The Contract (28 page)

My phone vibrated on the wooden table and I picked it up, stifling a grin at the number. Golden Oaks. I wondered what Penny was asking Tami for now. Since our unsettling evening last week, she had wanted something daily, and I made sure she got it. I never told Katharine about our conversation. She was already plenty worried. Penny was obviously slowing down, and her mind giving out more often. She had been more like herself last night, but had fallen asleep as soon as I got her back to her room. I left her in her caregiver’s capable hands with a kiss on her downy cheek.

I declined the call, planning to return it when the meeting was over. I focused my attention back to Graham, who was pointing out a client’s desires for their next campaign, when my phone went off again. Glancing over, I saw it was Golden Oaks. A small pit of worry began in my stomach. Tami knew I would call her back. Why was she being so insistent?

I glanced up at Graham, who had paused his speaking.

“Do you need to take that, Richard?”

“I think it may be important.”

He nodded. “Five minute break, everyone.”

I accepted the call. “Tami?”

“Mr. VanRyan, I’m sorry to interrupt.” Her voice sent ripples of anxiety down my back. “I have some terrible news.”

I had no recollection of standing, but suddenly I was on my feet. “What happened?”

“Penny Johnson passed away about an hour ago.”

I shut my eyes against the sudden burn. I gripped my phone tighter, my voice thick. “Has my wife been told?”

“Yes. She was here this morning, and had only left a short time before I went in to check on Penny. I called her back.”

“Is she there now?”

“Yes. I tried to ask her about arrangements, but I can’t get her to talk. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I called you.”

“No, you did the right thing. I’m on my way. Don’t let her leave, Tami. I’ll handle all the arrangements.”

I hung up, dropping my phone, the sound of it hitting the table, a dull thud breaking the roar in my head. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up into Graham’s concerned face.

“Richard, I’m sorry.”

“I have to . . .” My voice trailed off.

“Let me drive you.”

I felt odd. Off balance. My mind was chaotic, my stomach in knots, and my eyes burned. One thought clarified, her name burning in my brain. “Katharine.”

“She needs you. I’ll take you to her.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

At the home, I didn’t hesitate, rushing through the hallways. I saw Tami outside Penny’s room, the door closed.

“Is she in there?”

“Yes.”

“What do you need?”

“I need to know if there was anything arranged, pre-planning, what her wishes were for when she passed?”

“I know she wanted to be cremated. I don’t think Katharine had made any pre-arrangements.” I ran my hand over the back of my neck. “I have no experience with this, Tami.”

Graham’s voice came from behind me. “Let me help, Richard.”

I turned in surprise. I thought he had dropped me off and left.

He extended his hand to Tami, introducing himself. She smiled in acknowledgement. He turned back to me.

“Go to your wife. I have a good friend who has a string of funeral homes. I’ll contact him and start things for you—Tami can advise me.”

She nodded. “Of course.” She laid her hand on my arm. “When you’re ready, I’ll get Joey and take him to the lounge. He is staying here with us.”

“All right.”

“I’ll help Mr. Gavin as best I can.”

“I’d appreciate it—so will Katy.”

Graham smiled. “So rarely you call her that. Go—she needs you.”

I slipped into the room, quietly pushing the door shut. The room seemed so wrong. There was no music, no Penny sitting at one of her canvasses, humming away. Even Joey was silent, huddled on his perch, his head buried in his wing. The curtains were drawn, the room dimmed in sadness.

Katharine was a huddled figure sitting beside Penny’s bed, holding her hand. I moved beside her, allowing myself a moment to gaze down at the woman who had changed my life. Penny looked as if she was asleep, her face peaceful. She would no longer be confused or agitated, no longer searching for something she couldn’t remember.

No longer able to tell me stories of the woman who was now grieving for her.

I lowered myself beside my wife, covering the hand clutching Penny’s with mine. “Katharine,” I murmured.

She didn’t move. She remained frozen, her face blank, not speaking.

I slid my arm around her stiff shoulders, bringing her close. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know how much you loved her.”

“I just left,” she whispered. “I was halfway home, and they called. I shouldn’t have left.”

“You didn’t know.”

“She said she was tired and wanted to rest. She didn’t want to paint. She asked me to turn off the music. I should have known something was wrong,” she insisted.

“Don’t do this to yourself.”

“I should have been with her when she—”

“You
were
with her. You know how she felt about this, sweetheart. She said it all the time—when she was ready, she was going. You were here, the person she loved the most—the person she would want to be the last one she saw, and she was ready.” I ran my hand over her hair. “She’s been ready for a while, baby. I think she was waiting to make sure you were going to be okay.”

“I didn’t say goodbye.”

I tugged her head to my shoulder. “Did you kiss her?”

“Yes.”

“Did she tweak your nose?”

“Yes.”

“Then you said goodbye. That’s how you two did it. You didn’t need words, any more than you had to tell her you loved her. She knew, sweetheart. She always knew.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know what to do now.”

Her entire body shuddered, and unable to take her intensifying pain, I stood, lifted her, sitting back down before she could protest. She still clutched Penny’s hand, and I could feel her trembling.

“Let me help, sweetheart. Graham is here, too. We’ll figure out what we need to do.”

Her head fell to my chest, and I felt the wet of her tears. I pressed a kiss to her head, holding her until I felt her body relax and she released Penny’s hand, gently letting it rest on the quilt. We sat in silence as I stroked my hand up and down her back.

There was a knock at the door, and I called out for them to enter. Graham came in, crouching beside us.

“Katy, dear girl, I am so sorry.”

Her voice was a mere whisper. “Thank you.”

“Laura is here. We would like to help you and Richard with the arrangements, if you are willing.”

She nodded, another shiver running down her spine.

“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.

I thought she was handling everything. I knew she was grieving the loss of the woman she loved like a mother, yet she had been calm. Steady. She had cried once, but I hadn’t seen her weep since the day Penny passed. Since the memorial earlier today, she had shut down. She had gone out for a walk, silently shaking her head at my offer to accompany her. When she returned, she went straight to her room until I went to get her to eat dinner.

Now, with my limited knowledge of helping other people, I was at a loss. It wasn’t as if I could call Jenna or Graham and ask them what I should do for my own wife. They thought we were close and would assume I would know exactly what to do. Today, when we left the funeral home, Jenna had hugged me and whispered, “Take care of her.” I wanted to, but I didn’t know how. I had no experience with such intense emotions.