Page 57 of A Thin Line

“Try it.”

I’d already tried it with Edna the week before and I had to admit I managed to feel satisfied till dinner. Still, I hated letting him know he was right…but maybe this was part of gaining his trust. “Okay. I will.”

It wasn’t long before we were both seated at the table with salads, bread, and glasses of water. But once again he had his nose in something else—this time, he was reading the paper instead of his phone. I said, “Do you ever eat without something distracting you?”

He looked up. “At dinner. But, obviously, it bothers you. Do you need attention?”

My cheeks grew warm. “No, that’s not it.”

“Ms. Miller, you need to understand that, until a week ago, I usually ate alone here at the house unless I invited someone for dinner. And, as much as I appreciate your philosophy of appreciating your food, I’m a busy man. I want to get as much done in a day as I possibly can, and one way I can do that is by reading at the table.”

“I suppose that’s fair. During finals week, I would read my notes during lunch.” In answer, he shot me a smirk. “So what are you reading?”

“The Wall Street Journal. Are you familiar with it?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

He folded the paper closed. “It keeps me abreast of news in finance and business.”

That sounded boring—but it was a reminder again that we came from very different worlds. Perhaps if I had billions of dollars to my name, I’d read it too. “You know, you could probably read it online.”

“I definitely could—but I prefer it this way. Maybe it’s because my father always got it this way and I grew accustomed to it.”

“I have to admit I agree with you there. I have a reading app on my phone, but it’s not the same as reading a physical book.” And something I wouldn’t tell him was it was probably for the same reason he preferred the hard copy of the paper. My dad couldn’t afford to get me a reading device or even a fancy phone, so I wound up going to the library a lot. Even though I scrolled online book sellers once in a while, there was something about running my finger across the spines of books as I perused their titles until one caught my attention. Sometimes it was like a feeling—and not like an advertisement on an online bookstore. Instead, it was like the story was calling me to it, and I’d pull it out to examine it further. I’d read the description on the back and, if it intrigued me, I’d add it to the stack I’d already planned to check out that week.

“Exactly. There’s some satisfaction to turning the page and seeing the progress right in front of your eyes.”

For a few seconds, I forgot who I was talking to. Once again, I was under the spell of Sinclair Whittier…a captive audience and, in some regards, captive in many other ways. This captivity right now was almost voluntary. Finally, I managed to get some words out of my mouth. “You read books too, right?”

“Yes.”

“Any fiction?”

He picked up his glass. “On occasion. But mostly nonfiction and, as boring as I’m sure you’d find it, lots of books on finance, business, economics…things that help me improve my game.”

“But…didn’t you say you ran the philanthropic part of your company?”

Again, he smirked, apparently amused that I’d remembered. “I do. But I’m responsible for investments in my division and I also need to keep my finger on the pulse. What I read and what I retain have helped me more times in this business that I can count.”

“I get that…but don’t you ever read for fun?”

The shadow that crossed over his eyes struck me in my heart, filling me with overwhelming sadness. It was as if he’d said it aloud—that he either didn’t ever do anything for fun or didn’t know what that was. Even I, bullied and ostracized most of my life, had memories of fun times: Dad taking me fishing and, when we didn’t catch anything, having a picnic. Playing dolls with my one or two friends who were as low on the social rung as I was. And, of course, reading books was a biggie. Some of my fondest memories were of books.

And, like the melancholy I felt for Sinclair, I felt some for me as well—because, even though those stories were important and I’d never want to not have read anything I had, my real-life experiences were few and far between.

And I hated that, once again, I was empathizing with my enemy.

He said, “What would you recommend?”

That took me by surprise. “Um…what kind of fiction do you like?”

Cocking an eyebrow, he said, “Would you believe I don’t know?”

“Do you watch movies?”

“On occasion.”

“What kind of movies do you like?”

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