84

RICHARD

IN THE HALLWAY, LAURA STOPPED us. She looked up at me, a frown on her face.

“I was listening by the door, Richard.”

“Okay.”

“I heard almost everything.”

I dropped my gaze, hers too intense to meet any longer. “You lied to me. To my family.”

“Yes.”

“So did Katy.”

My head shot up. “Because I made her, Laura. She hated it. She hated the fact she had to lie in the first place, but once she got to know you, she loathed it.” I stepped forward. “She did this to make sure Penny was looked after and had a safe home. She . . . she became so fond of you, of all of you, this ruse ate her up inside.” I gripped the back of my neck, wrenching on the tense muscles. “I think it was the main reason she left. She couldn’t take the lies anymore.”

She stretched up, tugging on my arm. I released the grip on my neck and allowed her to clasp my hand.

“Was it still a lie when she left?”

“No,” I admitted. “I love her. I’m lost without Katy.” I swung my gaze to Graham and back to her. “That’s why I had to tell you. I needed a clean slate, no matter what else happens. I needed you to understand this was all on me.

Not her. If I leave town, and she comes back, I hope you’ll forgive her. She’s going to be all alone.”

Laura smiled. “You’ve grown, Richard. Your first thought now is Katy and her well-being.”

“It should have always been.”

She squeezed my hand. “Find your wife. Tell her the truth. I think you’ll find you aren’t the only one who’s lost.”

My chest constricted. I wanted to believe—to believe she loved me, too. That she ran because she needed to figure out her next step. I needed to find her so she understood she didn’t have to make it alone.

“I want that.”

Graham spoke up. “Then work for it. Earn it. Figure out your personal life. Once you do, we’ll discuss your professional one. As of this moment, you’re on leave until we talk again. You aren’t fired, but your future isn’t set in stone, either.”

“I understand.”

I had expected to be fired instantly. Thrown out of his house. No matter the outcome, or how difficult it would be, a future discussion was more than I deserved.

“Thank you,” I stated sincerely. “I’ll take you home now.”

I followed him to the car reflecting that without Katy there, it wasn’t my home. It was the place where I lived. Wherever she was right now, that was my home. Beside her. I had to find her and bring her back. Then I could call it home again.

After Graham dropped me off, I wandered the condo, unsure where to start. On the coffee table was the file holding all Katy’s color swatches and ideas

for the place. She had added to the list for my bedroom, her little sketches included rearrangement of the furniture and color on the walls. She was talented. I had noticed but had never told her that, though I should have. There were many thoughts I should have shared.

I tossed the file back onto the coffee table. When I got her back, we could discuss whatever changes she wanted to make to our room. She could do whatever she pleased to the entire place, as long as she was there, it was fine.

First, I had to find my wife.

I went to her room, dragging a small file box off her closet shelf. I knew it contained legal documents for her and Penny. I sat down on the chaise and opened the lid, ignoring the sense of guilt. These were her personal things and I felt as if I shouldn’t be looking through them without her permission.

However, I had no choice.

An hour later, I put everything back in the box, my head reeling a little. Katharine was very good at keeping records. For the first time, I understood how close to the edge of poverty she’d been living. How every cent she made went toward Penny and her care. I was able to see how the expenses became greater while her income only increased marginally. She had cut back further and further on her own expenditures—moving to cheaper accommodations, spending as little as she could on everyday necessities. Thinking back to how I treated her at the office, the things she put up with on a daily basis, how I mocked her menial lunches—it all made me squirm. Shame, hot and deep, ran through me as I thought of the things I’d done, the way I’d spoken. How she ever moved past it, and had forgiven me, was a miracle.

I shut the lid. Although I gleaned a bit more insight into her life and her unconditional love of Penny, this box held no clue as to where she might be.

I hauled out the two unopened boxes from the floor of her closet and scoured them for clues. Yet, hours later, I sat back in defeat. They contained

various personal items: school projects, report cards, pieces of bric-a-brac, a few family pictures, and mementos from her teenage years. They were memories that would mean a great deal to her but meant nothing to me, nothing to guide me to her whereabouts.

I repacked the boxes and stood up, weary, but determined. I glanced around the room, then did a sweep of the drawers, shelves, bookcase, and bathroom. I pored over the pictures on the shelves, looked over the small knickknacks, and ran my finger over the book spines. I doubted her choice of literature would give me any clues.

I flicked off the light and went downstairs. I poured a scotch, surprised to see how late it was. I looked around the kitchen but had no appetite to eat. I grabbed an apple, chewing it while sitting at the counter. Thoughts of her in the kitchen, cooking a great meal, floated through my head. I remembered her laughter and how she teased me when I growled about dinner taking too long. “Patience, Richard. All good things come to those who wait,” she said

with a chuckle.

I shut my eyes. I couldn’t be patient when it came to finding Katharine.

I tossed away the half-eaten apple. In the den, I fired up the computer to check for an email from her, not surprised when there wasn’t one. I sipped my scotch, staring around the room. I always liked it when she would come in and sit across from me. I would show her what I was working on, and her comments were always positive and helpful.

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.