KATHERINE
The end of September hit me like a baseball bat. Only two months to prove my worth to the Committee. I took the day off work on September 29th and waited until Matthew came down for breakfast.
"Pancakes?" I asked, pouring the batter into the pan.
"Sounds good, Kat." He said, smiling. "What's on your mind?"
I blushed and cleared my throat. "I need your help with the Committee," I said. "I don't have any ideas, but I want to keep my shares."
He shot me a sympathetic smile. "I get it. I can't tell you what to do, only what I would do in your place." He took a breath. "And I would go to church."
I blinked. Church? The spindly teen I'd known in my youth hadn't breathed a word about church. Now that he was a man, Matthew believed? What had changed?
He went on. "God always helps me clear my thoughts."
I frowned.
He glanced over my shoulder, grinning now. "I think my pancakes are well done, Kat."
Oh crap. I slid the blackened pancake onto the plate and started another one. Facing burning hot with shame, I kept my back to him. When I caught a glimpse over my shoulder, it seemed he was preoccupied on his phone.
I put the plate in front of him.
He thanked me, then went on as he poured syrup over his pancakes. "Don't worry about Erland today, I'll take him to school so you can head out to work later."
I thanked him and headed upstairs. A while later, I heard Erland come down and the two of them leave the house. Around mid-morning, I got a text from Matthew: If you want to come, service is at 7:30pm tonight. You can take the Jeep so you don't have to stay late either.
I didn't respond.
Out of the past month of being with Matthew, I'd learned a lot about him. He'd gone to church a few times, of course, and maybe he had expressed something about God, too, but I'm not sure I've always been listening. Why now? He said God helps him clear his thoughts. What does Matthew have to worry about?
I remembered the suitcase in my room, where I had stored the manuscript. Grey told me that it was undergoing editing at the moment. He didn't say anything about the author—Grey would have no reason to know that Richard Chase is the same unknown investor who wants to buy part of the company—but I had to be careful not to get him suspicious.
My old laptop, the one I had written it on, was on the way in the mail. Betsy had shipped it to me last week. Hopefully, it arrives soon. Then—maybe—I can see what happened to Starlight Crows in the first place. And how Chase got his hands on it.
Even though I was off of work, I still had to finish reading a manuscript, so I set about skimming the pages until Matthew and Erland stepped through the front door at 5pm.
Erland ran upstairs to take a shower, while Matthew set about starting dinner.
We ate and laughed as Erland told us about his new friends at school. He still called his other friends daily over Xbox, but he didn't seem to drag his feet as before on his way out the door in the morning. He also mentioed a girl named Bella. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it—and before I could ask, Matthew announced that he had to clean the kitchen before heading out for church.
"Can I hitch a ride with you?" Erland asked, standing with his plate and moving to the sink.
I sat, jaw dropped, at my brother's eager move toward attending services.
Erland disappeared upstairs to get ready, and I finally forced myself to get up and help Matthew clean the dishes.
I offered to take over, and Matthew thanked me before heading to his room. About fifteen minutes later, when I was putting the last plate in the dishwasher, both him and my brother appeared. Erland was dressed in black slacks, a white button-down, and his hair was slicked back in a wave. Matthew was similarly dressed, but for a red tie that seemed to bring the auburn out of his dark hair.
"We'll see you later, Kat," Erland said, waving as he passed to the foyer.
Matthew placed a small paper on the counter. "Here's a flyer for the service if you want to come," he said, flashing me a smile before following Erland.
I nodded. Dimly, I heard Erland bickering about getting to drive the car, then the front door closed, an engine turned over, and their red backlights disappeared down the driveway.
The house was empty, like before, only now darkness creeped at the edges. I settled into the couch and opened the manuscript I had been assigned as the clock ticked on the wall. I read the same sentence four times before I tossed the manuscript on the coffee table and stood. Restlessness itched in my bones. I couldn't stay here.
I got up, brushed my hair and put on make-up, grabbed the flyer, and picked up the keys to the Jeep.
The GPS was simple enough to follow and soon, I had arrived at the quaint church building. It shared the same parking lot as a large craft store, but since it was closed, only two dozen cars or so remained. Music reached my ears as I got out of the car and started toward the church.
The usher at the door greeted me, but that didn't still the butterflies eating at my insides. At long last, I spotted Matthew a few rows from the front, standing and clapping to the worship song. Ducking my head, I moved forward and stepped beside him.
He glanced over at me, face lighting up. "You made it."
"I finished work," I said. "And I was bored."
He smiled. "It's nice that you're here. There's someone who's been wanting to meet you."
I flushed but my reply was cut off by the start of a new song. The musicians had moved off the stage, replaced by four teens. One of them, the only girl, had short black hair and an expression so full of joy that I didn't recognize her at first. Bella, Nick's housekeeper's daughter.
The other teens took their places at the piano, guitar, and bass, and when Bella opened her mouth, the whole church hushed. Her voice was gentle, like a pealing bell, and her face so serene as she sang about what God did for his people.
By the stage, I caught a glimpse of Erland. He had stood, phone in hand, to record the performance. And when it ended, he shot Bella a thumbs-up and a wink.
The teens were replaced by the pastor, but I wasn't really listening anymore. The beauty of the words Bella had sung rang in my head, sparking an idea.
Wayward used to be a bookstore, then it moved to be a publishing house out of necessity. What if we could capture new markets? Expand? Become a big name somewhere other than the publishing industry?
Wayward could publish teen work: songs, stories, poems, and more. What if we paired with high schools to produce a literary magazine for the community of Millard County? What if we helped musical teens hone their talent and perform in front of the community?
My mind whirred, turning this new idea over and over so that I didn't realize the sermon was over until everyone had stood and Matthew tapped on my shoulder.
"You okay, Kat?" He asked, shooting me a concerned frown.
I nodded, grinning. "Absolutely perfect," I replied. "You were right. Coming here did give me a great idea for Wayward."
His frown transformed into a smile to match my own. "That's great." His eyes jumped to somewhere beyond me. "Excuse me, Kat, I have to talk to someone. I'll be back in a bit."
He disappeared into the mingling crowd. As soon as I couldn't see him anymore, someone else appeared beside me.
A young woman with honey-blonde hair and warm brown eyes. She had changed a lot since the last time I saw her, growing tall and slender, but she was absolutely the same Abigail I had grown up with.
With a squeal, she wrapped me in a bear hug. "Katherine!" She gasped. "You're here!"
I laughed. "A little too late, I guess," I said. "I've been in Alabama over a month now."
She grinned, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Doesn't matter. It's just nice to see you. There's so much we haven't caught up on."
Abigail went on to talk about the past seven odd years since I'd last seen her. She hadn't been around to see my relationship with Nick, and if she knew how we ended, she didn't let on. After her dad died, she'd moved in with her mom until she graduated high school. By that point, Matthew was living on his own and he took her in.
"No wonder his house looks so nice," I teased. "You decorated it."
Abigail shook her head. "Oh no, Matthew wouldn't let me touch anything." She rolled her eyes. "And when you were coming, even less. Everything has to be just so."
I laughed to hide the flush of warmth that went over me at the mention of the effort Matthew went to to prepare for me. "I'm sure he wasn't expecting to have to house my brother, either."
She shrugged. "He's had the space for a few years now. Thought he'd use it, but things never worked out with Kim."
I desperately wanted to ask who Kim was, but Abigail went on. She was her usual, unreserved self, and it didn't surprise me if she would spill it eventually.
She turned the conversation, however, to me, with a pointed question: "Are you dating Matthew?"
"I—no," I sputtered. "Why do you ask?"
I flushed. Could she see that I was interested in him? Crap, I really need to get it under control or I was going to make a fool of myself. Especially if there's someone else that has taken Matthew's fancy.... Like Kim... whoever she is.
Abigail's eyes went wide, her cheeks pinking. "Crap, I've meddled too much." Her gaze focused on something behind me and I turned to catch Matthew deep in conversation with a woman with short, red hair.
Kim, most likely.
I spun back to Abigail. "Don't worry," I said, giving her the most sincere smile I could muster. "I won't tell Matt what you said."
With that, I excused myself and went back to the car. I drove back to Matt's house in a blur and sat in the car. How could I have been so stupid as to think that he would notice me? I'm a mess, a throw-away. He doesn't want to have to be with a girl who is caught up in so much drama, first with her ex-fiancé and then with her vindictive grandfather behind her back.
I went into the house and up to my room. There, I forced myself to refocus on my idea for Wayward. Tomorrow, the Committee is having a meeting on Wayward's advertising efforts—it would be the best opportunity to present my idea on short notice.
* * *
The next morning, I left before anyone was up and went to Wayward. In my office, I transferred my crazy notes into a presentable document and printed it. The secretary, Stephanie, poked her head in to bring me coffee and a bagel for breakfast.
I thanked her, though I knew I wouldn't eat it until later. Anxiety churned in my stomach like rocks—and it wouldn't go away until all went well with the Committee.
Then, it was time.
At eight o'clock, I took my seat at the table. Last week, Nick had emailed me to tell me that a new seat has been placed at the boardroom for me, between two board members (and, conveniently, as far away from Nick as possible).
Now, I sat and watched as the Committee filed in, followed last by Nick and then Octavia Beardsley, the CEO of Wayward.
I listened as Octavia presented the agenda for the day, and asked if I could contribute an idea for expanding Wayward to the youth market.
I passed out my paper to each member and began. "Recently, I was hit with a revelation with how we can expand Wayward to grow the business. There's a lot of teens that are interested in the arts—poetry, writing, and music—that I think we can help support while expanding our business. For example, if you look on page two—"
"Wayward is a publishing house," Octavia interjected dryly. "It doesn't make sense to move us into the music space."
The eyes that had been fixed on me moved to the CEO. Some nodded in agreement.
"Wayward needs to grow with the times," I insisted, feeling my calm demeanor crack. "We're a publishing house, but what happens when the world goes digital? What can we hold onto?"
"It's too risky." Octavia raised my three-page packet. "And your proposal doesn't carry enough weight to invest hundreds of thousands of dollars."
My face went hot and I blinked rapidly, keeping back tears of frustration. "If that's all you need, we can build a team to create the proposal—"
"Wayward will not be investing unnecessary resources in haphazard presentations," Octavia countered.
"Octavia," Nick said, speaking up for the first time. "I think she's got a point."
A committte member looked to me. "If you could present us with a business plan, maybe we could consider it."
My hands dropped to my sides. How in the world would I put together a business plan? If it was anything as complicated as Octavia's projections for Wayward's new branch, I would never get it done in time.
Octavia seemed to think this over, then nodded, her steel-gray eyes staring me down like a knife to my throat. "If you can put together the proposal, I'd be glad to hear it," she said. "But in the meantime, I believe we'll turn this meeting to other matters. You're dismissed."
I flushed hot, anger mixed with wounded pride. She'd addressed me like a child, and the looks on the faces of the Committee only made the pain dig sharper in my ribs. Some wore pity. Others had boredom. A few, maybe two, looked disappointed—as if they had expected more.
"Thank you for your time," I said, spinning on my heel. I barely made it to the elevator before hot tears spilled out over my cheeks.
* * *
NICK
I left Octavia's office in no better mood than when I entered.
She wasn't having any of Katherine's idea.
Truth be told, it was kind of genius. I've seen the youth that walk in to try and publish their work-in-progress novels. They aren't the quality of the adults, but with some mentoring, they could be close. At the very least, many of the freshest ideas came from the teens that submitted manuscripts.
Then, just last week, hadn't there been a teen band playing at the center of town? How many people had gathered around and cheered when they had finished?
When I made it to my office, I pulled out my phone. Across the hall, I could see the light was on in Katherine's office, but I wouldn't go over there. She wouldn't want to speak with me. Besides, there were too many ugly emotions churning inside me since Tori left.
I had heard her jealousy over the phone when I had admitted that Katherine and Erland were staying with me for a week. She'd told me to throw her out, get Katherine away, but I insisted that everything was fine. The conversation only ended because I hung up.
Now that I knew the truth, her behavior was all the more confusing. Of course, her late nights at work, her almost monthly trips up north, her rejection of my advances, all pointed to her adultery. And no amount of phone calls would convince me otherwise.
Here I was, reaping what I sowed when I left Katherine for a liar.
I settled down behind my desk and called Shane.
"Hey, bro," he answered. "How's it going? Were you able to present your marketing plan at the meeting today?"
"There was a change of plans," I said. "Katherine presented an idea to expand Wayward." I explained her plan as best I understood it. When I finished, Shane expressed that he agreed that it was a good idea.
"The only thing is, Octavia will stop her at every turn unless she can put together a solid proposal. Projections, market analysis, the works. The job could take months alone—and that's if she even knows what she's doing." I took a breath. "Since you're sticking around for a while... would you be willing to help her?"
I waited for Shane's reply, drumming my fingers against my desk, but all I got was a sigh.
"We talked about this, Nick," he said. "Don't use me to make yourself feel better about what you did. You need to own your mistake with Katherine and Victoria—"
"This is how I'm owning it," I snapped. "I would do it myself, but what kind of message would that send to Katherine? And Victoria?" I ran a hand through my hair. "If she hears about me talking to Katherine, she's liable to do some major damage here." Especially given her connections to Richard Chase. Who knows what she could manipulate behind the scenes?
"I don't think Victoria is as bad as you think, Nick," answered Shane. "You both have made mistakes."
"Are you saying I'm reading the facts wrong? I saw it with my own eyes. I know she's cheating."
"I get it," he said. "You need the separation, but be careful. You may be tearing something apart before you know the truth. She hasn't admitted it to you, after all."
"And she won't."
Shane was quiet for a while, then he said, "I'll talk to Katherine. But don't you think you can ask me how it's going. Katherine is out of your life for good now." Then he hung up.
A few minutes later, I heard a phone ring through the wall. Through the frosted glass panes of our offices, I saw Katherine move to answer the phone.
* * *
KATHERINE
I was so surprised to read "Shane Masiello" on the screen that I almost dropped my phone. Answering the call, I listened as Shane asked if he could meet with me about something important.
"There's a coffee shop down the street from Wayward. I'm still on the clock, but I can be there in five. We'd have about an hour to talk."
"That's all I need, Katherine, thanks."
Five minutes later, I was nestled in a coffee shop booth across from Shane Masiello. He looked no older than he did the last time I saw him, but there was a mature air to his movements that made him seem far older than his thirty years. Beside him, his daughter Jessie colored a picture of Barbie.
"You wanted to meet with me?" I asked, wrapping my hands around my coffee cup. The mug was warm and calmed my racing heart.
Shane nodded. "I heard you were in town," he said, "and thought we could catch up." He shot me a rueful smile. "The last time I saw you, we were going to be in-laws."
We hadn't caught up since Nick and I broke up, but I'd seen him on Facebook a few times. I'd heard about his wife's passing, even sent a message, but I deleted the app before I could see if I got a reply.
"Life happens, I guess." I shrugged. "How have you been?"
Shane smiled, running a hand through Jessie's curly locks. "Busy, but well. It's hard to believe she'll be starting pre-school soon."
"How time passes," I added.
Then we sat in silence until the waitress brought Shane his coffee. He leaned forward and caught my gaze. "I'm sorry I'm not one for small-talk," he said. "I figure I shouldn't waste your time by being dishonest with you."
I nodded, throat tight with sudden anticipation. "I appreciate that," I managed to say.
"Nick told me about what happened with Octavia this morning." Before I could muster up my anger enough to yell, he went on quickly, "I know you have a good idea, and I wouldn't be reaching out to you if I didn't want to help you."
I swallowed. "Sure."
"After I got married, I moved to California to start my business." I recalled that he was a software developer, but the business is news to me. "I've had to make many proposals to secure investors and, if you're willing, I can help you make your case to the Committee."
Whatever tension there was in my shoulders relaxed. I know Shane, and regardless of how my relationship ended with his brother, I know he was sincere. When he says he's in, he's in.
"That sounds great," I said. "Thank you."
Remembering the time before Nick and I broke up made me remember Starlight Crows and I ventured to ask Shane, "Remember when I sent you a copy of my manuscript by email?" He nodded, so I went on. "Can you forward it to me. It seems I lost it off my old computer and I want to work on it again."
He smiled. "That sounds wonderful, Katherine. I remember it was a great read."
He forward me the email from his phone, then we spent the better part of an hour talking about my plan. He asked reasonable questions that forced me to consider some flaws I hadn't noticed before. By the end, we agreed to meet here tomorrow and get started with the market analysis.
I was over the moon even hours later when I returned to Matthew's house. Settling into the couch, I got the chance to review the email Shane forwarded to me. It was dated at about six years ago, which was when I originally finished it.
The moment I read the first page, I knew that it was the same one Rick had submitted to Wayward. Everything down to the font was the same. The only difference was the author: Katherine Malloy.
Even though I now had confirmation—concrete—that this was my novel, it still plagued me how Rick ended up with it. And why he would submit it to Wayward under his name. What would he be getting out of this?
A month ago, when I found the manuscript, I had kept silent from Matthew. But now, when he came home and Erland went upstairs to work on his homework, I told him about the book.
"And you're sure it's yours?" he asked.
"Absolutely," I said, showing him the printed manuscript and then passing forward my phone. "I wouldn't be telling you if it wasn't true."
"Katherine, this is illegal on many levels." He flipped through the pages of the manuscript. "Copyright infringement has a hefty fine, and if he actually gets through with publishing it—he'll be liable for compensation. Not to mention that his business credibility would be shot if you took him down in court."
"Matthew." I reached forward, putting my hand on his. "I need you to promise me that you won't tell anyone."
He flipped his hand, catching my fingers with his and giving a light squeeze. "Absolutely."