Page 40 of Thick and Thin

“That’s thanks to the thyme.”

It took me a second to realize she wasn’t saying time and I smiled, adding creamer to my coffee. “I can’t wait to try it. I’ll pass on the steak.”

“Toast?”

“One slice, please.”

“Have a seat. I’ll bring it to you in a bit.”

When I took my usual spot across from Sinclair, he looked up at me again—and I could see the question in his eyes. I didn’t want to prolong his agony any more now that I’d finally made up my mind. But, of course, Sinclair was direct and demanding, just as he’d always been. Our clandestine relationship hadn’t changed that. “Have you made a decision?”

“I have. But I have some, um…stipulations.”

That grin of his knotted my stomach. “Stipulations? Should I have James here to amend our contract?”

“No. But we may want to discuss them in private.” It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Edna, because I certainly did nowadays—but what I was going to propose would give away what I’d been up to and what I planned to do. And I wanted to give him the opportunity to discuss it just between the two of us before making his decision.

But Sinclair, as usual, had his own ideas—and the smile disappeared from his face. “No. Tell me now. Are you going to stay and finish the work or will you be leaving? It’s simple enough.”

Fine…if that was what he wanted.

As I nodded, I sensed that Edna was holding back, waiting for what she felt would be a good time to bring my food to me without interrupting or intruding. I hated that she would have to hear any of this—but maybe it was for the better.

“I plan to stay to finish my work downstairs—but I want to do it right. I don’t want to skimp. I want to finish it the way we agreed.”

The way he moved his jaw made me think he wasn’t happy with what I’d said—but he seemed to relax somewhat, so it was hard to tell. “All right. That’s your choice…but we may need to renegotiate payment.”

“We don’t. But that’s not all.”

His brow lowered—and then I knew. He didn’t like that I was coming to him with my own ideas. So I was certain he would absolutely hate what I was about to say. “Go on.”

“The basement area isn’t the only part of this lovely mansion that has been ignored. The second floor’s east wing has been neglected even more.”

Already, he sensed where I was going. “No.”

“Having that entire space shut off is like…it’s like a festering wound that’s getting worse simply by ignoring it. I can go in there and clean it out so you don’t have to—and then—”

“No!” he barked, standing. I hadn’t heard him use that tone since my first week here and it shook me to the core.

But I also knew him far better now than I had then—and I knew that was probably fear and uncertainty talking. It wasn’t coming from a rational place.

Picking up his planner and his phone, he folded the paper and again unclenched his jaw. “You will do what we agreed upon—or you will leave. Those are your two options. You can tell me your final decision this evening.”

Part of me—the defiant part that had risen up when I’d first arrived—wanted to tell him that was fine and that I’d leave immediately. But I hoped he’d think about it and have a rational conversation with me later.

Edna brought my food to the table and looked at me as Sinclair left the room, but he went in the direction of his office and not the garage. Edna’s eyes were filled with so many questions—but both she and I knew we couldn’t talk about them now. They would have to wait until Sinclair was no longer in the mansion.

All morning long, I had to pull myself back from anger. I would be working downstairs, trying to get back into the groove I’d established before, and I’d feel a flash of fury at Sinclair for being so stubborn. If his pain from losing his mother and not really having a relationship with his father had been a physical wound, he’d have had it taken care of long ago.

And that was what the east wing’s second floor represented to me: a pus-filled gash in his mental flesh. He hadn’t cleaned it out or put any healing ointment on it. Instead, he’d simply ignored it as if it didn’t exist.

But it would never get better if he wouldn’t.

I knew, though, that if he refused, that would be the end of it. I couldn’t make him do anything. By lunch time, I’d decided to go ahead and finish what I’d started downstairs, even if I couldn’t talk him into letting me do the same thing in the east wing.

I’d be leaving…so I could only hope that he’d figure it out someday, find a way to move on. Even moving out of the mansion would be a better way to live than how he’d been coping with it—by pretending that a section of the mansion didn’t exist.

I was hungry when I made my way upstairs, having only eaten a few bites at breakfast. When Edna had asked if I didn’t like her hash, I insisted I had, but I hadn’t had an appetite. To assure her, I asked her to save it for me for the next day.

---