Page 41 of Thick and Thin

But, of course, that had reignited all the questions in her eyes.

I was somewhat surprised that she hadn’t sought me out downstairs long before lunch to talk.

When I got to the kitchen, I could smell delicious foods filling that entire space—bread must have been in the oven and a big pot on the stove held the sweet yet savory smell of butternut squash soup. But Edna was nowhere around. When I called her name—twice—she finally appeared from the pantry. “Sorry, dear. I wasn’t sure when you’d be here…and Mr. Whittier asked me to inventory everything.”

“Inventory?”

“Yes—wanted me to make sure we didn’t have anything expired in the pantry, cupboards, or the freezer. It was a bigger task than I’d thought, and I want to have it done by the time he gets home—but don’t you worry. Lunch is ready just the same.”

“It smells amazing.” If she was hoping filling my stomach would loosen my lips, she might have been on the right track. “Can I help with anything?”

She started to tell me no but then said, “You can get us drinks. I’d love a glass of lemonade.”

“Oh…lemonade?”

“Freshly squeezed. Top shelf in the fridge. Every once in a while I get a hankering. I know it’s a summer drink, but I wanted some now.”

While I filled two glasses for us, I wondered if Sinclair had given her that monumental task just to keep us from talking as much as we might have—and I decided that he definitely had. Of all the things that man was, he was certainly not an idiot.

As I placed the glasses on the table, Edna brought two big bowls with handles full of beautiful creamy orange soup. She asked, “How many rolls would you like, dear?”

“One is fine.”

But, when she returned, she brought a basket of them along with a dish of butter. Oh, did they smell delicious, and, after I’d buttered one and took a bite, I had a sip of soup. “Wow. This is amazing.”

“Thank you. It’s one of Mr. Whittier’s favorites.” Even though I knew a conversation was coming, I wasn’t about to be the one to start it. I decided to let Edna determine how much she wanted to know—based, of course, on what she already did. “He didn’t tell me you’d be leaving.”

I nodded. “My dad needs me.”

“Is the MS getting worse? That’s what the treatments are for?”

“Yes, the treatments are for the MS, but I think they might be working.”

“And Mr. Whittier’s not going to force you to repay him for those repairs?”

Frowning, I stared at the soup for a bit. I didn’t want to affect her opinion of him, so I needed to be careful how I explained it. Mr. Sherwood had tried to influence my feelings about Sinclair—and it had worked for a bit. Unlike me, however, his motive all along had been to manipulate my emotions. “No. He finally has proof that I didn’t do it.”

As she cocked an eyebrow, a smile formed on her face while her spoon stopped moving. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that.” But then she dipped the spoon into her bowl and stirred before scooping up more of the soup. “I have to admit, though, that I’m glad he had it wrong at first. Otherwise, we’d have never met.”

“True.” Unspoken was the admission that we’d both grown very fond of each other. I understood why Sinclair had wanted her to stay even though she was no longer serving the role of nanny. “I’m glad for that as well.”

Again, that phrase echoed in my head: better to have loved and lost…

For a few moments, we simply enjoyed our meal—and I even told her again how good everything tasted, including the not-too-sweet lemonade.

But then Edna said the words I’d been dreading for some time. “How long have you and Sinny been intimate with each other?” I looked up and knew my eyes had to look like they belonged to a trapped animal. “Not that it’s any of my business…but I wondered if you wanted to talk about it.”

Although I didn’t think so…I really did. All my life, I’d gotten pretty good at keeping things to myself, but after having read all of Constance Whittier’s journals, I understood why she’d written them. She couldn’t tell her husband how she felt, nor could she tell the staff. And she didn’t seem to have many friends. The few friends she talked about didn’t seem like friends at all—except for Xavier—and I didn’t know how much of her personal life she’d actually indulged to him.

“For a while, I guess.”

“Did he force himself on you?”

“No. Not at all. It was…mutual.”

Edna let out a long sigh and I suspected there was so much she wanted to say but refrained from. “Do you love him?”

I wasn’t going to lie to this woman—and I was pretty sure she’d already figured it out. “Yes.”

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