Page 1 of Thick and Thin

Chapter 1

Try as I might, I couldn’t stop myself from loving Sinclair.

I’d spent Friday night nestled in his arms, a moment when I should have felt loved and cherished—but instead I’d felt sad and miserable, knowing that nothing about us was real. And the fact that he had introduced me by my first name only should have told me he knew it too. I even questioned if his explanation for how we’d met, as employee and employer, was part of that ruse. After all, Warren had more than hinted that Sinclair had brought employees to family functions before.

At first, I’d had the awful realization that we would never work, but now I doubted that “we” were anything more than a façade. It made sense. If your employee—and indentured servant—loves you, she’ll work harder. She won’t complain. She’ll do anything you ask.

She won’t try to leave.

After Sinclair got up to work out, I locked my bedroom door, but he didn’t try coming in anyway. Our arrangement up to this point had been simple: if I wanted his company, I could send him a text message that wouldn’t have meant anything to anyone else. If he was available, he’d let me know, but his Saturdays were sometimes as busy as his days of the week.

I kept to myself Saturday, finally managing to fall asleep around ten o’clock that morning, and it wasn’t until evening that I spoke with my father.

I prayed he wouldn’t be able to pick up on what an emotional mess I continued to be, even after sleeping all day. I simply told him I’d been throwing up the night before—true—and told him I’d slept most of the day…also true. As for the connection, I let him make it himself, even though the first event didn’t cause the second.

As I often did when I spoke with my father, I felt guilty. When I’d first arrived at the mansion in late July, the guilt had been caused simply by not being able to be there for him. Ever since I’d lost my virginity to Sinclair, though, the guilt had been caused from sleeping with the enemy.

I couldn’t help but turn over the events from the previous evening in my head. I couldn’t deny just how much I’d loved the ballet, regardless of the fact that I’d probably never be able to go again. And the restaurant—that whole experience had felt decadent and wasteful.

I had to admit to myself that the Whittiers didn’t seem to be so bad, if I ignored what I knew about how they’d destroyed my father. But then the realization washed over me…yes, the family members had mostly gotten along, but they could have been coworkers or acquaintances. I hadn’t actually seen love amongst them. The evidence was the relationship I had with my father.

If my father and I had met for lunch and I hadn’t seen him in a while, we would have hugged each other and, before getting down to any business, would have asked how each other was doing, what had been happening, just like we’d done over the phone before I hopped in the shower so I could look presentable for dinner.

The Whittiers didn’t seem to have any love for each other. At best, what I’d witnessed the night before had been…acceptance. But there’d been no warmth in the room, even with the discussions and occasional laughter. It had been hard to notice in the heat of the moment because I’d been all up in my own head—but now I could see it for what it was.

After I got dressed, my eyes lit on the box with the diamond necklace displayed once again. It really was one of the sparkliest, most feminine pieces of jewelry I’d ever seen…but I knew now that it really didn’t belong dangling around my neck, any more than the earrings Sinclair had purchased for me to go with it.

But I ran a finger down one of the dangles and I tried to imagine Sinclair’s mother wearing this. I knew now from what I’d already read in her journals that she had been full of love and light—and maybe when she’d died, all the love had died with her. Maybe, despite her suspicions, her husband hadn’t been cheating after all, and when she’d gone, the love had gone with her.

I didn’t know if I could reconcile that idea with the words I’d read in her journal. At some point, I’d need to finish the last one, but finding time to do that had been difficult. It had also been hard because it was clear that she’d been feeling more and more hopeless and sorrowful, even though there was a small part of her that delighted in having another child…a child that might not have had actual Whittier blood running in his veins.

Shutting the lid on the box, I remembered the Whittier men’s faces in my head, astonished by how alike the sons looked—but it had been hard to find a strong resemblance to their father. Even Sinclair’s blue eyes could have come from someone else.

As I picked up the box with the intention of returning the necklace to Sinclair during dinner, I realized I could no longer keep secret what I knew about his mother. I needed to tell him about her journals, about how she’d spilled the contents of her heart out on all those pages. Even though he and his family seemed to function in the best way they knew how, I wanted him to know he came from a beautiful though misunderstood person—and, if I could find the courage to say so, I thought I might need to tell him about the other man in his mother’s life.

Regardless of what Sinclair and I were, it was the least I could do…to let him know there had been someone who had loved him unconditionally all those years ago.

Dinner, however, hadn’t been the right time. We’d just sat down with one of the meals Edna had made for us—a hearty beef stew with crusty homemade rolls—when Sinclair had gotten a call. Ordinarily, he ignored them, returning calls after dinner, but he excused himself. “I have to take this,” he said, leaving the kitchen as he pressed the screen on his phone and put it to his ear.

He should have just taken the call in the kitchen, though, because the main hallway was much like a megaphone. I couldn’t have ignored his words if I’d tried.

“What do you mean she’s not there?” After a few seconds, he continued. “Have you tried calling her agent?” Then “Her manager? Her staff?”

There was a long pause and I imagined the person on the other side frantically trying to explain to the boss why something wasn’t working. Sinclair finally said, “What did Sophie have to say?” I couldn’t even eat because I was so focused on his words. “Then call her. Report back when you know something.”

By the time Sinclair returned to the kitchen, I pretended to be absorbed in the stew. Before he sat down, he said, “I see you brought back the necklace.”

“Yes,” I said, sliding the box across the table.

“It really did look beautiful on you.”

“Thank you.”

Not even peeking inside the box, he picked up his napkin, putting it in his lap again. “You kept the earrings?”

“Yes. You wanted me to, right?”

“I did.”

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