The Contract (33 page)

I needed her back.

Early the next morning, after another restless night, I carried the boxes from the home up to Katharine’s room. I had put them in the storage room, knowing she wasn’t ready to deal with the contents so soon after Penny’s death. All of her paintings, drawings, and other pieces of artwork were also stored there and would remain so until Katharine decided what to do with them.

The first box contained a lot of knickknacks and mementos that had been scattered around Penny’s room. I carefully repacked it and set the box aside. The next box was all pictures and photo albums. I spent some time poring over the albums, where I saw Penny’s life laid out in black and white images that slowly bled into colored pictures. The last book I opened began when Katharine came into her life—a thin, frightened teenager, whose eyes looked far too old for her face. As I turned the pages, she changed—growing up, filling in, and discovering life once more. I puzzled over the many pictures of them sitting in restaurants, huge tables of smiling faces with them. I grinned at the pictures taken on a beach, Katharine staring off into the sunset as the waves hit the sand, or digging in the sand for clams, a bucket partially full beside her. The album ended two years ago, and I assumed it was when Penny became ill. I recalled some photo albums in the bookcase and resolved to look through those, as well.

Finally, I opened the third box, digging through some well-read books and a few other items. At the bottom was a pile of black books, the pages dog-eared, and the spines well-worn. The front of the books contained only a label with a set of dates written in Penny’s spidery hand. I opened one, scanning the first few pages until I figured out what I was reading.

Penny’s journals. There were ten of them, all documenting different spans of her life. I found the one that corresponded with the year she found Katharine and I started to read.

So many things began to take shape in my mind. I knew her husband was a chef, and now the pictures I had seen made sense. She and Katharine would work with one of Burt’s chef friends, and after the work was done, they would gather and eat together.

My Katy learned a new recipe from Mario today. Watching her work with him made my heart so happy—hearing her laughter and seeing that sadness disappear as she chopped and stirred. It was her marinara that they served at the wedding reception! Mario insisted it was better than his! Tasting it at dinner afterward, I had to agree.

Tonight, my Katy wowed us all with her Beef Wellington. She worked for hours with Sam, and everything we had after the dinner was her creation. Burt would have adored her and been proud. I’m so proud.

A smile pulled at my lips. No wonder she was such a good cook. Professionals had trained her for years, given her one-on-one instruction in exchange for help. I flipped forward to another short entry.

I am taking Katy to the cottage next week! We can stay for free in exchange for some housekeeping duties at the resort. Her eyes lit up so bright when I told her!

Katharine had told me they didn’t have much money, and how Penny always made things that should be work seem fun. That remarkable woman used every trick she had to give Katharine things she couldn’t afford. She showed Katharine by working hard, there was a reward. Like a dinner out for waiting tables, or making beds at a resort, it was a break from the city and memories to share. I looked at the journals scattered around the floor. I knew they held more stories about Penny and her life. I wanted to read them all, but they would have to wait for another time. I had to concentrate on her life with Katharine and hope they gave me a clue.

My Katy loves the beach. She sits for hours, sketching, watching, so at peace. I worry she is alone too much, but she insists this is where she feels happiest. No sounds of the city, not surrounded by people. I must figure out how to bring her back.

I spoke with Scott and we can come back mid-September. I’ll have to take Katy out of school—but I know she’ll catch up fast—she is so smart. The resort isn’t as busy then, the weather is still nice, and he has the cottage free. I will surprise her with the news on her birthday before we leave.

So the entries continued. Posts about the cottage, the beach, Katharine cooking, growing up—a great deal of information, yet not what I needed. I was tempted to call Graham, tell him I thought she was at a cottage, and beg him for the name, yet I expected he would tell me to keep looking.

I shut the book, rubbing my eyes. I had been reading for over eight hours, only moving to flick on the light when clouds began to cover the sun and get some coffee. The one clue I had was the cottage Penny had mentioned going to every year and the owner’s first name: Scott. Unfortunately, there was no last name, or even better, the name of the town or resort where the cottage was located. Reaching down, I grabbed the photo albums that held the pictures of Katharine and their life. I scanned the beach pictures, taking them from the album, convinced they were the same beach but taken on different trips. I couldn’t find any clue in the pictures, and nothing written on the backs to help me. With a heavy sigh, I sagged back on the chaise, staring around the room. For the first time, I wished for some horrid touristy souvenir with the name of a town emblazoned across the front to be on the shelf with her books. Tilting my head to the side, I noticed something odd on the bottom shelf. The last two books had no wording on the spine. They were tall, slim books. I glanced down at the pile of journals scattered around the floor, then back at the bookcase. They were exactly like the worn journals I’d been reading.

I pushed off the chaise and grabbed the books. Katharine kept a journal, or at least she had. I glanced at the dates, flipping from the front to the last page. She had started about a year after coming to live with Penny and these books had lasted her five years. Her journals weren’t as wordy as Penny’s. There were random thoughts, some longer passages, even a few postcards taped inside. They also contained sketches, small images of things she must have loved.

I sent up a small prayer as I opened the first book. I needed a clue, a name, something to help me find her.

Time stopped as I scanned her words. I found I wasn’t able to stop reading. Her brief passages were filled with her essence; it was as if she was in front of me, telling me one of her stories. The depth of her love for Penny, the gratitude she felt for the home and unconditional love given to her by Penny was blatant. She wrote of their adventures, even made the search for bottles and cans sound fun. She described the dinners with Penny’s friends, her love for the different foods, and even jotted recipes on the pages. My breath caught at one passage.

We’re going to the beach next week. Penny has a friend who owns a small resort and she made a deal with him. We’ll clean the cottages daily, and in exchange, we can stay there rent-free for a week! With the two of us, we can get it done in no time and I’ll have most of the day to play! I’m so excited! I haven’t been to the beach since my parents died. I can’t believe she has done this for me!

My heartbeat sped up. This had to be it. Penny had mentioned cottages, and there were pictures of them from the beach. I kept reading.

Our cottage is so pretty! It’s bright blue with white shutters and is right on the end of the row. I can hear the water all day and night! There are only six cottages, and because it’s May, they are only half-f, so Penny and I are done by noon every day, and we spend the rest of the time exploring. I love it here!

Then there was another one a few days later.

I don’t want to go home, but Penny told me we could come back in September. Scott even promised her the same cottage. Another week to look forward to! I’m so lucky—the best birthday gift ever!

My eyes watered with the last entry. A working holiday. That was all they could afford. The same way they could only afford to eat out with the generosity of friends, and yet she felt lucky. I thought of my life of excess. Anything I wanted I could have—even growing up, I was denied nothing material. Yet, I was never satisfied, because the one thing I wanted most, they never provided.

Love.

Penny gave it to Katharine in spades. It made something like a trip together, even if she had to be a housekeeper for a week, special.

I started flipping through the pages faster, searching for entries about the location of the cottages. Near the end of the second book, I struck gold. One of her sketches was an archway with the name
Scott’s Seaside Hideaway.
I grabbed my phone, doing a search on the net for the name.

I found it. The picture on the site was the same archway as in her sketch, and the map indicated it was two hours away. Another picture showed the row of small cottages, the end one hardly visible, except for the blue color.

I looked back at her journal. Under the sketch were the words:

My favorite piece of heaven on earth.

I closed my eyes as relief washed over me.

I had found my wife.

KATHARINE

THE GENTLE SOUNDS OF THE
waves breaking on the shore soothed me. I rested my chin on my knees, trying to lose myself in the beauty of the beach. The gulls flying overhead, the ebb and flow of the moving water, and the utter peace.

Except, I wasn’t peaceful. I felt lost, torn. I was grateful Penny was no longer trapped in a never-ending nightmare of forgotten moments, but I missed her terribly. Her voice, her laughter, the tender way she would cup my cheek, kiss my forehead, tweak my nose, and in her rare moments of clarity, provide her wisdom.

If she were here I could talk to her, tell her what I was feeling, and she would explain it to me. She would tell me what to do next.

I was in love with my husband, a man who wasn’t in love with me. A man who felt love made you weak and couldn’t love himself. He would never be able to see his good traits; the ones he had buried deep inside in order never to be hurt again.

He had changed a lot since that fateful day he asked me to be his pretend fiancée. Gradually, he allowed a gentler, more caring side of himself to emerge. Penny broke through his remaining barriers. She reminded him of a time when he had felt love from another person. Graham Gavin had shown him how to work
with
people, not endlessly compete. He’d proved to him there were good people and he could be part of a positive group. His wife and children showed him a different version of what he believed a family could be. One filled with support and care, not neglect and pain.

I wanted to think I had something to do with his change. That somehow, in some way, I had shown him love was possible. Maybe not with me, but it was an emotion he was capable of giving and receiving. He didn’t give himself enough credit, though.

I wasn’t sure when I realized I had fallen in love with him. The seed might have been planted on our wedding day and it grew every time he shed a bit more of his caustic, hurtful nature. Every real smile and easy laugh watered the sentiment, making it stronger. Each kind act toward Penny, one of the Gavins, or me, had fed the fledgling emotion until it took hold so tight I knew it would never change.

The day Jenna showed up was the day I
knew
I loved him. The headache that plagued him all day, made him unusually vulnerable. He not only allowed my care, he seemed to enjoy it. His teasing had been sweet and funny, bordering on affectionate. When he came to bed, he had shown a different side to his character. His voice had been a low hum in the dark as he comforted me, his apologies rang sincere as he asked for forgiveness for the way he had treated me in the past. Forgiveness I granted—that I had granted days, maybe weeks, before he had asked for it. Then he drew me close and made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t since my parents died. I slept content and warm in his embrace.

The next morning, I had seen yet another side—his sexy, funny side. The way he reacted to waking up entwined together; the amusing way he ordered Jenna out of the room, kissing me until I was breathless. His passion simmered below the surface, his voice low and raspy from sleep. His comment about expanding our boundaries made my heart race, and I knew for the first time in my life, I was falling in love.