Chapter 3
A t dinner that night, Sinclair wore a crisp white long-sleeved shirt and tie without a jacket, and I was nearly floored at how the white fabric changed his face, making him handsome in yet another way.
Sometimes it was hard to gauge his mood before he spoke because his face was an emotionless mask, something that had long been practiced and had become ingrained.
I had a lot I wanted to tell him, but only if he wasn’t in a bad mood.
As Edna began setting various items on the table, reminding me of when I’d done that same job just days earlier, his eyes seemed to soften as if her presence was soothing.
And I imagined it was, considering I felt the same way about the woman.
And, of course, considering their history.
So I decided to move forward.
“I started doing some research,” I began, hoping he wouldn’t comment on the fact that I must have done it during “work hours.” But he said nothing, giving me only the slightest of nods to let me know he was paying attention.
“And I found four different schools that would suit my needs. If I chose DU, I’d have to attend in person.” I wasn’t going to tell him about my plan to get both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree—at least not yet.
If I chose DU for both, the master’s degree could be completed online—which would be perfect, because I imagined that if I were working full-time and attending school, I might have to take classes here and there as a part-time student…
which meant a bachelor’s degree could take me ten years rather than four.
And I was okay with that, because I could work on that master’s degree no matter where I lived at the time.
But DU was just one of my choices.
I proceeded to tell him about the other three and the reasons why I was torn among the four schools—and it mostly had to do with the classes themselves.
One of the schools required that I take a foreign language and I’d struggled with Spanish in high school.
I’d done fine with nouns and adjectives and present tense, but once we got into conjugating verbs in past and future tense, I’d flailed.
And, although I knew college wasn’t easy, I didn’t want to set myself up for failure.
Two of the other schools had classes that sounded fascinating but neither offered all the same courses.
So I was at an impasse.
DU was yet another dilemma.
I’d already checked out the distance there from Sinclair’s residence using a maps app, and it wasn’t very far away.
My residence, I thought—at least for the next ten years.
It was too far to walk, so I’d either have to borrow a car or take the bus—and, after my encounter on the street my first full day here, I didn’t want to use public transportation.
Another problem with in-person classes as opposed to online, something I’d learned after a year at WCC, was that you didn’t get to pick the time you were in class.
You had to go to classes when they were held and, if you were lucky, you might have a few different times to choose from.
The other three online programs I was looking at offered asynchronous classes, so I could do my coursework whenever I wanted.
We already had salads in front of us when I finished talking.
“So I’m having a hard time deciding.”
“It sounds like you’ve already decided against DU.”
“Yes. I guess I have.”
“Did you check out Metro State?”
I speared a grape tomato with my fork.
Metro didn’t have a master’s program—and I knew that wasn’t a huge deal.
There was nothing wrong with getting an education from more than one university, but I wanted to choose a school and stick with it.
Still, I didn’t want to tell him that—not yet.
So I simply said, “I did, but I didn’t like what I saw.”
“Okay. So which one do you like the most?”
“I don’t know. I’m having a hard time deciding.”
“Well,” he said, setting his salad fork on the plate, “make up your mind. Once you have, you can make a pitch. But I don’t want you to have any indecision. If you’re not sure, you might be a semester or two in and decide you’d prefer a different program—and if you change, that’s a waste of both time and money.”
“Okay.” I nodded, understanding his words but not liking his tone.
I’d hoped he could have helped me narrow it down…
forgetting we were not partners.
At our core, we were still adversaries, and I began to wonder if having me attend school was like the work he did every day—philanthropy.
Was I just a charity case to him?
But he continued. “I realize that learning for learning’s sake wouldn’t be considered a waste by anyone else, and some of the courses you take might be transferable, but I want you to be decisive. One of the most important lessons I learned when I was your age was to weigh my options. Sometimes that meant making a list of pros and cons. Other times it involved standing back and taking in all the information like a big picture. And, sometimes, you’ll choose the wrong thing. But I’d rather make a wrong choice instead of being frozen with indecision or waffling between two choices and picking one at random.”
It suddenly became clear to me.
I had been a choice he’d made the night of the vandalism at WCC—and it made me wonder if he was beginning to rethink it.
Maybe having me attend school lessened the blow.
Otherwise, why was he even telling me this?
“So,” he continued, “weigh the pros and cons of each and—”
“No. I know.”
The right side of his lip—the side without the scar—curled as he tilted his head.
“You’ve made a decision?”
“Yes.” WCC hadn’t been much of a decision.
It was the local community college—less expensive than a four-year university, close to home.
It had been a decision that had made itself.
I hadn’t had to do what I’d seen other kids pondering, where they had two or more decent offers to good schools and they couldn’t make up their minds.
So much of this was new to me.
“What you said made sense, and as I thought about it, there was one university that really seemed to speak to me.” But I couldn’t remember which one it was—I’d know for certain when I pulled up their programs again.
I’d gotten a “peek” into one of their online classes, and much of it was video, partly professor lecture, partly actual footage of archaeology digs, so that it had the feel of being a documentary rather than a class.
Would all their courses be like that?
I didn’t know, but my gut was telling me to go there.
“Good. We’ll discuss it at our Sunday meeting. Put together a proposal for me.”
“A proposal ?”
Edna was back, clearing our salad plates and replacing them with entrées, but I barely noticed her as Sinclair began talking again.
“Yes. I want you to tell me all about the school—the cost, the degree, and why you chose it. Then I want to see a plan from you: how many classes you plan to take each term and how long before you’re done. Can you get that together by Sunday?”
“Yes.” In that brief moment, I felt such gratitude, such joy, and I knew I’d be talking to my father about it when I could.
Sometimes we talked during the week but usually it was just text messages.
On the weekend, we’d actually talk, catching each other up about our week.
He always sounded positive, but I was growing more concerned about him.
The isolation couldn’t be good for him even though he didn’t complain.
I suspected he was selective about what he told me…
just as I’d been with him.
And the warm feelings I felt for Sinclair Whitter at this moment were something I wouldn’t share with my father.
I felt guilty—not just about keeping it from him but also for somehow allowing myself to fall for this man in the first place.
This man’s family was the reason why my father had struggled for the past two decades and I often believed it was the continual stress that had allowed the MS to ravage his body.
Still…had Sinclair Whittier actually done any of that?
Or had it only been his father?
Sinclair’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
“Do you play chess?”
“What?”
“Chess. Do you play?”
“Oh…not very well. My dad tried to teach me when I was young, so I know the way the pieces move but that’s about it.” I was reminded of the kids at the college who played chess in one of the common areas.
In April, as the spring semester had been winding down, more and more students would huddle around whoever was playing to see who would win.
“I’ve never claimed to be a good chess player myself. But, if you’re game, I think we should play once in a while.”
The thought of spending more time with this man—not as an employee but as an equal—was something I wouldn’t say no to…
even if we would still be playing adversaries on opposite sides of a checkered board.
“Okay. Just don’t expect any brilliant moves from me.”
“That goes both ways.”
As I cut a piece of the thin meat on my plate, unaware if it was chicken or a different type of bird, my mind still lingered on my limited time in college…
and suddenly I had a question.
“Um…how are the repairs going at WCC?”
I’d known it was a potentially dangerous question, as it could rouse all his negative emotions about me—how I’d been the culprit and I was here only because I was paying my debt.
If he exploded at me, that would be good, because it would remind me that he was not my friend or potential love interest…
and that was probably why I’d asked it.
But his response was quite unexpected.
His voice was calm and steady, but his eyes were focused on the asparagus spears on his plate.
“The repairs are coming along as expected and should be done no later than the spring semester.”
Why did I feel guilty about that?
I hadn’t been the one who’d wreaked havoc on it—and I hadn’t been the person who’d left the lab unlocked…
but I had been the one left in charge.
Maybe that meant I was responsible in some way.
But I wasn’t about to say anything, because in his eyes I’d already been convicted of the crime.
I didn’t need to add fuel to that fire.
But it did help me almost embrace my sentence.
Looking back, I knew that when I’d left for the print shop that day, I should have sent Jenna on her way and locked the lab myself.
Then none of it would have ever happened.
Maybe it would have, though.
I couldn’t presume to know what resources the vandals had.
They may have had a key or an idea of how to break in and we’d just given them an easy opportunity.
It was clear to me that they’d wanted to do it that day because of Dr. Rakhimov’s planned celebration.
What better way to make a statement than to have dozens of visitors see it?
Although I kept disappearing into my thoughts, it was clear to me that Sinclair had too.
So I asked, “Did you want to play chess tonight ?”
When he looked up from his plate, his eyes seemed to devour me.
As his pupils widened slightly, he licked his bottom lip—and my mouth went dry.
“I can think of nothing better.” But I felt like his words meant something else entirely.