The Contract

by Melanie Moreland

  “Is that how you afford your lifestyle?”

  “Not really. I rarely dip into my holdings. I used it for important things, like to buy this place and to pay for my education. I never wanted the life my parents had—frivolous and wasteful. I enjoy working and knowing I can survive on my own. I am beholden to no one.”

  “Is that what you’re using to pay me?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the slight dampness of stress lingering. “I consider you important, yes.”

  Again, she bowed her head, her hair falling forward and covering her face. I sat down beside her, and faced her straight on.

  “Hey. Look at me.”

  She lifted her face. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes wide, and her hands clutched the cushions of the sofa so hard her knuckles were white.

  “Why are you this upset?”

  “You expect me to remain calm after hearing how neglected you were your entire life?”

  I shrugged. “It’s the past, Katharine. I told you it wasn’t pretty. Still, it doesn’t concern the here and now.”

  “I disagree. I think it does, Richard.”

  I shook my head. “Nothing will change because I told you my story.”

  “Perhaps not for you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No, I’m not surprised.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It explains a lot to me. Why you are the way you are when you interact with people. Why you don’t get close to anyone in your life. And why you don’t let people in.”

  I glared. “Don’t start to analyze me.”

  “I’m not. I’m stating what I think, that’s all.”

  “I don’t want your tears, or your sympathy.”

  “That’s too bad, Richard—because you have them both. Your parents were horrible people, and you—no child—deserves to be mistreated or ignored.” She smiled sadly. “But you choose the way to live your life now. You think you’ve let go of the past, but you haven’t. The way you see the world, the way you treat people is colored by how you were treated.” She stood, brushing her cheeks. “If you let yourself try, I think you’d discover people aren’t always as horrid as you think we are. Some of us are actually worthy.”

  Her words stopped me cold. “I don’t think you’re horrid, Katharine—quite the opposite, in fact. I’m the despicable person.”

  “No, Richard. You aren’t despicable. I think you’re lost. You haven’t let yourself feel. Once you do, once you allow yourself to connect to someone, I think you’ll find this world is a much better place. Love doesn’t make you weak. Real, honest love—it makes you strong.”

  With those words, she bent down and brushed a kiss on my cheek. I felt the evidence of her sadness on my skin, the wetness of her tears lingering.

  “Thank you for telling me. And, for the record, I don’t think you’re anything like your father. You only think so because you don’t know any other way. I think, if you try, you could be a great man.”

  She turned and left the room, leaving me with much to think about.

  RICHARD

  I WAS UNSURE WHAT TO do with myself after the conversation with Katharine. Her words kept echoing in my head, making me question the truths I held onto for all these years. I felt drained, and I needed to stop the barrage of thoughts, so I changed, hitting my gym. I pushed myself hard, showered, then headed straight to my den. I expected Katharine to approach me wanting to continue the conversation, which I hoped to avoid, but she was busy in the kitchen, not bothering to look my way as I went past.

  Waiting on my desk was a plate of sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. I stared at the offering for a moment, then with a shrug, dug in as I lost myself in the files I had brought home. It wasn’t until early evening I saw her again.

  “Dinner is ready, if you’re hungry.”

  I looked up, squinting.

  “Richard, you need some light.” She crossed over, snapping on my desk lamp. She shook her head. “And maybe a pair of reading glasses. I’ve been noticing how close you hold things to your face to read.”

  I looked down, realizing she was right.

  “I’ll make an appointment for you,” she offered, a grin tugging on her lips. “I doubt that falls under your assistant’s job listing, either.”

  I had to chuckle, even as I rolled my eyes. When I met with Amy on Friday, listing out my expectations, she had surprised me with her own list. PAs at The Gavin Group were a vastly different species than at Anderson Inc. She was there to provide back up, keep me organized, and even, on occasion, fetch me lunch, but she was not there to make me coffee, toast a bagel, or pick up my dry cleaning. To say I was put in my place would be an understatement. She was kind enough to show me the large employee lounge, how to use the coffee machine, and where I could find the bagels and other assorted foods Graham kept on hand for his staff.

  Katharine had to leave the room to hide her laughter when I told her the story.

  “It’s not funny!” I yelled after her.

  “Oh, but it is.” Her dry reply drifted down the hall.

  I had to admit, she was right. In retrospect, it didn’t kill me to get up and grab a coffee. It was a good way to stretch my legs. I had a sense Amy would be skimpy with the cream cheese on my bagel, anyway. Katharine always piled it on the way I liked it.

  “Christ, I’m getting old,” I grumbled. “Reading glasses.”

  She laughed. “Yes, thirty-two is ancient. You’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ll make them look good.”

  I quirked my eyebrow at her. “Oh yeah? Are you saying I’ll look even sexier wearing glasses?”

  “I’m saying nothing. Your ego is big enough. Dinner is in the kitchen if you want it.”

  With a snicker, I switched off the light, following her to the kitchen, still wary. Some of my clearest memories of my childhood were of my parents’ constant disagreements. My mother was like a dog with a bone, refusing to give an inch. She would harp away at my father who would eventually explode. I was worried Katharine would attempt to pick up the threads of our earlier conversation, but she said nothing. Instead, as we were eating she slid a paint chip my way.

  “What do you think?”

  I studied the greenish color. “A bit feminine for my taste.”

  “It’s for my room.”

  “If you like it, then go for it.”

  She slid another one to me, and I picked it up. The deep claret hue was strong and vibrant. I liked it. “For?”

  “I thought the wall around the fireplace. To anchor the room.”

  Anchor the room? What the hell did that mean?

  “Just the one wall?”

  “I thought I’d paint the others a deep cream.”

  I could live with that. “Fine.”

  A swatch of material appeared next. It was tweed with the same claret color woven in it and the deep brown of the sofas. “What is this for?”

  “A couple chairs for the room.”

  “I like my furniture.”

  “I do, too. It’s quite comfortable. I thought I would add to it; change it up a little. They would look nice by the fireplace.”

  “What else?”

  “A few pillows, some other touches. Nothing major.”

  “No frills or girly shit out here. Do what you want in your room.”

  She grinned. “No girly shit. I promise.”

  “Who is doing the painting?”

  “What?”

  “Who did you hire?”

  “I’m doing it.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  I turned in my chair, indicating the vast space. “These walls are twelve feet tall, Katharine. I don’t want you on a ladder.”

  “My room has regular height ceilings. I like to paint. Penny and I did it together, and I’m pretty good at it.”

  I tapped the top of the counter with one of the paint chips. How could I make her understand she didn’t have to do these things anymore? I
kept my voice patient as I tried again. “You don’t have to paint it. I’ll pay to have it done.”

  “But I like doing it. I’ll be careful.”

  “I’ll make you a deal. Paint your room, and we’ll discuss this one when it’s time.”

  “Okay.”

  Another swatch of material caught my eye. Leaning over, I picked it up, fingering the thickness of the weave. Bold navy and brilliant green plaid woven on a rich background. I held it up, studying it. It didn’t look like something for either room.

  “Do you like that?”

  “I do. It’s striking. What’s it for?”

  She looked down at the table, color bleeding and gathering under her skin.

  “What?”

  “I thought maybe you might want your room done when I finished the others. I saw it and it reminded me of you.”

  “I look like plaid?”

  “No,” she answered with a small laugh. “The colors, they’re like your eyes. The green and the blue mixing together—such an amazing combination.”

  I had no response, but for some reason, I felt as if I was the one blushing now. I pushed the swatch her way and stood. “We’ll see how the rest comes out. Anything else?”

  “I, ah, I need to move my clothes in the closet. I don’t want paint getting on them.”

  “My closet is massive. I don’t even use half of it. Hang your stuff in there. There are some really high rods—your dresses can go there.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  I inclined my head and went back to the den. I mulled over the conversation in my head, chuckling when I realized how domestic the whole thing seemed. Discussing paint chips and material over dinner with my wife. I should have hated it.

  Yet, somehow, I didn’t.

  Thunder rolled, and the clouds hung low and heavy overhead. I turned my chair, gazing outside into the darkened skies of the late afternoon. Grimacing, I rubbed the back of my neck, recognizing the telltale signs of a headache. They were rare, but I knew the beginnings of them well—the unexpected storm the determining factor.

  The office was calm that afternoon, the usual hum of activity absent. Adrian had left on a last-minute business trip, Adam was with clients, and Jenna was out of the office. Graham had whisked Laura away for a surprise weekend, and the rest of the staff was busy within their own spaces.

  In the time I had been at The Gavin Group, I discovered a completely new atmosphere in the business world. The energy was still high, the place buzzed with voices, meetings, and strategies, but it was a different sort of energy than had been at Anderson Inc. It was positive, almost nurturing. As Graham told me, they worked together as a team: administrators, PAs, designers—everyone was involved and treated equally. Amy was as important of an asset as I was. It took some getting used to, but I was beginning to acclimate myself.

  With a sigh, I realized I was acclimatizing myself in other ways. Before Katharine, I worked late nights, attended many business dinners, and dated a lot of women. When I was at the condo, I used the gym, watched the occasional TV program, and entered the kitchen only to grab a coffee or a plate for the evening’s takeout dinner. Otherwise, I spent the time in the den working or reading. Seldom did I have company; and it was rare I brought a woman home. My condo was my private space. If needed, either we went to her place, or I rented a hotel room. The rare time my relationships lasted longer than a few dates, I invited them over for dinner, but they went home at the end of the evening, and they never made it up the staircase.

  Now, business dinners I attended, Katharine was on my arm, and the table filled with my colleagues, their spouses, and of course, the Gavin family.

  One such dinner, I’d looked up, meeting the frosty glare of David across the room.

  I knew David had heard of my marriage, and my name was not to be spoken in the hallowed halls of Anderson Inc. I found his anger entertaining. I tightened my hand on Katharine’s shoulder, causing her to look up at me.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “David,” I muttered.

  She stole a glance his way, turning toward me. “I think I need a kiss now.”

  “You read my mind.”

  With a wicked smile, I lowered my head. Her fingers threaded into the back of my hair as she tugged me close, pressing her mouth to mine. It was hard, deep, and far too short; enough to anger David even further, but not embarrass Graham. When we broke apart, Jenna was giggling, and David was headed for the exit. I dropped another kiss on Katharine’s lips.

  “Well done.”

  Most evenings, I ate dinner with Katharine and found myself talking about my day, sharing my projects with her, wanting to hear her thoughts. She knew me better than anyone at the office, and often she came up with a word or a concept I hadn’t considered. Instead of sitting in the den, I often brought my laptop into the living room, working while she watched TV or read. I found I liked her quiet company.

  Twice, we had Adrian and Jenna over for dinner, using the new table that now resided in the once empty space. Katharine assured me it was what a normal couple did—they socialized with other couples. I discovered a very competitive side to her when Jenna announced she’d brought some board games over for after dinner. I’d rolled my eyes at the thought of game night yet found myself enjoying the camaraderie of it. Adrian and I beat them at Trivial Pursuit, but they wiped the table with us on Pictionary and Scrabble. After a couple glasses of wine, Katharine became lippy and liked to trash talk, which I found quite amusing. It reminded me of Penny.

  I’d now had four “dates” with Penny while Katharine went to yoga. She was surprised to see me show up the first Tuesday, but once I flashed the rich chocolate-covered cherries Katharine told me she loved, I was welcome. The jazz trio was surprisingly good, and we both enjoyed the music before going back to her room for tea and a chat. I liked listening to her talk and hearing the memories she liked to share with me. She would drop tidbits about herself and Katharine, I could store away for future reference. On the following Thursday, I stole back to see her at lunch, sneaking her in a cheeseburger she’d confessed to craving.

  Our next two dates were local choirs, and we cut out early for tea, more stories of Katharine, and whatever goodie I had picked up for her that day.

  The past Tuesday had been a classical group, but she was fitful and anxious, and far more forgetful. Partway through, I took her back to her room, hoping the familiar surroundings would comfort her. She calmed some, but still seemed upset. When I hunted down Tami, she told me that had been happening a great deal more often and usually Katharine could soothe her best. I called her, and she came to the home, leaving her yoga class right away. When she arrived, Penny was asleep in her chair, waking up when she heard Katharine’s voice.

  “Oh, my Katy! I was looking for you!”

  “I’m right here, Penny. Richard called me.”

  “Who?”

  “Richard.”

  I peered around Katharine. “Hello.”

  She frowned. “Do I know you?”

  I felt a small fissure in my heart open, but I held out my hand. “I’m a friend of Katharine’s.”

  “Oh. It’s nice to meet you. I want some time with my daughter if you’d excuse us.”

  I stood up. “Of course.”

  Katharine smiled sadly. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Even though I knew it was part of the disease, it bothered me to the point I went to see Penny the next day. I picked up a bunch of her favorite flowers—daisies—and presented them to her with a bow. Her dark eyes twinkled in her chubby cheeks and she let me kiss the downy skin.

  “I see why my Katy is so taken with you, Richard.”

  “Is she now? Well, I am a charmer.” I smirked down at her, relieved.

  She pursed her lips. “I think there is more there than that.”

  Ignoring her words, I stayed until she fell asleep. I left somewhat calmer. I could imagin
e if it upset me when she didn’t know my face, how much it must affect Katharine.

  It struck me odd I should be worried about that. Nevertheless, I was. I decided I needed to start tagging along for more visits with Katharine, as well as going to some on my own.

  I turned back to the file in front of me. The Kenner Footwear campaign I had pitched to Graham had been met with huge enthusiasm by the client, and I was still working up all the different concepts. I rubbed my temple, wishing I could concentrate more. When I spoke with him on the phone earlier, Graham had told me to cut out early, and I closed the file, shutting down my laptop. Maybe I would take him up on his offer. I could go home and see what changes had occurred today—see what my wife was up to.

  My wife.

  Katharine.

  Somehow, since we had exchanged vows, we had come to an unspoken truce. The things I always found annoying, no longer bothered me. Maybe it was because I understood where they came from. Maybe I was more patient because she understood me.

  Between our talks, Penny, yoga, paint chips, dinners and games, we had become . . . allies. Maybe even friends. We had a common goal, and instead of fighting and pulling, we had almost settled into a life, together. I knew my tongue wasn’t as sharp. What before was nasty, now became teasing. I liked hearing her laugh. I looked forward to sharing my day with her. When she felt sad about a bad day with Penny, I wanted to cheer her up. I had taken her out to dinner a few times, simply to have her dress up and enjoy herself.

  I found myself wanting to be affectionate with her. It felt natural to hold her hand, drop a kiss to her brow, or brush a caress over her lips—and not always when we were in public. She often pressed a kiss to my head when heading upstairs, and there were times I slipped my arms around her for a hug or dragged my lips over her soft cheek in thanks for dinner or to say goodnight. They were actions without thought—all simply a part of being with her now.

  Maybe tonight, I’d surprise her. Offer to take her out if she wanted. We could drop by, visit Penny, and take her some decadent treat she loved—or we could order in. Afterward, I could relax, she could watch one of the shows she liked, or we could watch a movie. Maybe a quiet night would help ease my head.