Page 32 of On Thin Ice

“I haven’t made a decision yet. I’m considering letting you go down there for that—and if you don’t feel comfortable driving from Denver to Winchester, I can arrange for you to have a driver.”

While I appreciated all he was saying…I was trying not to cry at how distant he was behaving.

Like nothing had happened between us the night before.

But my brain caught on something—something big. He was actually thinking about letting me drive from Denver to Winchester. Surely that meant he trusted me.

Maybe that meant he cared.

Still, I wasn’t sure how to act, so I chose to mimic his tone and facial expression. “Thank you. When will you let me know?”

“Soon.” Finally, his eyes seemed to soften—but I still didn’t trust it. “How are you feeling?”

This was closer to the man who’d held me last night—caring and comforting. “Better.”

He gave me a short nod. “Can I get you anything?”

Yes: an inkling that I matter! Instead, I said, “No, I’m okay.”

“Have a good night, Lise.” He walked to the door and the sound of it closing behind him was as loud as the sound of my shattering heart.

After I had a good long cry, I took a shower and started to feel much better. The tissue under my eyes was swollen and puffy and it looked like I was wearing red eyeliner, but emotionally I was steadier. His recent rejection still hurt but I knew I was strong—and I would always resent him for taking my virginity, but I was strong. It wasn’t much different from how I’d been treated by a good lot of the kids growing up.

But it reminded me of a friend I’d had in middle school, a girl named Ashley. She and her mom had moved to Winchester from Colorado Springs to care for her grandmother. Ashley and I became close, and I told her much about my history. But it wasn’t long before she looked at the other side of the proverbial coin, realizing I was the town pariah and she didn’t want to be guilty by association—and, after that, she treated me even worse than most kids.

Those wounds cut deeper because I’d let her in. I’d let her get close. I’d told her my secrets. And when she bothered to look at me or talk to me, she used my words and fears against me.

And I’d vowed to never let anyone get close again.

So even though I had a couple of friends in high school, I kept our relationships superficial, because I didn’t know who to trust. Still, it was nice to have someone to eat lunch with and study with.

I told my journal all the things I couldn’t even tell my dad…until now. I’d allowed myself to trust someone completely, to let him inside, and he’d let me know tonight that I didn’t mean a thing to him.

It was a reminder that I had to protect myself.

But thinking about journals reminded me that I wanted to read more of Sinclair’s mother’s writings. I suspected—no, I knew—he had to be the way he was because of how he was raised…and I wished he’d had a chance to know his mother. Through her words, I could feel who she was—and she was not a cold, cruel, heartless person, although I suspected she’d been married to one.

Fortunately, I hadn’t had to meet the eldest Whittier. I already despised the man.

And I knew it for certain: if he’d treated his children the way he treated his wife…no wonder Sinclair was the way he was. I’d only survived because of my father’s love for me. It was deep and unconditional.

Tears filled my eyes again. I missed him so much.

Swiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand, I sat on the bed and became absorbed in reading the journal, the one that chronicled Sinclair’s growth inside her belly. It was almost boring with its minute detail of how her body was changing—but there was one entry that caught my attention.

* * *

I heard from Xavier for the first time in a long time today. He’s in New York at the moment but he’s planned a trip to Spain, still in search of rare, undiscovered paintings. He’s convinced he’ll find gold.

I didn’t tell him about my pregnancy. If he’d come to see me, it would be hard to deny it. I was starting to show and it was all in my belly. But what would he say?

I wouldn’t want to hear it. He left in a hurry all those months ago and, as much as I enjoyed talking to him, his absence hurt. All those unspoken words.

* * *

I read through the rest of the journal, hoping to find more about this mysterious Xavier person, but there was nothing. Instead, it ended abruptly, not long after that entry.

I only had two more journals left. The one I chose had a light purple glittery cover and, when I read the date of the first entry, I understood that this journal was started about a year before the pregnancy one—and, as I kept reading, I realized this journal came right after the red one, the one I’d read first.

---