Page 18 of A Thin Line

“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.”

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