Page 9 of Thick and Thin

His response was immediate. Thank you for the update. Can we talk?

I thought about it. I couldn’t talk in here, not with my father in the next room. He’d hear everything. Give me a few minutes. I got out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, clothes I hadn’t worn in months. After getting on my shoes and pulling a jacket out of the closet, I sent another message to my father: Going out for a walk. Text if you need anything. Otherwise, be back soon. My dad probably wouldn’t even see it until morning, but I wanted to cover all my bases.

Then I grabbed my house key out of my purse and closed the door behind me as I walked out into the darkened front yard. The house was in the middle of the block where not much light shone and I hadn’t turned on the porch light to avoid waking my father, whose bedroom faced the front.

Unlike Denver and my encounter with the two guys my first night there, Winchester might have had poorer neighborhoods and most of the citizens might have hated us, but I’d never felt unsafe. Once I was older, my dad had tipped me onto the fact that I probably should have been scared as a child, but it was almost as if, now, citizens knew they hated us but couldn’t quite remember why. There were, of course, places I wouldn’t walk at night if I didn’t have to, such as along Main Street where most of the bars were located, but that was simply to avoid having an uncomfortable encounter with a drunk person.

Once I’d made it to the end of the block where I was bathed under the glow of a streetlight, I sent Sinclair another text message. For a moment, I’d considered calling him but thought better of it. I can talk now.

My phone, although silenced, lit up immediately—and I answered the call from SC. “Hi.”

“Lise…it’s good to hear your voice.”

I began walking again, not wanting to disturb anyone sleeping—or, at least, if I kept moving, the disturbance would be minimal. Of course, I hadn’t expected a dog to start barking as I passed by its house. But I tried to ignore it as I made my way closer to Winchester’s downtown area. “You too. I’m…sorry about throwing a fit.”

“No need to apologize. I was being stubborn…and we can make this work.”

It was the first time I’d felt like he was almost treating me like an equal. Up until this point, he’d treated me like an employee—and, when we’d left the confines of his room, it was like we were different people. So his tone was rather unexpected.

The dog’s barking behind me now, I continued walking, marveling at how different this neighborhood was compared to Sinclair’s. The houses were closer together, of course, but there were homes, including the one I shared with my dad, that didn’t have lawns. Many had yards full of nothing but crushed gravel while others simply had weeds growing behind their chain-link fences, ready to wither and die in a few weeks when the evenings would grow colder and the heavy frosts would set in. Still, there were plenty of homes with well-maintained yards, but every single home in Sinclair’s neighborhood had been immaculate. I suspected there would be no getting away with letting one’s yard look like the ones here. But even Winchester had standards. When my dad’s health had begun to deteriorate to the point where he couldn’t move as well, our yard had become weed-ridden—and the town had threatened to fine us if we didn’t get rid of them in a short amount of time. Dad had tried—but it was at that point that I fully understood it was on me, and I’d pulled every single weed out of the ground, piling them next to the sidewalk, as if stacking dead bodies on a battlefield.

The ordinance enforcer hadn’t said thank you—but he also hadn’t bothered us again. And, after that point, I’d taken care of them.

There was no way those rich people would allow that around their homes. No way. I knew that to my bones.

So why did I miss being there?

“Thank you. I’ll know more tomorrow at his appointment.”

“So tell me all about your dad’s health and what the appointment tomorrow entails.”

And it was my turn to tell him more about my childhood…with one exception. I wasn’t about to tell him our side of the Whittier-Miller clash. That might be one part of our histories we would never discuss.

Chapter 4

The next morning, I could tell my dad was anxious. I’d planned to make eggs and sausage for him, one of his favorite breakfasts, but he only wanted a cup of yogurt. It had been one of the foods I’d restocked, an easy meal when he wasn’t up for cooking. I ate one of the apples I’d bought and didn’t say anything—because it was obvious dad wasn’t up for talking.

That made me wonder—was this treatment potentially dangerous?

I didn’t want to make him stress out any more than he possibly was, so I wasn’t going to ask. But I would ask the people at the clinic when we got there.

“I’m going to get dressed,” I said to my father after tossing the apple core in the trash. “Can I help you with anything before that?”

“No.” It wasn’t surprising—he was already dressed and ready to go. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” I kissed him on the cheek and then went to my room. Digging through one of the suitcases for a fresh pair of panties, I found the journal I’d hidden.

The last journal of Constance Whittier…the one I had yet to finish. I’d been so busy getting my dad’s life back in order, I hadn’t thought about it once. But I shoved it in my purse in case I had time to read in the waiting room at the clinic.

Once I was ready, I asked my dad for the address to the clinic, and he gave me all the paperwork he’d printed. Then we walked out of the house and I locked the door behind us. Dad, paused on the patio, asked, “Which car did you want to drive?”

I knew what he was asking: did I want to take my car or his? I’d driven my car to the grocery store Tuesday morning and it had ridden rough. Dad had said he’d started it once every few weeks to keep the battery charged and things running, but it apparently hadn’t been enough. And my father owned a huge truck, one that had served him well back when he was going fishing regularly and used to do home repair projects. Those days were long gone, though, but he couldn’t afford to get anything new.

I’d already asked Sinclair the night before about driving the Lexus to the appointment in Colorado Springs, and he’d given me his blessing. Until then, I hadn’t even thought about it, but he said he’d had me added to his automobile insurance on Monday after I’d left.

The man sometimes thought of everything.

“We’re taking the Lexus.”

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