Sinclair

Chapter Thirty-Six: Peachy

AN ENTIRE WEEK PASSES by without anything of extreme importance happening. I continue my life in a blur of color and sound and avoidance of all of the issues I'm beginning to unwillingly take notice of. I begin to develop a routine over this unimportant week. I wake up early—at around seven each morning—and I grab my toiletries, tipping my way past Sinclair's office door--moving as soundlessly as I can since he's started sleeping in there--and I take a quick shower that is almost military-like in its precision and quickness. After my shower, I follow the rules for keeping up the bar that Carla has set for me. She asks me to sweep up the bar, wipe down the tables and clean the windows. Typically, Sinclair—who is a fairly light sleeper—won't be able to hear me if I move quietly but every now and then I'll slip up. The bottle of Windex I'm holding might slip out of my hands and land on the worn hardwood floors with a clatter or I'll be thinking too seriously while I'm sweeping and the broom will slip out of my hands and the sound of the wooden handle as it hits the floor will reverberate through the room dramatically and I'll curse myself because right then I'll hear him stir. There will be the sound of Sinclair's feet shuffling across the room as he makes his way to the door, ready to get out of the room and talk to me about what happened between us that night.

Typically whenever this happens, it makes a little hiccup in my schedule because I'll have to drop everything and run straight toward the bar door, swinging it open and dashing toward my car with my tail between my legs. I'll hurry up and put my keys into the ignition of my car, my hands shaking the entire time and I'll speed out of the driveway, watching Sinclair's figure—which will always be standing in the entrance way—grow further and further away. I would drive around for the next thirty minutes, quietly wasting time and listening only to the sound of my car's engine and the heat blasting through the vents and protecting the car from getting too cold. In that time, I tried very hard not to think about the guilt I felt but to be completely honest, it just wouldn't let me go.

I would only return to Carla's once I was sure the bar was too filled for Sinclair to really talk to me. I'd enter the bar and I'd be greeted with the old familiar sight of Carla wiping down the bar top, Sonny and a few of the guys who were on Carla's security detail—those guys had increased in number since the guys who were protecting me were hanging around now, too—all lounging around, shooting darts, playing pool or pestering Carla for a drink or two. The guy who had been shot protecting me—a tall, imposing man who the guys called Canon—had gotten out of the hospital and, despite the fact that I believed he should have been home recovering from escaping death by a hair, he was back to watching out for me along with the other guys on my security detail.

I did everything humanly possible to avoid being alone with Sinclair. Avoiding talking about the elephant in the room was actually fairly easy since Sinclair had been busier than he usually was this week. Per usual, Sinclair never discussed business with me—he was always tight-lipped about a lot of his connections for the fear that I would become afraid of him like the rest of the townspeople—but I'd heard through the grapevine that some of his contacts from the Yakuza were in Red Lake County for the weekend. Red Lake County was a big, industrial city hovering on the border of Virginia and Raleigh. It was a lot like a mixture of New York and North Carolina all at once. Red Lake County had its large buildings, ten story condos, endless paved roads and shopping centers by the dozens and yet, it still had its country roads, an endless abundance of trees, old buildings that have stood there for nearly a hundred years and that kind of quiet you only get in the south.

To be honest, this would explain why Sinclair was never able to catch up to me. He was most likely the kind of tired that came from deep within your bones and reverberated through your entire being. If Sinclair had been moving around with his normal amount of energy, there would be no way for me to escape him. He'd be waiting at my door before I was awake, he'd run after me and catch me before I could make it to my car when I dashed away from him in the mornings. Not only that, but he'd most likely be able to hear me when I first woke up in the mornings. Sinclair had ears that caught even the slightest of sounds. Maybe he was born with that ability or maybe it was something that he had learned to hone after all his years in the slums. Whatever the reason, his hearing was so incredible that it seemed to defy the laws of nature. However, he seemed to be a lot more groggy lately. I honestly wanted to scold him and tell him he needed to take better care of himself but I had to remind myself that I was keeping my distance for a reason.