Page 52 of A Thin Line

I knew that to be true in terms of school, although I’d never been able to afford going an entire weekend without studying. Still, breaks had always been important—even during finals week. “Okay.”

“So why don’t I show you all the mansion has to offer in terms of entertainment?”

I liked the idea. Although I’d explored some on Tuesday when I’d been cleaning bathrooms, I hadn’t seen everything—and maybe there was something in the east wing I’d get to see. Hoping I didn’t seem too eager, I said, “I’d like that.”

“Let’s start on the third floor.”

So we walked up the first flight of stairs and I asked, “So what do you do at your job?”

“It’s not nearly as glamorous as you might think.” We continued walking up the stairs side by side and I watched the chandelier out of my peripheral vision, knowing I could finally look down on it if I chose to. Sinclair continued, “My family has a lot of irons in the fire, so to speak. What do you know of the Whittier Corporation?”

“Not much, other than you guys like to rape the earth for resources.”

As we reached the top of the stairs, he let out a breath which was, no doubt, indicative of his frustration with me—but I didn’t care. “I believe you’re referring to our mining division.”

“Yes. I saw the evidence of your corporation’s work every day in Winchester. The hills are scarred and I don’t know when they’ll ever recover.”

“Mining is just one facet of the Whittier Corporation,” he said, walking down the hall of the west wing. We also own hotels and real estate. We manufacture textiles and we’re involved in transportation and agriculture—and those are just the ventures I’m privy to.”

It boggled my mind. “And what do you do exactly?”

“None of those things. I run the Whittier Foundation. That’s the philanthropic division of our corporation.”

As we neared the end of the hall, I said, “So does that mean you’re in charge of charity?”

“Exactly.”

That explained his involvement with Winchester Community College and the corporation’s generous donations to the school over the years—and I hated that it made him just a little more human in my eyes.

Before I could say anything else, he led me through the door that I already knew had a grand piano in it. “This is the music room,” he said, walking over to the piano. “Do you play?”

“No.” I’d always wanted music lessons, but my dad couldn’t afford them. I’d learned a little in music classes and from the internet, but I focused on other, less expensive things I enjoyed, like reading and walking in the woods just outside town. “What about you?”

“I can—but I don’t.”

That seemed foolish. “Why not?”

He was looking out the window at the treetops blocking the view of the street. “My father forced all of us to learn a classical instrument. We had lessons several days a week plus practice time. I chose the piano, not knowing that I could have chosen a clarinet like my older brothers and, upon achieving competence, could have moved on to something else I would have enjoyed. Instead, I was a slave to that thing.”

“This one right here?”

Turning, he said, “Yes. But…I don’t hate it anymore. It’s lovely. That said, I don’t want to play because it reminds me of…” He crossed the room, opening a door to a large closet. “I don’t know why we call it the music room, because there aren’t any other instruments. Instead, we have folding chairs in here in case we wanted to have people listen, I suppose.” There were two comfy-looking love seats in the room, so if he had a party, that would be a time to dig out the chairs. “Maybe I should turn this room into something else.”

I wasn’t about to tell him what to do with the place, but I did understand wanting to get rid of symbols that reminded you of something that hurt you in the past.

Was that what the dungeon represented?

Although I didn’t have a dungeon, I did have memories. After my mother had left and six months had gone by with nothing but a short conversation, I took all my pictures of her and put them in a small shoebox, stuffing it under my bed where I wouldn’t think about it. Still, I did for a long time—and one day I took the shoebox to the big trashcan outside, fetching it out the next day when trash was due to be picked up.

So I also understood why he would want to keep it anyway.

Closing the closet door, he said, “But since you don’t play, I imagine you won’t find this room fun, either—so let’s head down the hall.”

And we did.

“First,” he said, opening another door, “I come to this room seven days a week unless I’m sick or out of town.” We entered the gym, another spot I’d peeked in on when I’d been cleaning. “You’re welcome to use it during downtime. I had more equipment but got rid of the elliptical because I didn’t use it and neither did any of my guests—and I replaced it with this guy here.” He placed his hand on a big black piece of equipment that stood at least seven feet tall. “There’s no limit to what you can do with this baby, but you do it mostly with bands—so it’s safer. If you want to do resistance training and you haven’t worked much with free weights, I recommend this.”

A small smile formed on my face. “I wouldn’t know how to do anything with it. I think I could fly just as easily as I could use it to lift weights.”

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