Page 6 of Thick and Thin

Edna, sweet as always, was chopping vegetables at the counter, no doubt preparing for the evening meal. “Good morning, dear. Did you enjoy the ballet?”

“I did,” I said, distracted, thinking that the ballet felt like it had been a lifetime ago.

Sinclair hadn’t arrived yet, so I decided to pour a cup of coffee while I waited.

Edna said, “You’ll have to tell me all about it over lunch.”

“I hung the dress in my closet. Is there somewhere else I should put it?”

“That’s as good a place as any. Marco will send someone by sometime this week to pick it up. Did you like wearing it?”

Friday night, the dress had been the least of my worries. With the jewelry and the shoes, the most comfortable dress shoes I’d ever worn, not to mention the makeup and hair, I could have said I’d honestly felt like a million bucks. But letting my mind drift back reminded me exactly how I felt and I was able to answer her question earnestly. “I loved it. I’d thought at first that I’d feel uncomfortable, but it fit well. It was nice.”

“I wish I could have seen you all made up.”

I could have told her I’d taken a picture, but I didn’t. I needed to stay focused. Taking a sip of the coffee, I asked, “How was your weekend, Edna?”

“Shopping on Saturday. Yesterday was an afternoon of nothing but football. My husband is a big football fan, so he starts with the Broncos and then finds other games to fill out the day after that. It’s his only vice, really—and I have him all to myself March through July, so I can’t complain.”

Had I not been so distraught, I might have laughed. Still, Edna was comforting even when she wasn’t making an effort to be. “What do you do while he’s watching?”

“Believe it or not, I’ve found myself getting interested in the game, so much so that I could tell you the difference between an interception and a fumble. I couldn’t care less about the other teams, but I’ve found myself rooting for Denver. It’s hard not to around Sam.”

Sinclair’s entrance was hard to miss, even with my back to the doorway. Although his shoes weren’t noisy, it was as if his presence moved about the air in the room. Edna, however, spotted him and her eyes shifted to focus across the room. “Good morning, Mr. Whittier. How was the ballet?”

“You know how much I love Swan Lake.”

“Indeed I do. Did this performance live up to your expectations?”

“It did.” Setting his planner and phone on the table, he made his way over to where we stood. “But it was a first for Lise, and I think she thoroughly enjoyed herself.”

Swallowing the knot stuck in my throat, I forced myself to talk. “Can I speak with you in private?”

As his brow furrowed, a shadow crossed over his eyes—an expression I hadn’t seen on his face in a while. But it didn’t matter. I had things I needed to say—and I didn’t want to say them in front of Edna. When he spoke, however, his voice was calm and controlled. “Can it wait until after breakfast?”

Of course, it could have—but I wanted to get it over with. My stomach was in knots. “No.”

“Very well. Let’s go to my office.”

As I set down my coffee cup, I tried to force a smile at Edna—but I probably looked to her like a crazy woman. For her part, she gave me a look filled with empathy…and probably more than a touch of curiosity. Although I wouldn’t have cared if Edna heard what I was going to request of Sinclair, I knew my relationship with our shared employer might come to light, and I thought it best to leave her out of it.

When we got to his office, he closed the door. “Have a seat.”

“This won’t take long,” I said, refusing to take a chair.

“Do you need another day off? You look like you’re still not feeling well.”

“I’m fine.” Rather than sitting, Sinclair stood beside me, arching an eyebrow as if it would will me to speak—and it did. “I want to talk to you about my father. I need to take him to his clinic appointment this week.”

“I hadn’t decided if I was going to let you go. I told you I’d send someone to pick your father up and take him. In fact, I can have someone answer to his beck and call if that’s what you’d like.”

“That’s not the problem.” I didn’t quite know the problem, actually, but I had a great imagination and had thought about it all night. “My dad’s been ill for quite some time—and he has good days and bad days. And he doesn’t know what to expect from the clinic. He’s afraid to go by himself.”

“If I send a driver—”

“That driver doesn’t know him. That would still be like going by himself.” I could see the conflict stirring in Sinclair’s eyes…and I was convinced he was going to give in to my demands—so I kept going. “There’s no such thing as an emotional support driver. I am his emotional support. I’m his rock just like he was mine when I was a little girl. If I’m there, he’ll go, even if it’s just for me. Any driver you send will not have that effect on him. It’s not the same.”

“I understand that. But it’s not that simple.” It was clear that he wasn’t listening—and, when I realized that, I was gripped in panic. I could not lose my father. It was bad enough that I hadn’t seen him in months. Sinclair, oblivious to my turmoil, said, “You and I have an agreement—”

---