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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 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.