The Contract

by Melanie Moreland

How had I not noticed how deeply she’d become embedded into my life? When our arrangement first started, the lines were clearly drawn. Bit by bit, they disappeared until they were non-existent. It all became as natural as breathing—me watching her cook, her chatting with me over the desk, sitting beside her while she watched TV, or even the quick kiss she would drop on my head on her way up to bed. It was simply a part of my daily life, just as making sure my door was open so she could hear me snore was something I did without thinking.

  I had fallen in love with her by building one small, new positive habit at a time. She had slowly replaced the bad ones, until they were gone, by simply being her.

  With a groan, I let my head hit the back of my chair.

  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-full, so Penny and I are done by noon every day, and we spen
d 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.

  Sadly, though, I knew he would never change enough to allow my love. That he would never want my love. We had a truce. To his shock, and mine, we became friends. His insults were now teasing, and his dismissive attitude gone. However, I knew that was all I was to him. A friend—a collaborator.

  I sighed as I dug my toes deeper into the cooling sand. I would have to go inside soon. Once the sun set, it grew colder, and I was already a little chilled, even with a jacket on. I knew I would pass another night pacing and rambling around the small cottage. Chances were I would end up back on the beach, bundled up, walking to try to exhaust myself so I could fall into a restless, unsatisfying sleep. Even in my slumber, I couldn’t escape my thoughts. Asleep or awake, they were filled with him.

  Richard.

  My eyes burned as I thought of how he had taken care of me when Penny died. How he acted as though I would shatter like glass if he spoke too loud. When he had carried me to his bed, intent on comforting me, I already knew I had to leave him. I couldn’t hide the love I felt much longer. I couldn’t stand the thought of watching his face morph into that cold, haughty mask he used to cover his true self as he dismissed my confession—because he would.

  Until he could love himself, he could never love anyone. Not even me.

  Impatiently, I brushed the tears away, hugging my knees tight to my chest.

  I had given him the one gift I had left—myself. It was all I had, and in truth, I was being selfish. I wanted to feel him. To have him possess my body and be able to keep that memory as the one I held the tightest. It was still painful to think of, but I knew as time passed, eventually the edges would soften and wilt, and I would be able to smile thinking of the passion. Remembering how his mouth felt on mine. The way our bodies joined perfectly, the warmth of his form surrounding mine, and the way his voice sounded as he groaned out my name.

  Unable to take the barrage of memories, I stifled a sob and stood up, brushing off my jeans. Turning, I stopped, frozen. Standing in the waning light, tall and stern, hands buried in his coat pockets, staring at me, with an unfathomable expression, was Richard.

  RICHARD

  She was too thin again. Even with a jacket on, it was evident. Her appetite had been non-existent after Penny passed, and in the few days we’d been apart, I knew she wasn’t eating. She was suffering as much as me.

  When I arrived at the small cluster of cottages, I parked far enough away I wouldn’t alert her to my presence if she was, indeed, there. Walking onto the beach, I spied her right away, a small, huddled mass on the sand, staring into the horizon. She looked lost and tiny, and the need to go to her, lift her into my arms and refuse to let her go, was strong. I had never felt anything that intense until today. However, I resisted, knowing I needed to approach her cautiously. She had run once, and I didn’t want her running again.

  We stood, staring at each other. I began to head toward her—slow, wary steps, until I was in front of her, inches away. Up close, she looked as ravaged as I felt. Her blue eyes were bloodshot and weary, her skin paler than ever, her hair limp and dull.

  “You left me.”

  “There was no need to stay.”

  I frowned. “No need?”

  “Graham had already waved your probationary period. Penny died. You didn’t need the cover of our marriage anymore.”

  “What did you think I was going to tell people, Katharine?
How did you expect me to explain your sudden disappearance?”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “You always tell me how good you think on your feet, Richard. I assumed you’d tell them I was overwhelmed with losing Penny and went away to clear my head. You could string it along for a while, then tell them we’d been having problems, and I decided not to come back.”

  “So you expected me to blame you. Lay it all at your feet.”

  She swayed slightly. “What would it matter? I wouldn’t contest it.”

  “Of course not. Because you weren’t there.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But it did matter. It does matter to me.”

  Her brow furrowed as she watched me.

  I took a step forward, wanting to be near her. Needing to touch her, worried at how fragile she seemed to be.

  “You left things behind. Things I would think were important to you.”

  “I was going to contact you and ask you to send them—wherever I ended up settling.”

  “You didn’t take your car or bankcard. How were you planning on accessing the rest of your money?”

  She stuck out her stubborn chin. “I took what I earned.”

  “No, you earned so much more, Katharine.”

  Her lips trembled. “Why are you here? H–How did you find me?”

  “I came here for you. A friend suggested I start at the beginning.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Graham told me where to find you.”

  “Graham?” She frowned, looking confused. “How . . . how did he know?”

  “He had a suspicion, and because he listened better than I ever did, he knew the answer was in our home. He told me to look. He refused to tell me. He said I had to figure all this out on my own.”

  “I–I don’t understand.”

  “After you left, I did a lot of thinking. I wallowed some, drank too much, and ran around looking for you. Finally, I realized I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  “Couldn’t do what?”