Page 43 of Thick and Thin

And she continued. “For maybe a month or so, she was here constantly—and I could tell she was beginning to wear on Mr. Whittier, but it was no longer my place to give advice unless he asked for it…which he often did from time to time, but I knew I didn’t dare say a word in that instance. He finally kicked her to the curb but I’ll be damned if he didn’t have to get a restraining order against her—and I’m fairly certain he settled out of court to give her a huge chunk of change to keep her trap shut and leave the Foundation for good.”

Well, that no doubt explained the non-disclosure agreement Sinclair and his lawyer had asked me to sign when I’d first arrived.

After being lost in my head, Edna patted my hand with her soapy one. “Don’t you worry, dear. He never loved her—or any of the other gals he’s dated.”

Ah…but I didn’t think he loved me either.

So her words offered me no comfort.

Chapter 16

During dinner that night, Sinclair and I didn’t talk, and I wondered if maybe that foreshadowed the beginning of the end.

But, after Edna had left and we were done eating, he said, “I’ve been giving some thought to what you said this morning.”

“About?”

“About the east wing.” He looked up from his folded hands to meet my eyes. “I don’t want any psychoanalysis about what it’s meant or why I’ve closed it off—but you’re right. A home is meant to be lived in. And this home might be so big that I don’t walk in every room every day, but the idea is that I should be able to. With exceptions, of course.”

“Exceptions?”

“Like Greg and his wife. I don’t intend to invade their privacy.” When I nodded, he said, “I’m in my thirties now, so I suppose it’s time to make some changes. Once you finish downstairs, I’ll give you the keys to the east wing and you can do the same thing there—if your offer still stands.” When I nodded, he said, “I’ll have Edna help you. She knows places where we can donate the things we no longer need.”

I felt a little emboldened…so I asked, “Can I also put up some of the family portraits I found downstairs?”

“Put up? Where?”

“Wherever. Not in the gallery, but…maybe in the antechamber, the great room, the library.”

“We’ll see.” His jaw was firm, communicating far more than his words.

This was difficult for him.

Still, I had another question. “And what about the artwork?” I almost asked about the furniture downstairs as well, but I understood why it was there. It was dated and would look out of place anywhere in the mansion now—but I imagined a theater company would love it…or maybe a family who didn’t have much.

“What about it?”

“Um, like the Downey painting. Some of that statuary and many of the paintings should be seen regularly. And the antiques…”

“We’ll see.”

As we headed upstairs to play a game of chess, it washed over me. Not only had Sinclair agreed to let me help him, but I saw now that he was willing to grow and change…and let love back in his heart.

And I took full advantage of that over the next month.

Life wasn’t much different by Thanksgiving. My father had had his second infusion and felt better than he had in years. I was still at the mansion for the most part, wrapping up my work. I’d finally finished work in Sinclair’s so-called dungeon, and Edna had been helping me plan how to get rid of unwanted items. Sinclair and I slept together every night and I felt comforted and loved in his arms, even while knowing it was temporary.

And yet life was so much different by Thanksgiving. I had plans for the items that weren’t being disposed of and had already started changing the look and feel of the antechamber. With the new artwork and addition of the one family portrait with all five Whitters—including too-thin Constance and not-too-happy baby Sinclair—the once-daunting space now felt a little homier. Until I’d finished going through every nook and cranny downstairs, I hadn’t known such a portrait existed.

The warmth of the mansion was even better since I’d done some decorating for the holidays, with mini pumpkins and other autumn décor changing it from a museum-like quality into something much cozier.

After sharing a traditional meal with Sinclair’s family on the actual holiday, I would be driving to Winchester the next day with leftovers, and dad and I would celebrate together. I considered inviting Sinclair as well, but I realized that was a ridiculous notion. There was no sense having him and my father get to know each other better if our families’ paths would no longer cross once I left the mansion.

It felt almost like an existential crisis. On the one hand, being in Sinclair’s arms and bed every night made me feel precious and special; but always, nagging at the back of my mind, was the notion that this wasn’t real. We were playing make believe, pretending that everything was okay when we both knew it was almost over.

And I was dreading the end.

I was comforted by the fact that I would be near my father again and able to help him—although he wasn’t as in need of my help as he’d once been. But part of me still felt like I belonged there. Here I was just pretending.

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