Page 54 of A Thin Line

To the east, there was a tall stone wall separating the Whittier property from its neighbor, making this area fully enclosed. “This is the garden,” he said as we walked past the area I’d seen before just outside his office window. “Henry grows a few vegetables here,” he said, pointing to the one spot I hadn’t been able to view from his office, “but he mostly uses it to grow flowers.”

“Did he put the garden here because your office is there?” I asked, pointing.

“No. The other way around. There are two office rooms on the west rear hallway, but I liked this view. It’s secluded. I don’t have to see the street, so I can concentrate without distraction.”

Before I could ask another question, we walked around the trellis. There, ensconced by three walls—the mansion to the right, the garage directly in front, and the barrier wall to the left—and the trellis was a beautiful swimming pool and hot tub. The water was blue and inviting, especially as the heat was bearing down on us.

“So,” he said, “you’ll find no lack of entertainment during your down time. And…if you can prove yourself trustworthy, we’ll talk in a month or so about letting you visit your father once a month. Does that sound acceptable?”

“Yes.” I tried not to sound too eager—but all of the things he owned couldn’t make me excited or happy. Knowing I could see my father would be the only thing that would keep me going.

And I was certain he’d sensed that.

Chapter 19

“Enjoy the amenities—and the pool,” Sinclair said, no doubt feeling magnanimous, as if he were offering me everything I’d ever wanted. “Tending it is another one of Henry’s duties, and we don’t swim from October through March. The hot tub you can use year round, but enjoy the pool while you can.”

I couldn’t help a little dash of defiance flying from my lips. “I don’t have a bathing suit, so I won’t be able to enjoy it.”

A dark look crossed over his eyes and I felt my body heat up, suspecting he was picturing me with fewer clothes on. Why did I like that so much? But I straightened my back, hoping to do the same with my resolve. “Even having signed the contract, you can’t refrain from being sassy, can you?”

My expression was one of derisive pleasure. “There was nothing in the contract forbidding it.”

“You’re right. I’d call James to amend it, but…I don’t want to break your spirit.” Sucking in a deep breath, he added, “If you ask nicely, I’ll buy you one.” After another second, he added, “You could also swim in the nude if you wanted.”

Pursing my lips, I stared in his cold blue eyes, letting him know I’d rather die than beg.

I expected him to say his usual Suit yourself, but he instead said, “That’s it for the tour—unless there’s something else you’d like to look at.”

When I shook my head, he began heading in the direction of the patio. One thing I could say from the short time I’d been here was that money in some instances seemed to cultivate beauty. Although Sinclair said he hated the mansion, I knew there were parts of it he liked. Why else would he have bothered showing me all of the supposed fun things I could do there?

Back in the main hallway, my eyes immediately went to the artwork adorning the walls, reminding me of a question I’d had. “I’ve been meaning to ask…”

“Yes?” he said, still walking while glancing over to me.

“Why don’t you have any pictures on your walls?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like pictures of people. I haven’t seen a single picture anywhere in the mansion.”

His pace seemed to increase, only because I wasn’t able to keep up with him without increasing mine. Without looking at me, he said, “You’re assigning meaning to something that doesn’t have any.”

And then I knew it did. No pictures hanging in the mansion was a choice. But why? And would I find some as I sorted through the unwanted treasures downstairs?

After talking with my dad for close to an hour in my bedroom, I decided to take advantage of what Sinclair had referred to as the amenities. I spent another hour in the library, finding copies of Pride and Prejudice and The Complete Tales of Edgar Allen Poe. There was more nonfiction than fiction here, but there were plenty of books to keep me busy.

Then I wandered over to the east side, deciding to spend a little time in the gallery and the sunroom. I wasn’t sure if I’d read in those rooms or just enjoy the surroundings, but they felt neglected—like they needed the love and admiration of someone, and I was that person. They were calling to me.

As I passed the rear west hallway, I heard the sounds of a sports broadcast. Curious, I made my way down there, remembering there was also a laundry room. If Sinclair found me, I could tell him that was what I was looking for—but that was a good reminder that I needed to do my laundry the next day.

Past the kitchen on one side and the dining room on the other, past the beverage nook, the roar of the TV grew louder. I slowed my pace, peeking into the room, observing that the décor was reminiscent of the beverage nook. As the room came into better view, I assessed it as a man cave, if rich people even had those sorts of rooms. But Sinclair wasn’t sitting in one of the plush beige chairs, nor was he watching the baseball game playing on the almost bed-sized television hanging on the wall. He was standing at the windows looking out, holding a cell phone in his hand.

For a moment, I stared at him, admiring his firm body, remembering his handsome face. Even the tiny scar on his lip added to his charm rather than detracting, and I found it disturbing that I couldn’t stop thinking about him in such an inappropriate way. And I felt a pang in my heart…

He seemed so lonely. And part of me hated that it made me sad.

Turning, I began walking back down the hall toward the main hallway, almost hoping he would catch me.

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