Page 60 of A Thin Line

It had to be. And, had I not been in such pain, I would have been ashamed that I was getting preferential treatment over the other people in the waiting room simply because I was with a person of privilege.

Sinclair thanked her as she wheeled me deeper into the facility. He asked me, “Would you rather I wait outside?”

Considering I still felt like a foreigner away from home, his presence was comforting. “No. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer you stay.”

He gave me a quick confident nod—and soon we were in a small room. The nurse said, “Someone will be with you shortly to take you for x-rays.”

Once she closed the door, Sinclair shook his head. “I’m sorry this has happened to you, Annalise. I’ll get that stair fixed immediately. I should have done it a long time ago.”

“But you never go down there—so I understand.”

His lovely blue eyes assessed mine, somehow helping me feel calm and nurtured. “You are far more forgiving than I would have been.” And then he took my hand in his. “Maybe I can learn a little from you over the next few years.”

It had to be the guilt talking—but those words buoyed me throughout the rest of the trying afternoon.

Chapter 21

By the time we arrived back at the mansion, my leg was wrapped in a beige elastic bandage and a boot, allowing me to walk carefully. Sinclair had wanted to pick me up again to carry me, but I insisted on walking.

The treatment for my sprained ankle was ibuprofen, rest in bed with my foot elevated, and keeping my ankle in the bandage for a week. By then, my ankle might be tender but it would be mostly healed. Sinclair helped me up the stairs because I wasn’t used to walking with the boot and soon we were in my bedroom. “Where do you want me to put your other sneaker?”

“You can just put it in the closet.”

As I sat on the bed, he did as I’d asked. After he closed the closet door, he said, “Are you planning to unpack at some point?”

“I’m working on it. Did you notice there are a few things on hangers?”

He only gave me a short nod. “I’m afraid I won’t be as good as Edna at this. I can hire someone temporarily if you’d like.”

As much as Sinclair and Edna didn’t feel like family, at least they were no longer complete strangers. Considering I wasn’t dying, I was okay with not having a new person to tend to me for just a few days. “No, that’s okay.”

“All right. Well, let’s get that ankle elevated. Do you need help getting up on the bed?”

“No, I’m okay.” I had to admit to myself that it was sweet how doting and caring he was being—a far cry from the cold, furious beast he’d been my first few days here. It could have been guilt or maybe even fear that I might sue, but it didn’t feel like that at all. Instead…it felt like he actually cared.

And it put me at war with myself again. On the one hand, Sinclair felt like a hero, rescuing me at a time when I most needed it and making sure I had the best care money could buy. On the other hand, none of this would have happened had he not blamed me for the destruction of the simulation lab, giving me the choice of servitude. I had to remind myself that Sinclair Whittier was no friend and no hero.

But my heart couldn’t stop feeling a little warm about it.

After removing the boot, I set it on the nightstand before maneuvering to the middle of the bed. Then I pulled an extra pillow out from under the comforter so I was propped up a bit.

After going back into the closet, Sinclair returned with a fluffy pillow, one that had been on the top shelf next to a couple of blankets. “Are you comfortable?”

“Enough.”

“Raise your foot.” I did as asked and he slid the pillow under. “What can I bring you right now?”

“I would love a glass of water.”

“I’ll also bring an ice pack.”

After he left, I reached over for one of the books I’d brought up from the library, but I couldn’t focus on reading. Although they’d given me ibuprofen for the pain and swelling, it still hurt. Fortunately, elevating it had helped with the throbbing sensation that only intensified the discomfort.

So I turned my head, allowing me to look out the window a bit. The sun was still shining that late afternoon and a gentle breeze made the leaves on the tree outside the window flutter. I rested my eyes, thinking about my father. On his bad days, he would use a walker to get around. What concerned me was how those bad days were getting closer and closer together. For a bit, I considered asking Sinclair if I could convalesce at home rather than here—but it only took a split second to realize that would make me a burden on my father. At least here, especially because Sinclair felt responsible, I would be well cared for and waited on hand and foot.

Even by the master of the house himself.

Soon, Sinclair was back with the promised glass of water and an ice pack. He set the glass of water on a nightstand. “I suppose I should wrap this pack in a towel.” He went quickly to my bathroom and returned, already having wrapped the pack. “Do you want me to put it on top or below your ankle?”

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