The Contract (The Contract 1)

I drummed my fingers restlessly on the desk. She had left her keys and pass, which meant she couldn’t get in the building or condo. I knew she would eventually be in contact with me to ask for the boxes she left behind, and I would insist on seeing her first. My gaze strayed to the shelf in the den, and I realized Penny’s ashes were gone. Wherever she went, she’d taken them—but I knew her well enough to know she would want her pictures and the contents of those boxes upstairs; they contained sentimental items—things she deemed important.

My mind started spinning, working the way it always did when I had a problem. I began to compartmentalize and figure out solutions. I could tell the Gavins she had gone away for a few weeks. That the shock of Penny’s death was too much and she needed a break. I could say I sent her to a warm place to relax and recover. It would buy me some time. When she got in touch, I could convince her to come back and we could figure something out. We could stay married. I’d get her a place close by, and the only time she’d have to see me was when the occasion called for it. I could convince her to do that. I stood up, staring out the window into the dull light. The overcast day was the perfect foil for my mood. I let my thoughts flow, figuring out different scenarios, finally deciding the simplest was the best. I would stick to my original thoughts of her going away. I had her phone. I could send texts to myself and invent enough phone calls, so they would be none the wiser.

Except . . .

My head fell forward. That wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to know where Katy went. I needed to know she was safe. I wanted to talk to her. She was grieving and not thinking straight. She thought she was alone.

I gripped the windowsill, staring out over the city. She was out there, somewhere, and she was on her own. I had to find her. For both our sakes.I returned to my building and pulled into my parking spot, letting my head fall back against the headrest. I had driven everywhere I could think of where she might go. I’d been to the airport, the train station, the bus depot, even car rental places. I’d shown her picture to what felt like hundreds of people but had found nothing. She left her cellphone behind, so I couldn’t try to call her. I knew she had a credit card of her own, and I tried to get in touch with the issuing bank, to see if it was used recently, but was shut down immediately. If I wanted that information, I would have to hire someone. I hadn’t been able to find a clue on my own.

Discouraged, I dragged myself upstairs and flung myself on the sofa, not bothering to turn on the lights. Daylight was fading, the gray of night slowly eating away at the sky.

Where the hell was she?

Anger overtook me, and I grabbed the closest item and flung it at the wall. It exploded, sending shards of glass around the room. I stood, fuming and anxious. I paced around the room, glass crunching under my shoes as I made the circuit. I grabbed a bottle of scotch, twisting off the lid, drinking without a glass. This was why I didn’t allow emotion into my life. It was like a donkey, slow and useless, and it would kick you in the face when you least expected it. My parents never gave a fuck about me, and I had learned to rely on myself. I had let my guard down with Katharine and the bitch had fucked me over. She wanted to be gone? Well, good riddance. She could stay gone. When she finally called for her things, I’d send them along with divorce papers.

I froze, the bottle partway to my mouth. The chasm in my chest that had been threatening to crack open all day, broke. I sat down heavily, no longer interested in the bottle.

She wasn’t a bitch, and I didn’t want her gone. I wanted her here. With me. I wanted her quiet voice asking me questions. Her teasing laughter. The way she would arch an eyebrow at me, and whisper “go fuck yourself, VanRyan.” I wanted her to listen to my ideas, and hear her praise. I sighed, the sound low and sad in the empty room. I wanted to wake up beside her and feel her warmth wrapped around me, the way she had enfolded herself around my dead heart and revived it.

I thought back to our argument a couple weeks ago. The way she tried to convince me love wasn’t such a terrible thing. Had she been feeling something for me? Was it possible? I had dismissed her as being overdramatic—the sadness in her eyes, the weariness of her voice when she told me she was tired of lying, and the guilt that weighed on her. I had insisted we weren’t hurting anyone. Graham got a great employee, Penny had a wonderful care home, Katharine would move on to a better life once this was over, and my life would continue. No one would be the wiser, and no one would suffer.