Sun & Moon - a contemporary romance (The Minstrel Series #1) (14 page)

Or seemingly happy.

Micah moved stiffly, like a robot, pulling out tacks, returning them to the box they’d come from. He piled the photos onto the desk, gently, pausing to stroke the odd one before reluctantly releasing it. All the newspaper clippings reporting on Greta’s disappearance were stacked beside the photos in two neat piles. He rolled the red strands of wool into a clump.

He turned to Katja. “What should I do with this?”

“Burn it,” she said without hesitation.

“
Burn
it?”

“If you really want to let go, you have to
let go
.”

She picked up the photos and the papers, grabbing the yarn at the last minute, and headed to the kitchen. She dropped the items into the stainless steel sink, fished through a drawer and produced a lighter. She handed it to Micah. “You do it.” She knew it was merely a symbolic gesture, that Micah had digital copies of all these photos somewhere, but it was an important step.

Micah slowly reached for it. His gaze moved from the lighter to the items in the sink. His hand shook when he lit the corner of the photo on top. He clamped his jaw tight, his expression pushing against a swirl of emotion.

Katja stood beside him as they watched Greta’s face on the top photo gradually disappear behind a retreating black edge. Slowly the heat enveloped the pile until flames jumped out of the sink, and then the flames receded until the fire died, leaving the basin full of ashes.

Katja studied Micah, seeing his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “You can cry if you want to,” she said.

He shook his head. “I’m done crying for her.”

Katja fished through the cupboards until she found an empty jar under the sink, and handed it to him. “Put the ashes in here.”

He hesitated, then wiped the inside of the sink with his palms, scooping up the ashes and letting them go into the jar Katja held for him. It took five swipes of the sink to fill it, and when the ashes reached the rim, Katja put the jar down on the table. She returned to turn on the tap, then reached for Micah’s ash covered hands and held them under the stream of warm water. She washed them gently with soap, running her fingers between each of his, taking her time, caressing the tops of his hand and stroking his palms until every sign of ash was gone. It was strangely intimate and Katja felt a blush rush up her neck.

Micah’s eyes washed over her as she took a towel and dried their hands. “Now what?” he said with a husky voice. The way he looked at her, with such affection and… adoration, yes,
adoration
, made her tremble.

She struggled with her own voice. “Let’s go to the bridge.”

Katja grabbed their jackets off the hooks and handed Micah’s to him. She threaded her arms into hers and wondered as she watched him stand there unmoving, if she was going to have to dress him. Something clicked for him as she buttoned up her coat, and he finally shrugged his on.

She twisted the cap of the jar tightly, then handed it to Micah. This was his goodbye affair. He needed to carry it.

The sky was overcast and grey with a cool wind blowing from the north. Katja stuffed her hands in her pockets and kept stride with Micah. He held the jar with both hands close to his chest. The expression on his face was somber, and Katja hoped they were doing the right thing, that this exercise wasn’t about to push him over some sharp, psychological edge.

They continued walking side by side without talking. The light at the highway was green when they got to the crossing so they didn’t have to break stride. The stone bridge had just a few pedestrians crossing, and they soon came to an empty cut out, the same one Katja often busked in. They leaned over the thick, flat stone edge and spent a few moments looking down at the meandering water that flowed below. A boat lightly occupied with spring tourists motored underneath. Ducks and geese swam near the shoreline, their bottoms bouncing up into the air as they captured their meals. The river’s song was soothing and melodic, perfect for what they were about to do.

Micah set the jar on the ledge and twisted off the cap.

“I’m sorry I lost you,” he whispered. He gently turned the jar upside down and watched the ash disappear into the wind. “I’ll see you in Heaven some day, Greta, but until then, goodbye.”

Katja studied his face as he registered his loss. The ashes were gone. Greta was gone. He blinked a few times and exhaled. Then she saw something she rarely saw on Micah’s face.
Relief.

They stood there in silence for a few moments longer. Katja wondered if Micah had truly turned a corner. If
they
had turned a corner. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself in response to the spring chill, but the sun felt good. She lifted her sunglasses onto the top of her head and let the rays massage her face. She heard Micah take a long breath and slowly release it.

“Are you ready to go home?” she asked, swiping at strands of wind-blown hair and tucking them behind her ear.

He nodded lightly. “Yeah. And Katja?” He reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. She glanced at their joined palms feeling surprised, but pleased.

“Yes?”

His eyes grew warm as he took her in. “Thank you.”

When the first of June rolled around, Katja insisted she start paying her half of the rent. Again, Micah refused it. She compromised by using only her own money to buy the groceries, which worked out better for her, since the rent on a flat this nice would be out of her budget anyway, even if she paid only half.

Micah’s mood had improved dramatically since “the ceremony,” and Katja hoped that maybe he could actually get over Greta after all.

They continued to spend evenings together, walking around
Neustadt
taking in live music, or staying home watching TV. One evening
Pretty Woman
, the 1990s movie starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere, came on. Katja opened a bag of chips and poured them each a glass of Coke for the occasion.

“This is such a great movie,” she said.

Micah wrinkled his brow. “Isn’t it about a prostitute who falls in love with a rich guy?”

Katja nearly choked on a chip. She washed it down with the cola, and the bubbles burned up her nose. She coughed.

“Are you okay?” Micah asked.

“The rich guy fell in love with the prostitute.” She collapsed on the opposite end of the sofa, her face burning. Was that how Micah saw her? Did he still see her as a prostitute? Even though she never even
did
anything?

She felt his eyes sear her. She covered her face. She wanted to run and hide.

“Would you have?” Micah asked. Again, it was like he could read her mind. “If I’d paid you?”

He’d forgotten that he had paid her. He just didn’t get anything for his money.

“What does it matter now?” she snapped.

He persisted. “But would you have?”

“Yes!” She glared at him. “Are you happy? You have no idea what it’s like to be starving and cold and alone.” She fought back tears. “It’s just sex.”

She felt the sofa shimmy as Micah moved closer. He traced her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at him. She shivered at his touch. “It’s never just sex, Katja,” he said. “Not with me.”

Katja pinched her eyes shut and turned away. She wished she hadn’t gone out that night. If it hadn’t been for Irma…. but no, she couldn’t blame her. She could only blame her own weakness. She was no better than any of those girls on the street.

She sighed. “What do you want from me?”

He inched closer. “I want you to know how valuable you are.” He slid to the floor in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “Your body, your mind, your spirit. You are important, all of you, and… priceless. Don’t sell yourself short, Katja. There’s not enough money in the world that could buy you. Only love.”

Her throat grew so dry, she could barely swallow. Where was this coming from? Why did he even care about her at all?

Micah sat back on the sofa beside her, so close they were touching. His legs pressed against hers. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her gently on the forehead.

It was the first time he’d shown her any kind of physical affection. The first time his lips touched her skin. She relished the pleasure it brought her.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s watch this movie.”

Katja bit her lip, fighting against the electricity his closeness had triggered. “I don’t think we should.” It came out in a husky moan. She winced.

Micah’s eyebrows jumped. “We don’t want to watch these two beautiful people fall in love?”

“No,” Katja said adamantly. If she watched Edward and Vivian go at it on screen there’d be no stopping her from attacking Micah right there on the sofa. He’d warmed up to her, but he wasn’t ready for that.

“There’s another one on, where people shoot aliens and drive space ships,” she said, reaching for the remote.

“Ah, I agree. Probably a better choice.” Micah grinned. “For tonight, anyway.”

When Katja started working at the café, Renata had requested she wear black dress pants and a white shirt under the coffee shop-issued apron, and she’d found just what she needed at the second hand shop. She discovered, of course, that she needed more than one set, so had been back since to buy more. She selected a clean set, got dressed and ready and now found that she still had an hour to burn before her shift began.

Katja collected her guitar, warmed up her fingers on a blues scale, then opened up her notebook. An idea had been percolating, and she scribbled out some lyrics.

It’s all in how you look at it,

she said

As if there were a hundred ways to walk a high wire

Go on and try to let it go

Close your eyes and

Let your heart rule your head sometimes

How deep can you feel?

Yes, this was about Micah. All her lyric ideas were about Micah these days. And her mass of mixed-up emotions concerning him. Why did she steer him away last night? He wanted to watch a sappy romance with her, and she pushed for the dry, science-fiction flick. Did she want to be more than friends with Micah or not? She accused him of holding back, but she was equally to blame.

Deep down she knew the truth. She wasn’t worthy of him. He might not know it yet, but he’d figure it out one day, and then he’d send her packing. For sure. A flare of anguish shot through her being at that thought. How would she cope with the real thing, when the imagined scenario caused so much pain?

She jotted down a few more lines and worked on some new melodies. Time passed quickly, and before she knew it, an hour was up already. She tossed her notepad aside, grabbed what she needed for work and rushed to get out the door.

Living around the corner from her workplace, Katja thought, should make it easier to get there on time, but she found it almost made it worse. The problem was the false sense that she could get there in thirty seconds, when you really need five full minutes.