Page 39 of Thick and Thin

Again, he repeated that monosyllabic word he’d muttered earlier, but this time the tone felt different. Sounded different. “Hm.”

“And Augustus is your father. She said he’d accused her of having an affair, but she hadn’t. You are your father’s son—and she even asked him several times to have your blood tested to prove you were his son, but your father refused. She thought it was because he’d no longer be justified in—” I cut myself off, not wanting to reveal to Sinclair that his mother had suspected her father of cheating on her for years.

But he was no dummy. He already knew my unspoken thoughts. “If my father wanted to sleep around on my mother, he wouldn’t have needed an excuse.”

“But your mother believed that was why he’d been so obstinate about having you tested—that finding out she hadn’t been having an affair would make him guiltier somehow. But I have a theory.”

“And that is?”

“There was no doubt that your parents no longer loved each other. It infused almost every page she wrote, and it devastated her. I believe your father resented your birth because you represented another tie between them. He’d already distanced himself from your mother—and had sent your oldest brother off to boarding school. It was almost as if he didn’t want the responsibility of a family. I’m not sure.”

“My father’s pretty fond of Augie, so maybe it was more that he didn’t want our mother to influence him…but I believe he’d be just as happy if Warren and I didn’t exist. I used to think it was just me he despised, but, looking back, I wonder. It seemed that he was just as cold to Warren during dinner before the ballet. Did you see that too?”

My mind wandered back to that night that wasn’t so far off but seemed like a distant memory nonetheless. Most of that evening I’d been tense and feeling ill—but I could remember the gist of the conversations. “Maybe—but I felt like your father was angrier with his date.”

“You might be right.” He ran his hand over my back, soothing and warm, and we didn’t say anything for a bit. I finally began growing sleepy, my conscious clear, when he spoke again. “I suppose it’s nice to know more about my mother…but it doesn’t really change anything, Lise. If my father refused to do blood testing when she was alive, why would he do it today? And what difference would it make?”

I opened my eyes so I could better gauge his emotional state. “It could make a huge difference. Knowing you’re his flesh and blood might make him a more caring father.”

“He doesn’t have a loving bone in him. And I’ve done okay without his love and approval up to this point. Why would I care now?”

His words made my heart ache. No matter how rejected I’d felt by my mother leaving, I completely understood now why she did. It didn’t make it hurt less, but it helped me to let go of some of the anger I felt toward her—and, I imagined, over time I could maybe let it go. But Sinclair was shutting himself off from even the possibility—and I didn’t blame him for it, but it made me sad.

Would there be a way I could help him repair that wound?

“But I guess it is nice to know that I was loved by my mother, even though I can’t remember her. And Edna was a hell of a surrogate. I look at your life and then I look at mine, and I don’t feel like I can complain much.”

No, but he could and should want better relationships with his family…but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to help with that.

Chapter 15

The next morning, it was almost easy to let myself feel happy and carefree…but it wasn’t long before I reminded myself that this was temporary. Soon, I’d be gone and Sinclair would no longer be in my life.

For a moment in the shower, I indulged my brain, thinking about what it would be like in the future. What if my father and I weren’t able to leave Winchester right away? How would I feel when Sinclair showed up for some event at the community college? Would I avoid him, unable to bear the loss, or would I find him, hoping we could catch up?

It was too painful to imagine…and that was part of why I made the decision I would be sharing with him at breakfast.

Before that, though, my dad and I chatted for a few minutes. Just as I’d feared, he had overdone it the day before, gathering leaves in the backyard and stuffing them into garbage bags. Although he’d finished the task, his muscles were sore and he was exhausted—and he promised to take it easy today.

Otherwise, he assured me that he was feeling much better…and that he believed the infusion was delivering as promised.

After putting on my makeup, pulling my hair into a ponytail, and getting dressed, I looked at myself in the mirror. I’d thought a lot about if I wanted to leave now or stay and finish the work, weighing the pros and cons of each decision—and I’d made a decision.

But I really doubted if it was the right one. I suspected my choice was selfish, but I couldn’t think straight. Leaving now would make my heart hurt—but staying to finish my work would do the same thing. I’d just be prolonging it a bit.

Staying and finishing the work had the potential of helping Sinclair to heal—and that was how I justified my decision.

When I arrived at breakfast, Sinclair was already there, seated and looking more handsome than ever in a charcoal suit. He looked up at me as I entered the kitchen, and all I wanted to do was go to him and kiss him, hold him close.

But I couldn’t do that.

Edna, at the stove, said, “I know I said this yesterday, but it’s so nice having you back here, Lise.”

After smiling at Sinclair, I walked over to the coffee pot. “It’s good to be here, Edna. I have to admit I missed your cooking.”

“I made something different this morning—a vegetable hash with mushrooms, cabbage, potatoes, and peppers. A bit of steak on the side if you’d like.”

“It smells great.”

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