him to keep up his little charade and didnât press him, although it was all too clear that heâd registered the name; sheâd caught the flicker of surprise in his sleepy eyes. As she stood in her yard with him on this longest day of the year, she remembered being in Wyattâs study in the cottageâsheâd gone there to ask him about dinner that nightâand glancing at his typewriter and the manuscript page, still spooled in it. Wyatt had become quite secretive about his work, telling her that he didnât like talking about it because it took the power out of the story. But Wyatt had gone to use the bathroom and there was the typewriter, so inviting. She took a step closer to the desk, letting her eyes skim the page, and suddenly, now, she remembered one word, one word that stood out: Wren. At least, this is the word Catherine thought she remembered. But how could she be sure sheâd seen the name when she couldnât even tell the difference between an angry father and a valiant lover?
âIf thatâs everything,â Henry said, âIâm sort of in a hurry.â
âYes,â she said. âI mean no. If you have just another minute, Iâd like to go over the lease.â
âI donât have a minute right now,â he said, âbut why donât you bring it with you tonight? Antonia is making dinner. Join us.â
âThatâs very kind, but I already have plans,â she said.
âThen Iâll see you later,â he said, already heading for the cottage.
âHenry,â she said, somewhat hesitantly, âI donât have to remind you, do I, that Iâm doing you a favor? The least you can do is sign your copy of the lease. I think itâs best for both of us, just in case there are any misunderstandings.â She thought about the fire at his house and all the things that could go wrong. And probably would, she thought.
âNo, you donât have to remind me,â he said sharply. Then, âLeases are merely formalities between two parties who donât trust each other. You trust me, donât you, Catherine?â
âI trust you to keep the cottage clean. I trust you to treat it with respect,â she said. âI trust you to take the trash out on time, but mostly I trust you not to smoke in it. That goes for Antonia as well.â
âI see,â he said. âWell, Iâm glad we understand each other.â And with that, he walked through the cottage door and shut it.
Catherine went back into the house and began getting out of her shorts and T-shirt, then took a shower and dressed for work. As she did, she thought about the night before, the scene at the cafe, the look of pure terror on Antoniaâs face. She pictured the way Henry had just rolled his shoulders moments ago; his nonchalance infuriated her. âI have no idea,â heâd said. He did have an idea, though, she thought; sheâd seen the flicker of it in his eyes. How could he not understand the significance of someone, perhaps Antoniaâs father, sneaking onto her property and vandalizing the cottage? How could he not see that this led back to Henry himself?
Her anger continued to build as she dressed. She was already more than sick of Henry, of the way he expected the world to turn for him, thought that everything had to be done on his schedule, at his leisure. How hard was it to sign a lease? At the door, she turned and snatched her copy of the lease off the counter, then went to the cottage. She knocked on the door, then knocked again, calling out his name. As sheâd anticipated, he didnât come to the door. She noticed that his bicycle that usually rested against the fence was gone. This isnât over, she thought, heading back into the house to phone him at the college. Yet as the phone rang, she realized she wanted to have this conversation with him face-to-face. This arrangement isnât working, she
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