Thanksgiving at the Inn by Tim Whitney

Author:Tim Whitney [Whitney, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bancroft Press

By the time Heath and Sally made it home, Winsted had already finished all the chores, and insisted, with a smile, that he was far too busy with dinner to listen to Heath’s apologies. So, with nothing to do before what smelled like another incredible Sunday feast, Heath headed toward his room.

It wasn’t long, though, before the envelope took up residence in his idle mind—the green envelope, perpetually unopened, an apology his dad wouldn’t read but also wouldn’t discard. Dad was still out, doing whatever it was he did all day when he wasn’t writing, but he’d be back soon—not even Dad would miss one of Winsted’s Sunday dinners. So if Heath wanted to check on that envelope, he had to do it fast.

CNN through the door on the left meant Carter was in the TV room, and the fact that he was out of his room at all probably meant Mrs. Farrel was also watching. Winsted’s deep baritone laugh swam up the stairs, and that meant he was probably talking to Sally. Up ahead, Dad’s room was unguarded. With the floorboards quiet beneath his feet—he was starting to learn where to step—Heath walked into the room.

Nothing much had changed. Though Dad had decided he and Heath were staying for a few more weeks at least, he hadn’t made use of the drawers, and shirts and pants covered the suitcases they’d once occupied. The bed was equally cluttered, legal papers strewn across the sheets in a way that probably made sense to Dad, but only to Dad.

And there, beside the laptop, was the green envelope. Heath picked it up. It was still sealed, and Heath wondered if there was any way he could get it open, read the letter, and close it without Dad noticing. Not likely—Heath couldn’t even open a birthday card without ripping too hard and tearing the card along with the envelope.

The thought made him remember the cards from Senior that Dad had hid away. Why? Wasn’t it enough to be a jerk to Heath? Did Dad have to stop someone else from being nice?

The laptop glowed in the dim evening light. Placing the envelope down right where he’d found it, Heath turned toward the screen. He realized that not only was the laptop open and on, but Dad had left open his Word file—the story he was working on, the one he’d read the first line of the other day.

Even that one line hadn’t been finished, Heath remembered. It was finished now.

“Phil always wondered why only he could see the sinner in the saint.” That was the full first line. Moving closer to the screen, Heath kept reading.

“Everywhere he went, the praise was endless, and with the old bastard dead, he didn’t dare contradict it—just grin and bear, grin and bear.”

Old bastard, thought Heath. That’s what Dad had called Senior in Lloyd’s office that day. Phil was Dad, Heath realized, and the “old bastard,” the “sinner in the saint”. . . that was Senior.

“Phil remembered trips

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