Sun & Moon - a contemporary romance (The Minstrel Series #1)

by Strauss, Lee

  “She was my first serious girlfriend.” Micah’s voice cracked. “I would’ve married her.”

  His shoulders shook as he gave into weeping. His chin dropped to his chest, and his hair hung over his forehead. Katja felt hot tears pool behind her eyes. She wanted to go to him, comfort him, but she was immobile.

  Micah tugged the cuff of his shirt sleeve and wiped his eyes. “Sometimes I get an anonymous tip that someone thinks they spotted her in this town or that one. It’s why I move around so much. I’m always looking for her.”

  It made sense to Katja now. “You thought I was her, the night you stopped to pick me up.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long are you going to keep looking for her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Statistically Katja knew that a young woman who’d been missing for three years was probably dead. By the stricken look on Micah’s face, she believed he knew that, too.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Micah shrugged. “It’s my fault.”

  “How is it your fault?”

  “If I hadn’t passed out, I would’ve taken her home. She would be safe. She would be…”

  Alive.

  Micah stood, keeping his eyes on Katja. “I don’t want you to go, but you already know that. I understand if you need to leave. You’re welcome to stay if you change your mind.”

  He walked to his room and closed his door.

  Katja dragged her things back to the living room. She’d changed her mind a long time ago.

  Katja awoke once again to the aroma of fresh coffee. Her eyes flickered open, adjusting to the light. Judging by the brightness in the room, she’d slept in.

  Then the events of the previous night exploded in her memory and her eyes widened. She sprung to a sitting position and searched the apartment.

  For him.

  He was sitting at the kitchen table, coffee cup in hand, staring at her. Had he been watching her sleep?

  “Why are you home?” she asked when their eyes met.

  “It’s Saturday.” He lifted his cup. “Coffee?”

  He was freshly showered, hair slicked back with the odd curl escaping to his forehead and his face shaved. He wore the same shirt he’d pulled on in a hurry the night before but it was buttoned closed now. His expression was different: lighter, friendlier. His lips actually pulled up in a slight smile.

  He looked good.

  Katja suddenly felt self-conscious, knowing how she always had crazy bedhead in the morning and probably also had wrinkle imprints on her cheek from her pillow case.

  “Uh, sure. I just need to…” She waved to the bathroom. She pulled her long T down over her butt before standing and moved rapidly. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed her fears. She looked a mess.

  She washed her face and brushed her hair, clipping it back with two barrettes. She heard the espresso machine wail and smiled a little. Micah was making one just for her.

  She put on her jeans and a shirt, and at the last moment a little mascara and lip gloss.

  Her coffee was waiting for her when she returned, but Micah was nowhere. She fought back her disappointment. She took her cup to the window and stared out as she drank. It was a sunny morning, and the park that ran along the river was full of sun seekers, walking and cycling.

  “Would you like to go out?”

  She startled at Micah’s voice. Go out?

  “We could eat breakfast in the park.”

  Katja nodded. “That sounds great.”

  Micah already had buns with meat and cheese made up by the time Katja finished her coffee. He tossed a couple apples into the bag and grabbed two bottles of water.

  Katja smiled. A picnic.

  She slipped into a coat and followed Micah down the stairs and outside. The warmth of the sun on her face was a balm to her soul. She didn’t mind that she still needed a light jacket, so long as she could wear her sunglasses as well. They chose a spot on the grass across the river from the magnificent baroque Semper Opera House.

  Micah spread out a blanket and set the bag of food in the middle. Katja sat across from him and smiled broadly as he handed her half of the meal. They ate in silence, people watching. Katja couldn’t stop herself from sneaking glances at Micah, thankful for the sunglasses that hid her eyes. He brushed the crumbs off his hands and then rested his arms on his knees.

  He cleared his throat. “About last night…”

  “It’s okay,” Katja broke in. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

  “I want to if it’s okay with you. I feel like I need to talk to someone about it.”

  Katja was willing to listen. “Okay.” She put her uneaten food away and sipped from her water bottle.

  Micah rubbed his face. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Would it help if I asked you questions?”

  His eyes cut to hers. “Ask me anything.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “Hamburg.”

  “That’s where you met?”

  Micah nodded. “We went to school together.”

  She knew the story up to Greta’s disappearance. She wanted to know what happened afterward. With Micah.

  “You said you’ve been following tips, moving around the country trying to find her. How many times have you moved in the last three years?”

  “Nine.”

  Nine. Wow.

  “Where were you before Dresden?”

  “Stuttgart.”

  Katja was confused. Micah obviously had money. “How does that work with your job?”

  “My father is a board member of the bank I work for. He pulls strings to get me a new position every time I move.”

  “He must believe in your mission?”

  Micah shook his head and blew out a breath. “No, but he believes in me. Or at least in helping me. I’m grateful for his support, but I know he’d be the first to cheer if I told him I was stopping the quest.”

  Micah lay flat on his back, folding his arms over his lean chest. “My mother is another matter. She’d love for me to forget about my mission completely, and get on with my life.” He chuckled humorlessly. “She doesn’t think any girl is worth this much grief.”

  Katja remembered what Frau Sturm started to say. She looks like…

  “Do we look a lot alike?” The question came out in a whisper. She’d seen the pictures of Greta, but it had to be more than hair and eyes.

  Micah rolled onto his side, leaned on his elbow and stared at her.

  “You do, but not exactly, of course.”

  Katja didn’t understand the emotions that warred within her. She felt strangely jealous. She wanted to know who Micah thought was prettier. Could she be any shallower?

  Micah continued, “Personality-wise, you’re very different.”

  That piqued Katja’s interest. “How so?”

  “Even though you’re both outgoing and like to laugh, you are more introspective and conscientious. You care what people think, even if you don’t want to. Greta is…”

  Katja noticed that Micah talked about Greta in present tense, like he really believed she was still alive. She filled in the blank. “More self-confident?”

  “She had an air about her, like she knew she was special. She didn’t like to do things the way everyone else did. She wasn’t the nicest person, really, but then again, neither was I.” He cringed. “We were perfect for each other that way. Though,” he added after a moment. “I think she was growing bored of me. I couldn’t blame her for that.”

  He lay back and pinched his eyes shut. He looked broken and vulnerable. Katja felt her heart reaching for him, wanting to comfort him, wanting him, and she knew it was a dangerous place for her.

  Even if he returned the feelings Katja was developing for him, how could she know she wouldn’t just be a facsimile for Greta? A stand in?

  She looked away and fought the heaviness building in her chest. She didn’t know what else to say to him. She didn’t have any mo
re questions.

  “I know it’s time to let go,” Micah finally said. “And I want to. I just don’t know how.”

  Katja considered him. “Maybe you need to perform some kind of ceremony.”

  “Like a funeral?”

  “Do you think she’s dead?”

  “For the longest time, I didn’t. Greta was just too strong-willed to let someone else take her life. I know it sounds stupid.” He sighed. “But now, after all this time, I don’t know. If she were alive, she would’ve let someone know by now. She was selfish, but not that selfish.”

  “How about a memorial? Then you don’t have to decide on her fate. She’s just gone. Maybe saying goodbye in an official manner will help you to gain closure.”

  Micah flopped back and stared up at the clouds rolling across the sky. Katja watched the emotions race across his face: fear, sadness, regret.

  “I don’t know if I can do that,” he said. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of sunglasses, and put them on.

  He didn’t want her to see his struggle. He was shutting her out.

  That was fine with Katja. She had no right to Micah or to know what was going on in his head. He said he was ready to let go, but obviously he wasn’t.

  Maybe she should leave? For real, this time. This thing with Micah was getting so complicated.

  But then again, where would she go? She’d have to figure that out first. And she’d need more money than she had right now. She’d go talk to Maurice later today, see if she could book another gig. And there were other places in town. With her job at the café, she should be able to get her own place, or at least find a new roommate.

  How many times had she had this exact thought? What was it about Micah that she just couldn’t seem to leave him? But she would this time. Once she had enough money she’d head to Munich. She’d heard it was a good place for artists.

  Micah removed his glasses and squinted at her. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing,” Katja lied.

  “Please don’t leave.”

  Katja stared at him. Could he read her mind now? “Why not?”

  “I’ll do it. I’ll do the ceremony. Just don’t leave me.”

  After all he’d done for her, the least she could do was support him through this, right? Just a little more time. Then she’d go. For sure.

  Katja stood in front of the locked door and waved Micah over. “We need to start here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your shrine. It has to go.”

  Micah looked stricken, frozen to the spot. Katja sighed. If he couldn’t even tear down the corkboard, how would he ever get through a ceremony? Her heart sank. He was in so deep, she doubted he’d ever get out.

  Her shoulders collapsed as she let out a defeated breath.

  Then Micah said, “I’ll get the key.”

  She stepped aside as he opened the door.

  Shivers ran up her spine as she stared at the board on the back wall. At Greta’s pictures. Some of them were of her smiling and laughing, others showed her in serious thought. A search through the drawers found more photos of Greta and Micah together when they were happy.

  Or seemingly happy.

  Micah moved stiffly, like a robot, pulling out tacks, returning them to the box they’d come from. He piled the photos onto the desk, gently, pausing to stroke the odd one before reluctantly releasing it. All the newspaper clippings reporting on Greta’s disappearance were stacked beside the photos in two neat piles. He rolled the red strands of wool into a clump.

  He turned to Katja. “What should I do with this?”

  “Burn it,” she said without hesitation.

  “Burn it?”

  “If you really want to let go, you have to let go.”

  She picked up the photos and the papers, grabbing the yarn at the last minute, and headed to the kitchen. She dropped the items into the stainless steel sink, fished through a drawer and produced a lighter. She handed it to Micah. “You do it.” She knew it was merely a symbolic gesture, that Micah had digital copies of all these photos somewhere, but it was an important step.

  Micah slowly reached for it. His gaze moved from the lighter to the items in the sink. His hand shook when he lit the corner of the photo on top. He clamped his jaw tight, his expression pushing against a swirl of emotion.

  Katja stood beside him as they watched Greta’s face on the top photo gradually disappear behind a retreating black edge. Slowly the heat enveloped the pile until flames jumped out of the sink, and then the flames receded until the fire died, leaving the basin full of ashes.

  Katja studied Micah, seeing his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “You can cry if you want to,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I’m done crying for her.”

  Katja fished through the cupboards until she found an empty jar under the sink, and handed it to him. “Put the ashes in here.”

  He hesitated, then wiped the inside of the sink with his palms, scooping up the ashes and letting them go into the jar Katja held for him. It took five swipes of the sink to fill it, and when the ashes reached the rim, Katja put the jar down on the table. She returned to turn on the tap, then reached for Micah’s ash covered hands and held them under the stream of warm water. She washed them gently with soap, running her fingers between each of his, taking her time, caressing the tops of his hand and stroking his palms until every sign of ash was gone. It was strangely intimate and Katja felt a blush rush up her neck.

  Micah’s eyes washed over her as she took a towel and dried their hands. “Now what?” he said with a husky voice. The way he looked at her, with such affection and… adoration, yes, adoration, made her tremble.

  She struggled with her own voice. “Let’s go to the bridge.”

  Katja grabbed their jackets off the hooks and handed Micah’s to him. She threaded her arms into hers and wondered as she watched him stand there unmoving, if she was going to have to dress him. Something clicked for him as she buttoned up her coat, and he finally shrugged his on.

  She twisted the cap of the jar tightly, then handed it to Micah. This was his goodbye affair. He needed to carry it.

  The sky was overcast and grey with a cool wind blowing from the north. Katja stuffed her hands in her pockets and kept stride with Micah. He held the jar with both hands close to his chest. The expression on his face was somber, and Katja hoped they were doing the right thing, that this exercise wasn’t about to push him over some sharp, psychological edge.

  They continued walking side by side without talking. The light at the highway was green when they got to the crossing so they didn’t have to break stride. The stone bridge had just a few pedestrians crossing, and they soon came to an empty cut out, the same one Katja often busked in. They leaned over the thick, flat stone edge and spent a few moments looking down at the meandering water that flowed below. A boat lightly occupied with spring tourists motored underneath. Ducks and geese swam near the shoreline, their bottoms bouncing up into the air as they captured their meals. The river’s song was soothing and melodic, perfect for what they were about to do.

  Micah set the jar on the ledge and twisted off the cap.

  “I’m sorry I lost you,” he whispered. He gently turned the jar upside down and watched the ash disappear into the wind. “I’ll see you in Heaven some day, Greta, but until then, goodbye.”

  Katja studied his face as he registered his loss. The ashes were gone. Greta was gone. He blinked a few times and exhaled. Then she saw something she rarely saw on Micah’s face. Relief.

  They stood there in silence for a few moments longer. Katja wondered if Micah had truly turned a corner. If they had turned a corner. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself in response to the spring chill, but the sun felt good. She lifted her sunglasses onto the top of her head and let the rays massage her face. She heard Micah take a long breath and slowly release it.

  “Are you ready to go home?” she asked, swiping at strands of wind
-blown hair and tucking them behind her ear.

  He nodded lightly. “Yeah. And Katja?” He reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. She glanced at their joined palms feeling surprised, but pleased.

  “Yes?”

  His eyes grew warm as he took her in. “Thank you.”

  When the first of June rolled around, Katja insisted she start paying her half of the rent. Again, Micah refused it. She compromised by using only her own money to buy the groceries, which worked out better for her, since the rent on a flat this nice would be out of her budget anyway, even if she paid only half.

  Micah’s mood had improved dramatically since “the ceremony,” and Katja hoped that maybe he could actually get over Greta after all.

  They continued to spend evenings together, walking around Neustadt taking in live music, or staying home watching TV. One evening Pretty Woman, the 1990s movie starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere, came on. Katja opened a bag of chips and poured them each a glass of Coke for the occasion.

  “This is such a great movie,” she said.

  Micah wrinkled his brow. “Isn’t it about a prostitute who falls in love with a rich guy?”

  Katja nearly choked on a chip. She washed it down with the cola, and the bubbles burned up her nose. She coughed.

  “Are you okay?” Micah asked.

  “The rich guy fell in love with the prostitute.” She collapsed on the opposite end of the sofa, her face burning. Was that how Micah saw her? Did he still see her as a prostitute? Even though she never even did anything?

  She felt his eyes sear her. She covered her face. She wanted to run and hide.

  “Would you have?” Micah asked. Again, it was like he could read her mind. “If I’d paid you?”

  He’d forgotten that he had paid her. He just didn’t get anything for his money.

  “What does it matter now?” she snapped.

  He persisted. “But would you have?”

  “Yes!” She glared at him. “Are you happy? You have no idea what it’s like to be starving and cold and alone.” She fought back tears. “It’s just sex.”

  She felt the sofa shimmy as Micah moved closer. He traced her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at him. She shivered at his touch. “It’s never just sex, Katja,” he said. “Not with me.”