A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska) (9 page)

“Is that all you have to say? I haven’t seen you in eight years and all you want to do is bust my balls? If so, you can take yourself right back out the door. I’ve got enough on my plate than listening to a pup like you give me
what for.
I screwed up. Sure, I know that. What about you? I raised you to stand up and all you did was run away, so don’t sit there and lecture me about doing what’s right. Because you sure as hell didn’t. You split the minute things got hard. And don’t you try to deny it. Maybe we all needed to stick together. Who knows? Too late now.”

“I had a job opportunity,” Wade shot back, refusing to take that on. “What was I supposed to do? Give up on my dreams because we had a tragedy in the family? I was trying to hold my life together, too.”

Zed shrugged. “Well, I guess we’ve all got reasons for acting the way we did.”

Yeah, that was probably true, but Wade didn’t like the way Zed made his statement. Somehow it made Wade feel guilty. And he had nothing to feel guilty over. “If we don’t get the house cleaned up, she’s never going to be able to move home. Trace is spending some of his money that he got from that reality show to hire a team of professionals to go in and clean. And they’re likely to throw everything away because it’s all ruined. You okay with that?”

“I guess I have to be. You do whatever you need to do to help your mom. She needs you.”

“She
needs
her husband. She needs the man she married to stop hiding behind excuses and take control of the situation.”

“You’re delusional if you thought I was in control of anything when it concerns your mom. Your mom was always the boss so what makes you think I can stop her from doing anything that she wants? She fixed up that room to remember Simone. I didn’t see the harm in it. By the time I realized she was spending too much time in there and everything else was going to hell, it was too late. It was like trying to stop a train that’d already jumped the track. When that happens, the wreck is imminent.”

“Yeah, but at least you can check for survivors. You don’t just leave the scene and wipe your hands. I don’t care what you say, Dad. You screwed up. You abandoned us. Worse, you abandoned Mom. And I’m not letting you off the hook on that.”

“If that’s the way you feel, then so be it. I got my reasons and they’re my own.”

They could go on all day arguing like this. Neither would back down nor concede to the other. Both were stubborn and assured of their own position. Wade supposed there was only one thing left to say and he didn’t mince words. “I’m disappointed in you, Dad. I never thought in a million years I’d say that to you. I never thought that this kind of situation would ever touch my family but here we are. So while you’re in here licking your wounds and coddling yourself, I’ll be out here taking care of your family. If you’re all right with that, then you’re definitely not the man who raised me.”

The only indication that Wade’s statement had touched Zed at all was the subtle tremble of his bottom lip, but he said nothing. Zed ducked his head as if accepting Wade’s opinion and signaled to the guard. “I think my son and I have said all that needs to be said. I’m ready to go back to my cell.”

The metal chair scraped against the tile floor as Zed rose and allowed the guard to lead him from the room. Wade watched him go, a burn in his chest spreading throughout his body as he realized his hero was dead. The visit hadn’t gone as he’d hoped but it’d gone as he’d expected. Childish tears welled in his eyes but he wouldn’t let them fall. He wouldn’t cry for that man. He wouldn’t waste a single tear.

As he left the building, he fought the urge to run. He could be on a plane and flying home within a few hours. Miranda and Trace could handle this. But even as he leaned dangerously close to making that decision, he knew he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t abandon his family like that again. He wouldn’t give that man the opportunity to say that he had run away. Not this time. He’d been wrong to leave the first time—he saw that now. There was nothing he could do about the past but he could do something about the present.
So buck up,
he told himself.
You’re going to see this through. Your family needs you and you will be the man that your father couldn’t be
.

It wasn’t until he was halfway to his hotel room that he realized his cheeks were wet after all. Some pain just wouldn’t stay down, no matter how hard you tried to stuff it in a private place.

CHAPTER TEN

M
ORGAN
SETTLED
IN
the uncomfortable chair across from Jennelle Sinclair and turned on her recorder. Later, she would transcribe her notes and she didn’t want to miss anything important. “Jennelle, let’s talk about how you feel today.”

Jennelle sighed, as if irritated by the entire process and shrugged. “How
should
I feel today? Well, let’s see, I’ve been tossed from my home, my children have betrayed me and my husband is a criminal. I’d say I’m feeling pretty low. And how are you today?”

Morgan ignored the bite in Jennelle’s voice. “Well, I think we can address some of those issues if we work together. As for how I’m feeling, I’m feeling fairly well. Thank you.” That was a complete lie. She was actually rattled today but she’d made a successful career out of pushing her own feelings aside and focusing on the feelings of others and today would be no different. The fact was, she was still upset at her sister, Mona, for bringing home Wade Sinclair. And the fact that she was bothered, bothered her. She shouldn’t care. Wade was the son of her client. She never crossed those kinds of boundaries—ever. And yet here she was, suffering the pangs of jealousy. She forced a smile. “How are you feeling healthwise?”

“As good as can be expected for a woman who’s just gone through open-heart surgery, I suppose. But what does it matter? My heart is broken and I’m not sure the surgeons could do much more damage, anyway.”

The surgeon saved her life but Jennelle wasn’t about to recognize that fact in her current frame of mind so Morgan let it go. “Let’s talk about your home, shall we?”

Jennelle’s expression shuttered so quickly Morgan thought she heard the slam echoing in the room. “What is there to say? Apparently, my home doesn’t belong to me any longer.”

“That’s not true. It’s still your home, and we want to do our best to return you to it. But you have to understand that your children are very concerned—rightfully so—and you cannot return to the home the way that it is now. But let’s not focus on that right this second. Let’s talk about what your home meant to you when all four of your children were alive. Talk to me about Jennelle as the mother and the homemaker. What was it like then?”

Jennelle startled at the question, caught off guard by her request. And that was the point. Morgan needed Jennelle to start talking so they could reach those painful places through back doors if needed, and the best way to do that was to go before the trauma, back when things were good.

“Why do you want to know? Everyone keeps telling me we can’t live in the past. They’ve accused me of living in the past and now you want me to go there?”

“This is just you and me, talking. Woman to woman. I want to know you as a person, not a patient. Can we do that?”

“I suppose.” Jennelle looked away, focusing her gaze on that scene outside her window, but it was several moments before she started talking and when she did, Morgan could hear the wistfulness in her tone. “It was an active house,” she began, halting as if afraid of touching on those memories. Morgan maintained a respectful silence, waiting for Jennelle to continue. A slow breath rattled out of Jennelle as she slowly continued, dragging the memories from her locked box. “There was always something going on. Between sports, school activities, clubs and organizations, Zed’s carving business, there was never a moment in our house that wasn’t filled with life.” Jennelle stopped as if buffeted by the echo of the past, and when she started talking again there was a subtle tremble to her voice. “So much love. Do you have children?” Morgan shook her head, and Jennelle sighed. “There’s nothing like the energy of children to fill a house with love. I have always wanted kids. Back in my day it was perfectly acceptable to be a homemaker. Nowadays, it’s almost a bad word. But I liked keeping a home. We grew our own fresh vegetables and fruits, Zed and the kids hunted in the mountains for fresh meat and we had plenty to keep everyone busy. Life was good.”

“Tell me about your children, such as their individual personalities and what made them stand out.”

“Oh, that was so long ago, I don’t remember.” Morgan knew the opposite was true. Jennelle remembered quite clearly who her children were. She was having a hard time reconciling who her children were back then and who they were now. Jennelle shifted in discomfort. “I don’t understand the point of this. How is this going to put me back in my house?”

Morgan straightened, ignoring the pinch in her back and said, “Generally, people who hoard have emotional trauma in common. We’re trying to get at the root of that pain and if we’re able to do that, I think we can heal the wound causing you to hold on to things that you should let go.”

“I don’t understand why everyone else has to determine what I should and shouldn’t hold on to. It’s my life and my business.”

“Yes, it is. However, when your safety became an issue then that’s when outside forces had to come in and evaluate. Your children love you very much and they’re worried about you. You are their mother and at one time I suspect you were all very close. I want to see that happen again. In spite of the hurt on all sides, healing is possible.”

“You’ve never known the pain of a betrayal by your own flesh and blood,” Jennelle said, dismissing Morgan’s assurances. “It’s a pain so deep, it can never heal.”

Morgan knew better than to openly disagree, particularly when a patient was hell-bent on seeing things their way, but Morgan felt bad for Wade and his siblings. Jennelle was being intractable in her thinking. It was still early in the therapy but Morgan worried that Jennelle was so far deep in her grief that she was blind to the damage she was doing. Frankly, they all probably needed therapy at this point.

“Share with me a treasured memory,” Morgan suggested. “Something when the kids were young perhaps.”

“This is nonsense and a waste of time.”

“Humor me. I enjoy hearing family stories.”

Jennelle shrugged and said, “Well, it’s not my dime you’re wasting so, here goes nothing. The one memory that stands out more than the rest is blueberry season. We used to go picking blueberries in late July. Zed loves blueberry jam so we’d take a picnic and go fill our buckets with all the blueberries we could carry. I’d make pies and jam and cobbler and whatever we couldn’t eat we would freeze for later. I could always tell when the kids were sneaking blueberries out of the bucket because their teeth were stained purple. But I didn’t mind. I acted like I did but I really didn’t. They were rascals, all of them. Zed was no different. In fact, I think he encouraged them to get into mischief because he thought it was funny. And sometimes it was.”

“Sounds like one big, happy, loving family. Did you pass on your recipes to your girls?”

“I tried. But Miranda was such a tomboy she never wanted to be in the kitchen with me and Simone was such a social butterfly that she wanted to spend more time with her friends than learn how to cook. In fact, the only one who really wanted to learn my recipes was Trace’s high school girlfriend, Delainey. I taught her how to make my strawberry jam.”

“That was very sweet of you.”

“I suppose. At least it wasn’t wasted effort. Trace and Delainey just recently got married.”

“Oh? I hadn’t heard.”

“Of course not. They ran off and did a quickie wedding at the courthouse. I guess they didn’t want any family or friends around when they tied the knot. Pretty selfish, if you ask me.”

“Or perhaps they felt they’d waited long enough? As I recall, they broke up and only recently got back together?”

Jennelle only sniffed in response. Boy, Jennelle was a tough nut to crack. She could only imagine how frustrated her children were.

Morgan drew a deep breath and followed with a smile. “At any rate, it must be nice to keep the recipe in the family. Now Delainey can teach any children they might have and keep the tradition alive.”

At the mention of potential grandchildren, Jennelle softened ever so slightly. “That would be nice.”
Ah, a subtle crack in her armor.
Jennelle examined a cuticle and then admitted, “It’d be nice to have more grandkids. I always envisioned my house filled with them. Things just didn’t work out that way.”

“No, but they could still,” Morgan said. “Your children are still young enough to give you plenty of grandchildren.”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you have a good relationship with Miranda’s son?”

“As good as can be expected. She prefers that he spend all his spare time with his other grandmother. That Yupik woman.”

Ouch. Another painful topic, apparently.
Morgan made a note and steered the conversation back to safer ground. “So Miranda was a tomboy and Simone was very social. What were the boys like?”

“Boys are boys. They liked dirt and bugs and hanging out with their father. They were always tracking and killing something. I always said boys were like a big cloud of dirt with legs.”

Morgan caught the subtle smile before Jennelle could smother it, and Morgan capitalized on it. “Your boys turned out really well. I’m sure you’re very proud of them.”

“I was. Until they betrayed me.”

“Here’s something to consider—what if they didn’t actually betray you but in the ultimate act of love made a difficult choice to protect their mother?”

“I suppose everyone can choose to look at a situation however they want. Doesn’t change the facts.”

“Correct. Facts are facts. And if we look at the facts in your case, you nearly died in your house. Yes?”

Jennelle looked away, stubborn as hell. “I’m tired. Are we done for the day?”

And just like that, Morgan lost her. “Of course,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll be back tomorrow, same time.”

“I guess I can’t stop you while I’m stuck in this bed.”

Morgan gathered her things and rose. “I just want to say that although you may disagree, I feel you and your husband did a very good job in raising your children. And I feel confident we can fix what is broken between you all.”

“We’ll see.”

Morgan left it at that. Jennelle wasn’t in the mood to hear anything else and Morgan had enough experience to know when a patient had reached their limit.

Morgan exited the room and nearly ran into Wade. Mentally in her own world, she was completely startled and dropped everything in her hands, scattering notes and her recorder, grimacing when it shattered. “Crap!” she muttered, bending to pick up the pieces.

“Here, let me help you,” Wade offered, bending, as well.

She was so embarrassed that she didn’t protest, and when he handed her the pieces of her recorder she smiled briefly, too thrown off her game to react appropriately. Images from her imagination assaulted her brain and she was momentarily too flustered to speak.

“Are you okay?” Wade asked, concerned.

She flashed him a quick smile and tried to keep moving. “Yes, thank you,” she answered brightly. “I’m fine. Nice to see you!” And then she hustled away from him as if the devil were on her heels.

By the time she reached her car, she was breathing heavily and feeling like an idiot.

Even worse? Her gaze strayed to the broken bits of her recorder and realized she’d have to try and remember everything Jennelle had said but her mind had gone blank.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered.

She needed to get her head on straight. And that meant no more allowing any inappropriate mental images of Wade Sinclair.