding, I pulled the pan of lasagna out of the fridge.
“Do you want a salad to go with it?”
Echoing my words, he said, “For breakfast?”
“Why not?”
“We can have salad for lunch. I’ve been craving more of your lasagna. Just lasagna.”
I laughed.
“Okay.”
As I used a spatula to carve a healthy slab out of the pan, my father said, “You love him, don’t you?”
I felt a sudden chill cause the hair on my arms to stand at attention.
Had it been that obvious?
But, no, it was more than that.
My father had often been in tune with my emotions.
Still, I’d gotten pretty good over the years about hiding much of my dissatisfaction with our state and maintaining a calm demeanor, especially since he’d gotten ill.
Telling him about something that upset me about what someone said in school—or even letting him see it in my mood—had seemed almost cruel, and I’d learned to keep it from him.
But maybe I’d gotten out of practice.
There was no denying the truth—and I’d already been feeling guilty about not telling him in the first place.
Still, I couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“Yes.”
I slid the plate of lasagna into the microwave and the beeps it made as I pressed buttons seemed loud, filling the room.
When I pressed the Start button, the beeps were replaced by the sound of whirring fans in the microwave as it heated up my father’s food.
And the next words out of my mouth couldn’t have been lamer.
“It just sort of happened.”
“Oh, princess, haven’t I told you? The heart wants who it wants, and there can’t be any helping it.”
Turning around, I asked him, “Is that how it worked with you and mom?” We’d never talked about her since she’d left, not much, because the loss of her had always been painful for both of us—but now it somehow seemed apropos.
“It did—for me , at least. Did I ever tell you we met at college?”
“No.” I hadn’t heard any of it.
Pulling out a chair, I sat, wanting to hear my father’s story—or, at least, as much as he’d be willing to share.
“We both went to the university in Pueblo. It was all either of us could afford. Me, because your grandparents were both already on Social Security—and, even though their fixed income helped me qualify for financial aid, I still couldn’t afford one of the more expensive schools in the state. And your mother grew up in Pueblo and had been in foster care most of her life. Going to school there was a given—and she knew education was the key to moving up.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
My father grinned, because he’d told me that many a time—which had always been why my plan to leave Winchester started with getting an education, even if only a two-year degree.
“She worked in the dining hall—and I thought she was a cute little thing. She knew it too. She could’ve had any boy on campus she wanted. But I wore her down, asking her to go on a date with me once a week. I always made her smile and laugh when I went through her line and she put food on my plate, so I knew she was interested.”
“Gosh, dad. What a romantic story.”
We both laughed, and I felt my shoulders relax, especially because we were talking about him and not me .
“I never claimed it was romantic. But, princess, I knew. There was something about her that I couldn’t resist.”
My mind returned to the morning after Sinclair had first kissed me.
He’d said something about being so overcome with emotion that he hadn’t been able to help himself.
Until that moment, I never would have guessed that he and my father would have something in common.
“And I just knew. It wasn’t on our first date and probably not even the first month we dated. But there was a moment when I knew she was the one—the exact second that I fell hard. Your mother didn’t talk much about her past, but I knew from what little she’d said that it had been difficult. One night, we were sitting in my car at Lake Pueblo looking up at the stars, and she was resting her head on my shoulder. Then she looked at me and said, ‘You make me feel safe.’ And that was it. I knew. I wanted to protect her and hold her and love her forever. Even though we talked about marriage after we’d been together a while, I didn’t propose until the month before graduation a couple years later.”
The microwave beeped again, this time telling me the lasagna was heated—and, as I got up to check it, I understood now exactly why my mother had left.
My father knew it too, even though we never said it out loud…
but that safe feeling she’d loved with him had probably disappeared when the town had turned against us.
Probably just as I had felt when I’d first arrived at Sinclair’s mansion, she likely felt like a stranger when she moved with my father to his old hometown—and when everyone had seemed to turn against her, she’d had to leave.
Even if she hated the place where she’d grown up, it was the devil she knew.
So many pieces were falling into place.
I knew my parents had lived in Pueblo for several years after graduating—but when my mom got pregnant, they decided to move to Winchester.
My mother’s first pregnancy had resulted in a miscarriage but she’d told me when I was young how desperate she’d been to have a child…
so they tried again and she had me.
My grandmother was still alive at the time, even though I didn’t remember her—but, other than my father’s mother, my own mom probably hadn’t had a chance to get to know enough people for it to feel like home for her.
In all my years, I’d been angry with my mother and sad that she was gone—and sometimes I’d even blamed myself, wondering if I had anything to do with her decision.
But now I felt like I knew.
I understood.
And if I ever had the chance to meet her again, I realized I would be able to have an actual adult conversation with her.
When I handed my father his plate, there was no hiding the tears in my eyes.
He said, “I miss her too—but she did what she had to do.” Nodding, I blinked the tears back and scooped out a smaller piece of cold lasagna onto my plate.
“Part of me has always wondered why she didn’t take you with her.”
As I slid the plate into the microwave, I said, “Maybe she thought you could give me a better life.”
“Maybe. But she disapproved of what I was doing and constantly told me I needed to be thinking of you.”
I knew my dad, though.
“You were. You were thinking of my future and what might happen if they started tearing down the mountains all in pursuit of the mighty dollar.”
His smile, though wistful, was also warm somehow.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking—and not just your future but all the children in Winchester…and my grandchildren. I tried to get Tammy to see that, but she was in survival mode. I can’t tell you how many times I wished I’d majored in psychology instead of communications. Maybe I could have helped her.”
“Oh, dad. You can’t regret any of that. You always did the best you could.” When he nodded, he finally picked up his fork.
“Would you have even liked psychology?”
Finally, he chuckled a bit.
“I don’t know that I would have. I like people, but I don’t know that I would have wanted to dig around in their heads.”
When my lasagna was warm, I sat across from him at the table and we were quiet for a bit.
I wondered if my father was thinking about the time he’d had with my mother, whether it was during the good days or bad days but, like I’d told him, he shouldn’t regret it.
Had our lives been difficult?
Of course they had, but I did remember my mother telling me more than once when I was little that life wasn’t fair and it was hard—and, before my father had grown sick, he’d worked for Human Services, and he’d said many times that, no matter how bad we thought we had it, there was always someone else who had it harder.
We had to try to be grateful for what we had and try not to mourn what we didn’t.
And he was right.
If nothing else, the last few months had taught me that I was even stronger than I’d thought—and I’d already known that, if nothing else, I had fortitude.
How else could I have returned to school day after day growing up, knowing that someone would make fun of me or punch me in the arm when no one was watching?
But I’d spent most of my life feeling distrustful of most people, of assuming the worst of them— especially if they had money.
Falling in love with Sinclair had changed me…
for the better.
And for that I would always be grateful.
“I do love him, dad.” Part of me wanted to tell him I was sorry about that but I wasn’t.
No matter what happened throughout the rest of my life, Sinclair Cornelius Whittier would always have a place in my heart.
“Does he feel the same way about you?”
“I don’t know. I know he cares about me on some level, but…” I trailed off, staring at my barely touched lasagna.
“But that doesn’t matter. He told me that, once I finish the project I’m working on, I can come home—and I plan to. He seems to think I’ll be done in a week or two, but I don’t think I’ll be done for another month or so…especially taking breaks here and there to be home to take care of you.”
Dad placed his fork on the plate and pushed it away a bit.
Still, he’d eaten most of it.
“Princess, I don’t want you to come home just for me. You’ve got school starting in January, but it’s more than that. If you love him, you should see where that takes you. If he cares about you too—”
“No, dad. It will never work. No matter what I feel for Sinclair, his father will always be Augustus Whittier—the man who ruined you…ruined our family.” When my father nodded, I could see it in his eyes.
He understood…
and perhaps regretted what he’d done.
But I didn’t want him to.
Yes, our lives hadn’t been perfect, but one thing I’d learned from all the books I’d read and loved was that someone had to stand up to the bad guys.
Someone had to be the hero of the story.
And, in my story, that man was my father.
Dad squeezed my hand, and it felt like he was reading my thoughts.
“They say it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never experienced it. And part of me wants to call that bullshit, because you know full well I’ve never gotten over your mother leaving.” I knew that to be true, just as I knew I’d never fully get over Sinclair.
“But I won’t…because if it wasn’t for the love I felt for your mother, you wouldn’t be here.”
That was what I had to remind myself, I thought as I got up and hugged my dad.
Parental love would never fill that hole in my heart for Sinclair, but it would keep me going just the same.