The Contract (The Contract 1)

“I think I need to take her home.”

Graham stood up. “Of course.”

I bent my head lower. “Are you ready, sweetheart? Or do you want to stay longer?”

She looked up at Graham, her lips quivering. “What is going to happen?”

“My friend, Conrad, will come pick her up. According to Richard, she wanted to be cremated?”

“Yes.”

“He will arrange everything, and we can discuss what sort of service you would like.”

“I want to celebrate her life.”

“We can do that.”

“What about”—she swallowed—“her things?”

“I’ll arrange to have everything packed up and brought to the condo, sweetheart,” I assured her. “Tami said Joey was staying here?”

“The other residents like him—they’ll look after him. I’d like to donate some of her things to the residents who don’t have as much as she did—her clothes and wheelchair, things like that.”

“Okay, I’ll make the arrangements. When you’re ready you can go through everything, and I’ll make sure it happens.”

She was silent, looking at Penny. She nodded. “Okay.”

I stood up, taking her with me. I didn’t like the trembling in her body or the shakiness in her voice. I felt better holding her, and she didn’t protest.

I looked down at Penny, saying my own silent thank you and goodbye. Feeling the burn of emotion in my eyes, I blinked it away. I had to stay strong for Katharine.

“I’ll get the car,” Graham offered, and left the room.

I met Katharine’s gaze, her eyes wide with pain and sadness. A rush of overwhelming tenderness ran through me, and the need to ease her hurt filled my entire being.

I pressed my lips to her forehead, murmuring against her skin. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

She leaned in to my caress, her quiet need touching.

“Are you ready?”

Nodding, she buried her head into my chest, tightening her grip on my jacket.

I strode from the room, knowing both our lives were about to change.

Once again, I had no idea how to cope with it.RICHARD

THE CONDO WAS QUIET. KATHARINE, after another night of silence, had gone to bed. She hadn’t eaten much dinner, barely sipped her wine, and answered my questions with small hums or shakes of her head. I heard her moving around upstairs, the sound of drawers opening and closing, and I knew she was probably rearranging and organizing. She did that when she was upset.

Worry ate away at my nerves; it was something I’d never experienced. I wasn’t used to caring about anyone. I wondered how to help her to feel better, how to help her talk. She needed to talk.

The memorial had been small but special. Since Laura and Graham handled most of the arrangements, it wasn’t surprising. Laura sat with Katharine and helped her pick out some photos, which they placed around the room. Her favorite one of Penny they positioned by the urn that was decorated with wildflowers. There were flowers sent by different people, the largest arrangement came from Katharine and myself. All of Penny’s favorites filled the vase beside her picture; the majority of the flowers were daisies.

Most of the staff from The Gavin Group came to pay their respects. I stood by Katharine, my arm wrapped around her waist, holding her rigid body close to mine, in silent support. I shook hands, accepting the murmured words of condolences; aware of the way her figure shook at times. Some care workers and staff from Golden Oaks attended, and Katharine accepted their hugs and whispered words of shared grief, then always stepped back beside me, as if seeking the shelter of my embrace. There were few of Penny’s friends left to attend—those who did, Katharine gave preferential treatment. She crouched low to speak in hushed tones to those in wheelchairs, made sure the ones with walkers were escorted to a seat quickly, and after the brief ceremony, spent time with them all.

I kept my eye on her and stayed close, worried over the lack of tears and the constant shake of her hands. I had never experienced grief until that day. When my parents died, I had felt nothing except relief after all they put me through. I had been sad when Nana left the house, but it was the sadness of a child. The pain I felt for Penny was a scorching ache in my chest. It welled and spilled over in the strangest of ways. Unshed tears burned in my eyes when I least expected them. When the boxes containing her possessions arrived, I had to stay in the storage room, overcome with an emotion I couldn’t explain. I found myself thinking of our talks, the way her eyes would light up when I mentioned Katharine’s name. Her sweet, funny stories of their life together. My calendar still showed all my Tuesday evenings blocked out with the name Penny across them. Somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to erase them yet. On top of the already strange emotions I felt was the concern for my wife.