Page 13 of On Thin Ice

He remained silent, and I didn’t like the vibe I was getting from him. Still, I pushed forward. “And this is my third choice.” My dream school, the one I really would have liked to attend but one I couldn’t afford on my own. It was a prestigious university, one I’d heard of before, so if employers were impressed by names, I’d have that advantage.

But the cost…that was what scared me. It wouldn’t bother Sinclair; I already knew that much. But I also knew he didn’t necessarily have my best interests at heart.

I told him all the things I loved about the school’s online learning approach—how much of the learning seemed less class-like and more akin to entertainment, taking advantage of some of the ways we learned that weren’t fostered in traditional classrooms, not even mentioning the tuition until, at the end of my speech, I said, “But it’s probably cost-prohibitive.”

This time, his sigh was audible, and I got the feeling it was for my benefit. “Lise,” he said, looking up from the print, “is this all you think you’re worth?”

Of all the things I’d expected him to say, that wasn’t it.

And it put me in a bit of a tailspin. What was I worth? If it was the amount I was earning, it was minimum wage, implying I wasn’t worth much. If it was based on what my community thought of me, it was equally dismal. Those thoughts were depressing and likely something I should discuss with a qualified professional—but I had to push it all aside to answer his question while, at the same time, not giving away my position. “Well, no…but it’s not my money to spend.”

“You’re missing the point. I’m asking what you think you’re worth. You’ve got to break out of whatever mindset you’re in. Money does not matter and I want you to stop boxing yourself in. Do you think no more of yourself than to choose a bargain basement college that might not even be accredited—or are you worth the best education money can buy?”

There was something about the way he said it—as if I were a baby bird and his breath pushed against my wings, allowing me to fly for the first time. Those flame-blue eyes told me they believed in me…and so I knew how I had to answer. “The best.”

“Then I suggest you go back to the drawing board. Find one school…the best school. And I expect you to present your decision by Wednesday at dinner.”

He wasn’t going to give me as much time this go round…and I suspected that was probably for the best. When I nodded, he asked, “Would you like to go for a walk?”

I wasn’t sure why I answered, “I thought you’d never ask.”

But I meant it. Every word. And walking beside him on that warm evening, it took everything inside me to not grab him about the shoulders and kiss him for…for what?

For believing in me.

Chapter 6

I hadn’t read any of Sinclair’s mother’s journals in some time, because I’d been so consumed with researching schools. But I’d finally made a decision Monday night and written up a new proposal…for just one school. I didn’t choose it because I thought he’d be pleased, but I thought he would be nonetheless.

Tuesday night after dinner and a walk—something that was becoming a daily ritual with us…turning us into something I might call friends or companions—I curled up in bed with a different journal. This one was light pink with flowers.

What shocked me was how much her tone had changed—but it didn’t take me long to find out why. The second entry said it all.

* * *

I had my appointment today and the doctor said everything seems to be going fine.

I’d hoped I’d have a girl this time, but it’s a boy. And that’s okay. I love little boys—and I’ve heard girls can be harder, so I’m happy!

Of course, Gus still can’t be bothered. And I don’t care anymore. I have this beautiful baby boy growing inside me—and I just know he’s going to be perfect. I love Augie and Warren. They will always have my heart, but they feel like their father’s boys. This baby feels more like ME.

And so, even though Gus has already chosen a name for him, Sinclair Cornelius, I am going to call him Cory. When I speak to him, rubbing my belly, imagining that he can feel my touch through the stretched skin and all that fluid, that’s what I call him.

I love it all the more because I know Gus will hate it…just like he hates when I call him Gus in public.

* * *

I paused…because once or twice, I’d thought of Sinclair as Cory too.

I read almost the entire journal, which was a day-by-day account of the second trimester of her pregnancy, but I fell asleep with a few pages left to go.

That night, I dreamed about him—and, in my dreams, I called him Cory. In there, I saw him as gentle, protective, and loving, much like his mother’s words came across to me.

When I awoke the next morning, I realized something else. Had his mother been in his life for longer, she likely would have had more of an influence on him. But the longer I was here, the more that picture began to fill in…and I suspected much of the man was shaped by his father.

Still, I sensed I could feel something of his mother in him. There was something good inside him. I knew it. And all day long I planned to hold onto that dreamy feeling…that one where he held me and comforted me, where he loved me.

I hoped that foolish emotion wasn’t obvious on my face at breakfast. Fortunately, he was absorbed in his WSJ and Edna wanted to talk to me about decorating for fall. Apparently, there was a room somewhere in this huge building that I hadn’t seen yet, one that held holiday decorations. There were plenty of rooms I hadn’t peeked in yet, but there were only a few that I was dying to open.

---