Chapter 15
T he next morning, it was almost easy to let myself feel happy and carefree…
but it wasn’t long before I reminded myself that this was temporary.
Soon, I’d be gone and Sinclair would no longer be in my life.
For a moment in the shower, I indulged my brain, thinking about what it would be like in the future.
What if my father and I weren’t able to leave Winchester right away?
How would I feel when Sinclair showed up for some event at the community college?
Would I avoid him, unable to bear the loss, or would I find him, hoping we could catch up?
It was too painful to imagine…
and that was part of why I made the decision I would be sharing with him at breakfast.
Before that, though, my dad and I chatted for a few minutes.
Just as I’d feared, he had overdone it the day before, gathering leaves in the backyard and stuffing them into garbage bags.
Although he’d finished the task, his muscles were sore and he was exhausted—and he promised to take it easy today.
Otherwise, he assured me that he was feeling much better…
and that he believed the infusion was delivering as promised.
After putting on my makeup, pulling my hair into a ponytail, and getting dressed, I looked at myself in the mirror.
I’d thought a lot about if I wanted to leave now or stay and finish the work, weighing the pros and cons of each decision—and I’d made a decision.
But I really doubted if it was the right one.
I suspected my choice was selfish, but I couldn’t think straight.
Leaving now would make my heart hurt—but staying to finish my work would do the same thing.
I’d just be prolonging it a bit.
Staying and finishing the work had the potential of helping Sinclair to heal—and that was how I justified my decision.
When I arrived at breakfast, Sinclair was already there, seated and looking more handsome than ever in a charcoal suit.
He looked up at me as I entered the kitchen, and all I wanted to do was go to him and kiss him, hold him close.
But I couldn’t do that.
Edna, at the stove, said, “I know I said this yesterday, but it’s so nice having you back here, Lise.”
After smiling at Sinclair, I walked over to the coffee pot.
“It’s good to be here, Edna. I have to admit I missed your cooking.”
“I made something different this morning—a vegetable hash with mushrooms, cabbage, potatoes, and peppers. A bit of steak on the side if you’d like.”
“It smells great.”
“That’s thanks to the thyme.”
It took me a second to realize she wasn’t saying time and I smiled, adding creamer to my coffee.
“I can’t wait to try it. I’ll pass on the steak.”
“Toast?”
“One slice, please.”
“Have a seat. I’ll bring it to you in a bit.”
When I took my usual spot across from Sinclair, he looked up at me again—and I could see the question in his eyes.
I didn’t want to prolong his agony any more now that I’d finally made up my mind.
But, of course, Sinclair was direct and demanding, just as he’d always been.
Our clandestine relationship hadn’t changed that.
“Have you made a decision?”
“I have. But I have some, um…stipulations.”
That grin of his knotted my stomach.
“ Stipulations? Should I have James here to amend our contract?”
“No. But we may want to discuss them in private.” It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Edna, because I certainly did nowadays—but what I was going to propose would give away what I’d been up to and what I planned to do.
And I wanted to give him the opportunity to discuss it just between the two of us before making his decision.
But Sinclair, as usual, had his own ideas—and the smile disappeared from his face.
“No. Tell me now. Are you going to stay and finish the work or will you be leaving? It’s simple enough.”
Fine…
if that was what he wanted.
As I nodded, I sensed that Edna was holding back, waiting for what she felt would be a good time to bring my food to me without interrupting or intruding.
I hated that she would have to hear any of this—but maybe it was for the better.
“I plan to stay to finish my work downstairs—but I want to do it right. I don’t want to skimp. I want to finish it the way we agreed.”
The way he moved his jaw made me think he wasn’t happy with what I’d said—but he seemed to relax somewhat, so it was hard to tell.
“All right. That’s your choice…but we may need to renegotiate payment.”
“We don’t. But that’s not all.”
His brow lowered—and then I knew.
He didn’t like that I was coming to him with my own ideas.
So I was certain he would absolutely hate what I was about to say.
“Go on.”
“The basement area isn’t the only part of this lovely mansion that has been ignored. The second floor’s east wing has been neglected even more.”
Already, he sensed where I was going.
“No.”
“Having that entire space shut off is like…it’s like a festering wound that’s getting worse simply by ignoring it. I can go in there and clean it out so you don’t have to—and then—”
“No!” he barked, standing.
I hadn’t heard him use that tone since my first week here and it shook me to the core.
But I also knew him far better now than I had then—and I knew that was probably fear and uncertainty talking.
It wasn’t coming from a rational place.
Picking up his planner and his phone, he folded the paper and again unclenched his jaw.
“You will do what we agreed upon—or you will leave. Those are your two options. You can tell me your final decision this evening.”
Part of me—the defiant part that had risen up when I’d first arrived—wanted to tell him that was fine and that I’d leave immediately.
But I hoped he’d think about it and have a rational conversation with me later.
Edna brought my food to the table and looked at me as Sinclair left the room, but he went in the direction of his office and not the garage.
Edna’s eyes were filled with so many questions—but both she and I knew we couldn’t talk about them now.
They would have to wait until Sinclair was no longer in the mansion.
All morning long, I had to pull myself back from anger.
I would be working downstairs, trying to get back into the groove I’d established before, and I’d feel a flash of fury at Sinclair for being so stubborn.
If his pain from losing his mother and not really having a relationship with his father had been a physical wound, he’d have had it taken care of long ago.
And that was what the east wing’s second floor represented to me: a pus-filled gash in his mental flesh.
He hadn’t cleaned it out or put any healing ointment on it.
Instead, he’d simply ignored it as if it didn’t exist.
But it would never get better if he wouldn’t.
I knew, though, that if he refused, that would be the end of it.
I couldn’t make him do anything.
By lunch time, I’d decided to go ahead and finish what I’d started downstairs, even if I couldn’t talk him into letting me do the same thing in the east wing.
I’d be leaving…
so I could only hope that he’d figure it out someday, find a way to move on.
Even moving out of the mansion would be a better way to live than how he’d been coping with it—by pretending that a section of the mansion didn’t exist.
I was hungry when I made my way upstairs, having only eaten a few bites at breakfast.
When Edna had asked if I didn’t like her hash, I insisted I had, but I hadn’t had an appetite.
To assure her, I asked her to save it for me for the next day.
But, of course, that had reignited all the questions in her eyes.
I was somewhat surprised that she hadn’t sought me out downstairs long before lunch to talk.
When I got to the kitchen, I could smell delicious foods filling that entire space—bread must have been in the oven and a big pot on the stove held the sweet yet savory smell of butternut squash soup.
But Edna was nowhere around.
When I called her name—twice—she finally appeared from the pantry.
“Sorry, dear. I wasn’t sure when you’d be here…and Mr. Whittier asked me to inventory everything.”
“ Inventory? ”
“Yes—wanted me to make sure we didn’t have anything expired in the pantry, cupboards, or the freezer. It was a bigger task than I’d thought, and I want to have it done by the time he gets home—but don’t you worry. Lunch is ready just the same.”
“It smells amazing.” If she was hoping filling my stomach would loosen my lips, she might have been on the right track.
“Can I help with anything?”
She started to tell me no but then said, “You can get us drinks. I’d love a glass of lemonade.”
“Oh…lemonade?”
“Freshly squeezed. Top shelf in the fridge. Every once in a while I get a hankering. I know it’s a summer drink, but I wanted some now.”
While I filled two glasses for us, I wondered if Sinclair had given her that monumental task just to keep us from talking as much as we might have—and I decided that he definitely had.
Of all the things that man was, he was certainly not an idiot.
As I placed the glasses on the table, Edna brought two big bowls with handles full of beautiful creamy orange soup.
She asked, “How many rolls would you like, dear?”
“One is fine.”
But, when she returned, she brought a basket of them along with a dish of butter.
Oh, did they smell delicious, and, after I’d buttered one and took a bite, I had a sip of soup.
“Wow. This is amazing.”
“Thank you. It’s one of Mr. Whittier’s favorites.” Even though I knew a conversation was coming, I wasn’t about to be the one to start it.
I decided to let Edna determine how much she wanted to know—based, of course, on what she already did.
“He didn’t tell me you’d be leaving.”
I nodded.
“My dad needs me.”
“Is the MS getting worse? That’s what the treatments are for?”
“Yes, the treatments are for the MS, but I think they might be working.”
“And Mr. Whittier’s not going to force you to repay him for those repairs?”
Frowning, I stared at the soup for a bit.
I didn’t want to affect her opinion of him, so I needed to be careful how I explained it.
Mr.
Sherwood had tried to influence my feelings about Sinclair—and it had worked for a bit.
Unlike me, however, his motive all along had been to manipulate my emotions.
“No. He finally has proof that I didn’t do it.”
As she cocked an eyebrow, a smile formed on her face while her spoon stopped moving.
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that.” But then she dipped the spoon into her bowl and stirred before scooping up more of the soup.
“I have to admit, though, that I’m glad he had it wrong at first. Otherwise, we’d have never met.”
“True.” Unspoken was the admission that we’d both grown very fond of each other.
I understood why Sinclair had wanted her to stay even though she was no longer serving the role of nanny.
“I’m glad for that as well.”
Again, that phrase echoed in my head: better to have loved and lost …
For a few moments, we simply enjoyed our meal—and I even told her again how good everything tasted, including the not-too-sweet lemonade.
But then Edna said the words I’d been dreading for some time.
“How long have you and Sinny been intimate with each other?” I looked up and knew my eyes had to look like they belonged to a trapped animal.
“Not that it’s any of my business…but I wondered if you wanted to talk about it.”
Although I didn’t think so…
I really did.
All my life, I’d gotten pretty good at keeping things to myself, but after having read all of Constance Whittier’s journals, I understood why she’d written them.
She couldn’t tell her husband how she felt, nor could she tell the staff.
And she didn’t seem to have many friends.
The few friends she talked about didn’t seem like friends at all—except for Xavier—and I didn’t know how much of her personal life she’d actually indulged to him.
“For a while, I guess.”
“Did he force himself on you?”
“No. Not at all. It was…mutual.”
Edna let out a long sigh and I suspected there was so much she wanted to say but refrained from.
“Do you love him?”
I wasn’t going to lie to this woman—and I was pretty sure she’d already figured it out.
“Yes.”
“He’s sometimes hard to love—but when you can see past the crusty exterior…” I nodded as her voice trailed off.
Again, we lapsed into silence and I decided I wasn’t going to volunteer any additional details.
If she wanted to ask, I’d answer, but I wasn’t going to start spilling my guts.
I would start crying at some point if I did.
“By the way,” she finally said, her voice cutting through the silence, “you’re right.”
“I am? About what?”
“That east wing business. It isn’t good. And it’s worried me for a long time. But I’m not in a position to tell him anything. I’m glad you did.”
“It’s so strange. And I mean…I get it. It’s easy enough in a place this big to just not use those rooms, but…it’s not like a closet. It’s several rooms, an entire hallway. Those rooms up there combined are bigger than my house in Winchester.”
“I know, dear. Bigger than my apartment too.”
“It’s not healthy—but until he realizes that…”
“I know. But it’s his way of dealing with things.”
As I put more butter on my roll, I asked, “ Things? ”
“Like his father. You met him on the night of the ballet, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not just Augustus, of course. It’s the whole family. But that was thanks to Augustus as well. He poisoned the older boys against Sinny. I didn’t have much of a chance to get to know Constance, but I know she adored him so much—and for some reason, his father despised him for it. I often wondered if it was because she was giving her affection to the baby instead of him. You know how egotistical men can be sometimes—especially a man like Augustus. All that power and wealth and he still can’t be satisfied when one or two people don’t think he’s God’s gift to the planet.”
Her words rang true in terms of his bruised ego—but I decided to let Edna in on what I knew.
I told her about the journals and what I’d read—and it even brought tears to her eyes.
Our bowls were empty by the time I finished.
“Please don’t tell Sinclair I told you.”
It was the first time I’d called him by his first name in front of Edna, but it didn’t faze her.
“No—but you should tell him about those journals.”
“I did. I think it brought him some comfort knowing he was loved so unconditionally by his mother.”
“I know I’m not really a substitute, but I did my best to be a maternal figure for him when he was growing up. I had to walk a fine line, though. I knew if his father found out just how much I spoiled the boy, he would have canned me—so I only hugged him in private or told him just how good a boy he was when I’d tuck him into bed. But I let him know he was loved and good. I had to. But when he went off to college, I knew his father had influenced him far more than I had.”
“I don’t know, Edna. He doesn’t seem like his brothers or father. I mean…he’s more like them than you or me, but he’s definitely marching to the beat of his own drummer.” The way she smiled warmed my heart.
“And he’s never said it out loud, but I know he loves you too.”
It was the first time this woman had ever seemed speechless.
After a moment, though, she stood.
“Well, I guess I’d better do up these dishes and then get back to the inventory.”
“I’ll help you with the dishes.”
“Oh, no, dear. You don’t have to. You’ve got your own work to do—and I don’t want to slow you down. You’ve got your freedom waiting for you.”
Little did she know.
But maybe she understood all too clearly.
She already knew I loved Sinclair as much as she did, if only in a different way.
Surely, she knew how hard it would be for me.
There would be no satisfactory ending to my story.
“What’s five minutes?” I asked, and I took up a position to rinse and dry while she filled up one of the sinks with hot soapy water.
She placed our dishes in there and I smiled, knowing those particular items were dishwasher safe and that all she really had to clean by hand were the pan that held the rolls and the soup pot—but I suspected she wanted more time with me.
While she put the soup in a container for the refrigerator, she asked me to put the rolls in a gallon bag and I decided to ask her a question that had been on my mind.
Even though I’d heard Sinclair’s point of view, I wanted to hear what Edna thought.
“Do you remember a woman named Natasha?”
Edna’s chestnut eyes practically grew double in size.
“Do I? If you’re talking about Natasha Sullivan, that woman is a person you could never forget.”
Oh, she was the one, all right.
But I didn’t know exactly what Edna was saying.
“In a good or bad way?”
“Oh, heavens. In the worst way possible. That woman was a wrecking crew—and as unstable as they come. I can’t tell you how many glasses she broke just to make a point or get Sinny’s attention. She was a manipulator, that girl.”
“She scratched their initials on that laptop.”
“I know. That girl was delusional. I never understood what Sinny saw in her. Except that she was a piece of tail and a man’s got needs, I suppose.”
I hated thinking of him with another woman, but I said, “I guess so.”
“She and one other woman were the only females Sinny ever brought home—and I have no doubt in my mind that Natasha had managed to worm her way into his brain. The first time it was because they had a big work project—or so she said. But she was here the next morning and the papers they’d spread out in the beverage nook hadn’t been touched.”
I could tell Edna had more to say, so I kept my mouth shut as I took a towel to one of the bowls.
And she continued.
“For maybe a month or so, she was here constantly—and I could tell she was beginning to wear on Mr. Whittier, but it was no longer my place to give advice unless he asked for it…which he often did from time to time, but I knew I didn’t dare say a word in that instance. He finally kicked her to the curb but I’ll be damned if he didn’t have to get a restraining order against her—and I’m fairly certain he settled out of court to give her a huge chunk of change to keep her trap shut and leave the Foundation for good.”
Well, that no doubt explained the non-disclosure agreement Sinclair and his lawyer had asked me to sign when I’d first arrived.
After being lost in my head, Edna patted my hand with her soapy one.
“Don’t you worry, dear. He never loved her—or any of the other gals he’s dated.”
Ah…
but I didn’t think he loved me either.
So her words offered me no comfort.