Page 15 of On Thin Ice

“What was your GPA at Winchester?”

“3.5.”

“What about high school?”

“About the same.”

“Well…why don’t we cross that bridge when we come to it? Complete your application and we’ll see what they say. I’ll have an account set up for you so you’ll have a debit card to pay application fees and we’ll go from there.”

It was time for yet another reality check. “I probably won’t be able to start until the spring semester.”

“That’s perfect. That should give you more than enough time to get prepared for the experience. But you’ll need to be honest about something.”

“What’s that?”

“If two classes wind up being too much for you with work, you’ll want to let me know.”

“Yes, of course,” I said, completely understanding why. After all, we’d already discussed that it shouldn’t interfere with my work.

“If it does, we’ll see about cutting back some of your duties so you can focus on school.”

My smile was genuine, and it nearly split my face in two. “Thank you, Sinclair.”

“Just don’t make me regret it.”

When Edna came back in the room, he said, “Edna, would you mind finding a bottle of champagne? We have something to celebrate.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and bring a flute for yourself as well.”

I would have sworn she was giggling as she walked down the hall to the beverage nook.

“I’m underage. I can’t drink.”

A shadow passed over his eyes again. “I knew that. Damn. How close are you?”

I wasn’t about to answer. “I’ve had a glass of wine here and there with my dad.”

But he got up from the table, storming off. It made me want to cry, because just moments earlier, we were celebrating, having fun…and I’d never felt so close to him. It made me angry and ashamed that he was upset by something I had no control over.

Edna returned with the champagne and three glasses—and I told her, “I’m not having any.”

“I know, dear.”

Sinclair came back in the room, holding a green bottle that looked like alcohol. After opening it, he picked up a champagne flute and began pouring in the clear liquid. “Sparkling grape juice cocktail.” As he handed me the glass, he winked.

My heart nearly melted. He was respecting my wishes while still wanting to include me…and that didn’t seem to be the work of a villain or an enemy.

After all the drinks were poured and we were holding our glasses, Sinclair said, “A toast: when I first met Annalise Miller, she believed in education but not in herself.” Was that true? Suddenly, this toast sounded like yet another way to shame me—but I kept the smile pasted on my face. Still, he’d somehow seen through me if it were true. “You didn’t know what you were going to school for, Lise…you didn’t have a plan. And that’s the worst way to go about anything. I am proud of you now because you know exactly what you want, and you’ve mapped out a plan to get it. That deserves a toast with the finest champagne.”

I hadn’t expected him to turn it around, but he had. And he wasn’t wrong. The only thing I’d wanted when I’d applied at WCC was a way out of Winchester. And it wasn’t a plan—it was desperate hope.

So I happily clinked my glass to theirs and sipped at the sparkling grape juice in my flute, a liquid that didn’t look much different from the champagne in Sinclair and Edna’s glasses. When we finished, Edna hugged me. “I’m proud of you, dear.” Then she picked up our empty glasses and left. By the time she returned, Sinclair and I were seated again, ready to eat. When she returned, he said, “See if Greg and his wife would like to finish off the bubbly, would you?”

“Of course. And…if not, could I take it home?”

Sinclair’s expression went from neutral to devilish. “If you and Sam want to polish it off, feel free.”

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