Chapter 6
W hen I arrived home, my father was asleep in the recliner, the television still on. My heart felt ripped in two as I realized I wouldn’t get to nudge him from sleep again after tonight.
I had to keep it together. For my father’s sake if not my own.
What made it worse was Whittier had only given me an hour to pack my bags. He would be arriving here soon to pick me up and take me away from everything I’d ever known. Although I’d wanted nothing more than to leave Winchester, I had never wanted to leave my father behind, especially now when he needed me the most.
I looked around the tiny room as if to burn it into my memory. Not much had changed since my mother had left more than ten years ago—the afghans she’d crocheted thrown on the back of the sofa and my dad’s recliner, the doilies underneath the lamps on both end tables, the stone fireplace we rarely used anymore. The room had an earthy feel, thanks to the beige color scheme, but the shadows made it less noticeable. Tonight the ceiling fan blew at full force, shifting the warm air around enough to keep it more or less comfortable.
Kneeling beside my father’s chair, I gently rubbed his forearm. “Dad?” When he didn’t stir, I said it again, a little louder. “Dad?”
“Oh!” he said as he awoke. “I did it again.”
Forcing a smile, I said, “That’s okay.”
“Give me a minute to get out of the chair.”
“Actually, dad, I need to tell you something. Uh…would you like me to make some chamomile tea first?”
“What’s wrong?”
I never could hide my emotions from my father. It was probably one of the reasons we were so close. Ever since my mother had abandoned us, he’d been in tune with me, far more than she’d ever been.
As he sat up, he rubbed his forehead, pushing his gray hair to the side, immediately making me regret that I hadn’t trimmed it in a few weeks. His green eyes that mirrored my own assessed me. I said, “I don’t even know where to start.”
“From the beginning, of course.” Of course. That had always been something he liked to say.
So I did just that, summarizing as quickly as I could the events of the evening. The resolution of said events, however, I had to find a way to gently approach.
He said, “We’ll hire the best lawyer we can afford, princess. Those bastards.”
“Actually, dad…we came up with a solution. I—you’re not going to like it, but it’s the only way I can see to get out of this.”
“I don’t like the sounds of this.”
“I know.” I let out a long breath of air and took his hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “On the one hand, I could go to trial for several felony counts. I know they say the jury has to have an open mind, but I don’t see people here in Winchester giving me the benefit of the doubt, do you?”
His voice didn’t sound as confident as his words. “You might be surprised.”
“But on top of that, I would spend the rest of my life paying restitution for the damages—over a million dollars. I can’t even wrap my mind around that.”
“Sweetheart, we’ll sell everything. I’ve got money in my 401(k) that—”
Not nearly enough—and I wasn’t about to take what little money my father had. “No. That’s not what that’s for.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know, but hear me out. Whittier made me an offer. He will pay for the repairs and the college won’t press charges. In exchange, I will work for him in his household and, in ten years, he would consider the debt to be paid.”
“ Ten years? ”
“I did the math, dad. The lab cost about a million and a half. That’s a drop in the bucket to him—but not to you and me. If I were paid for the work I’ll be doing, it would take me over thirty years to pay it back.”
“We can’t let him bully us around!” The old fire that used to drive my father reared its head for but a minute, but the poor man didn’t have the strength or energy to sustain it. We both knew that.
“This really is the best solution. And if we look on the bright side, when I leave, I’ll have a clean slate: no debt and no prison record. I’ll even have ten years of experience that I can put on a resume. And maybe by then I’ll know for certain what I want to do with my life.”
“But…princess, you’ll be almost thirty years old. And I’ll—”
“I know. But if I were convicted, I’d probably be older than that—and my prospects after leaving prison wouldn’t be so bright.”
“There’s got to be another way.”
“If there is, I haven’t thought of it.”
My father’s face was a map of defeat. He’d come to the same conclusion that I had: this was the best outcome of a really bad situation. “Will you at least get to come home sometimes?”
“I don’t know yet. I would hope I could have weekends off so maybe I could. We haven’t worked out the details yet. But I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” I stood. “I, um…I’m leaving tonight, so I need to pack. Can I make you some tea or anything before that?”
“ Tonight? ” All I could do was nod my head in response. “I didn’t think the Whittiers could do any more damage to our family than they had. I should have known.”
“Dad, you can’t blame yourself for any of this.”
“Are they even going to try to find out who’s really responsible?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it. They’re convinced I did it.”
“But what evidence—”
My poor father was grasping at straws, but we’d already been through this. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And it’s their word against mine.”
He sighed as his shoulders drooped—and I knew I had to find some words of encouragement.
“When I’m done, we’ll move out of Winchester. We’ll find a place to go where we never have to live under the shadow of the Whittiers again.” But I didn’t know if what I’d said made any difference. “Will you be okay if I go to my room and pack?”
At last, he looked in my eyes again. “Do you need any help?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I have that rolling suitcase in my closet if you need it.”
“I’m not sure how much I can take.”
My father lowered the recliner’s footrest. “Take as much as you can. You’ll be living—” His voice cracked and so I leaned over and gave him a big hug. “ Where will you be?”
“Denver.” I’d only ever been to the state capital once when I was little, before my mother had left. It had been a mini vacation, the day spent at Elitch Gardens followed by a magic dinner at Casa Bonita. That was also the only time I’d ever been in a hotel. I’d carried that experience with me for years, but I remembered how stressed out the traffic made my mother.
When my father had specialist appointments, they were usually in Colorado Springs, so I was more familiar with that city. All I could remember of Denver was that it seemed to go on forever.
And I knew I’d hate it—because Sinclair Whittier probably loved it.
“So I won’t be too far away.”
My father’s expression brightened a little. “So the chances are good you’ll be able to come home to visit.”
I forced the biggest smile of the evening—but I knew it didn’t quite reach my eyes, because it hadn’t reached my heart. “Yes.”
I suspected that Whittier had made this offer so he could make me suffer. This was going to be punishment, and it was probably not just for the destruction of the simulation lab. This arrangement was also to pay for the supposed sins of my father. I would never say that out loud to my dad, but I had a feeling Whittier was going to make my life as unbearable as legally possible—and if that meant keeping me separated from my father, he’d do it. I just knew it. But I planned to communicate with my dad as much as I could. I would want to know how his health was, and Sinclair Whittier couldn’t stop that—even though I suspected he was a monster through and through.
“I guess you better go pack.”
Nodding, I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll make it quick.”
And I did. I took the two small suitcases out of my closet along with a tote bag and my backpack and stuffed them full of shoes and clothes—and the makeup and toiletries off my dresser. I wasn’t going to pack any jewelry because I didn’t want anything remotely fun or festive. I would take what I was already wearing—a small pair of fake pearl earrings and a gold necklace with a heart pendant that my father had given me for graduation. I took the bottles of shampoo and conditioner out of the shower, replacing them with new ones from the hall closet, even though I was pretty sure my dad didn’t use conditioner. And I grabbed an unused bar of soap. I continued thinking of things I would need and, before I knew it, I’d run out of room.
There wouldn’t be space for any of my books.
I had several ebooks in an app on my phone and that would have to do. As I started wondering stupid things like if I’d have to wear these same clothes for an entire decade, I let out a long breath, trying to assure myself that everything would be okay.
Maybe it wouldn’t, but it was better than the alternative.
I talked my dad into having that cup of tea with me while we waited for Whittier to arrive. We sat at the small wooden table in our white and yellow kitchen, trying to forget about what was coming. My stomach was once again in knots as I pondered my unknown future. Although I was trying to go over instructions for what he’d need to do with me away, my mind was exploring what was to come. What all exactly would I have to do? I imagined I’d be a servant, cleaning his home day and night, keeping it spotless. I might have to cook as well, a skill I hadn’t mastered but could do decently—except I had no clue what wealthy people ate. I doubted Sinclair Whittier would want to eat mac and cheese.
And did he live in a penthouse apartment or a huge house? Would I have a room of my own where I could stay? Would it be like the one or two mansions in the old part of Winchester where there were servants’ quarters outside the family home? Or was it something I couldn’t even imagine?
The anxiety had my body tense—and I hoped the tea would calm my nausea.
There was a loud knock on the front door, making me nearly jump out of my skin. I hadn’t finished my tea, so I took another sip and poured the rest in the sink before putting the cup in the dishwasher. I reminded myself that my father knew how to use that appliance, even though I usually did the honors.
He would be okay with me gone. I had to keep telling myself that.
As I left the room to answer the door, dad said, “I’m right behind you. Don’t leave yet.”
“I won’t.”
Before I reached the door, the pounding started again. The impatience and force behind it told me it was Sinclair Whittier himself at our door and not someone doing his bidding.
Seeing his tall body and handsome face when I opened the door, my anger blazed once more. He was a monster—and he should appear as such in my eyes. I had no doubt he would become ugly to me, once I was regularly subjected to his cruelty. “Are you ready?” The way he asked it told me no would be an answer that would make his temper flare—and yet I was tempted to do it nonetheless.
Part of me suspected I was going to enjoy pissing him off as often as I could. My plan was to make him regret forcing me to do this.
It was stupid. Maybe I should have been grateful for the opportunity to bypass jail and restitution.
But I wasn’t.
Now that I’d spent time with my frail father, bringing him up to speed and having to say goodbye so quickly, I resented the hell out of this man and his whole family more than I ever had before.
“I just need to say goodbye to my father.”
Something flickered in his azure eyes. Could it actually be compassion—or a trace of understanding? Surely not. I already knew the Whittiers didn’t have that in them. Anyone with an ounce of empathy wouldn’t have subjected my father to the persecution he’d had to endure over the past two decades. Nodding to the luggage and other bags near the door, he asked, “Is that what you’re bringing?”
“Yes.”
Without another word, he bent over and picked up everything except for my backpack and purse, and he walked away, leaving the door open behind him. My father was in the living room by then. “Do you have your phone?”
“Yes.” It was still in my jacket pocket…the one thing I’d worn today, hoping it would make me look professional. It made me wonder if I’d be wearing a uniform in my new…endeavor. Job didn’t quite reflect the situation I was walking into.
“Keep me posted—and if anything bad happens, you let me know and I’ll get you out of there.”
I had no idea what to expect, much less what I would qualify as bad . It already felt that way—and I expected abuse, even if only verbal. I knew this was a way to punish both me and my father for what the Whittiers no doubt considered our past sins.
Still, I nodded an assurance to my dad. I didn’t need him worrying any more than he already was.
We embraced and I hugged my father longer than I had in ages…because I didn’t know when or if I’d ever be able to do it again. I hoped I was sharing with him some of my strength and health. I knew the man was resilient but I didn’t know how much more he could endure. “I love you, dad.”
“Love you too, princess.” When he looked at me, his arms still on my shoulders, he said, “I almost said I’d miss you but that doesn’t quite cover the loss.”
I couldn’t help the tears that filled my eyes then. I’d managed to hold it together this whole time, fueled by fear and anger, but the rawness of the reality was settling in my soul. “You always told me time goes faster as you get older—so maybe the next ten years will go fast.”
“Yes.”
Damn it. The tears were contagious. So I sucked in a deep breath and blinked and, even though one tear fell, I was able to pull myself together.
Before I could say anything else, though, my dad said, “Or maybe you’ll do such a great job for him, he’ll let you go sooner.”
“Maybe.” But I seriously doubted it. That would again involve a sense of empathy, an emotion I was convinced that family had been born without. “I promise I’ll visit if I can.”
He pulled me into another hug and said, “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll try not to.” It was an honest response, but I didn’t know how well I would manage.
We both turned when we heard someone clearing his throat, obviously demanding our attention. The polite part of me would have introduced these two men to each other—but they knew who the other was without it…and I didn’t want to engage in any niceties with this man.
“It’s time to go.”
I gave a curt nod and then kissed my dad on the cheek. “Please don’t stay up too late.”
“I’ll be fine,” dad said, with a sadness in his green eyes that I knew would haunt me.
“Don’t forget to keep your phone charged.” It was the lamest thing to say, but I’d programmed alarms on it to remind him when to take his medicines. I hoped, though, that he could hear and sense everything I was thinking—another reminder that I’d love and miss him and that I’d be okay no matter what happened.
“Remember what I said.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure what he was referring to—but then I remembered that he wanted me to tell him if I needed him to bail me out. So I simply smiled and bobbed my head, hoping Whittier hadn’t heard most of our exchange.
It was none of his business.
“I guess I better go.” This time, he gave me a short nod, blinking his eyes. As I walked toward Sinclair Whittier, I kept my focus on my backpack and purse. I didn’t dare look at his face. “I’ll lock the door behind me.”
When I picked up my backpack and purse off the floor beside the door, Whittier asked, “Can I carry anything else for you?”
I tried hard to make sure my voice was like ice. “No, I’ve got it.” When he moved out of the doorway, I draped both items over my shoulder and then turned the lock on the knob so that it would latch behind me, one less thing my father would have to do before going to sleep—whether he drifted off in the living room or went to bed.
Or wound up staying awake despite fatigue.
I glanced at my father one last time and gave a tiny wave of my hand, knowing that he could feel my love—and probably also my concern about how he’d cope. But I reminded myself that the stress of a trial, followed by the possibility of my being in prison for years, would have been far, far worse.
Still, as I walked down the dark sidewalk following the man in front of me, I wondered what the hell I was getting into.