“Take anything you want,” Max said. “From the house or the studio. Freya would have wanted you to have it. I want you to have it.”

Okay, so he didn’t know.

I said, “I don’t want anything of hers.”

“She cared about you, Low. As much as she was capable of caring about anyone. She hadn’t had an easy life. It fucked her up.”

I’ll say. But I didn’t. I forced a tight smile. “Good luck, Max.” I wandered down to the studio.

• • •

That’s when I scooped Freya’s ashes out of the kiln and found the pellet that had ended her life. There were shelves of her pots, vases, and dishes, at various stages of finish. They were delicate and beautiful, made by her talented hands. But I didn’t want reminders of that toxic relationship and its violent end. Even if I had, I couldn’t take them where I was going. No, I wasn’t here for me. I was here for Maggie.

Selecting a small bud vase, glazed in robin’s-egg blue, I deposited a sprinkling of Freya’s ashes in the bottom. It was not an urn, exactly; no one would know that the fine powder inside was anything but dust from the studio. But I would take it to Maggie. She should have a little piece of her mother.

I drove to Jamie’s store. When I entered, I was greeted by an elderly woman with a big smile. “Hello,” my replacement said. “Can I help you find something?”

What a keener. I’d let customers browse for a while before I pounced on them. “Is Jamie here?”

The smile slipped from her face as she recognized me, as she put the pieces together. I knew what she thought, what everyone in town thought. That I was part of the sordid sexual shenanigans that led to Freya’s suicide. That the five of us had had daily orgies until Freya found herself pregnant by her best friend’s husband.

“She’s in the back room with the baby.”

I brushed past her. “I know the way.”

The door to the storage room was slightly ajar, so I pressed it open. The space had been transformed into a kind of nursery, with a playpen and a rocking chair. Jamie was seated with Maggie in her arms, giving her a bottle. The expression on her face was pure bliss.

“Hey,” I whispered.

She looked up and smiled at me. “Low.”

“I brought this. For Maggie.” I unwrapped the newspaper protecting the vase and set it on a shelf.

“It’s beautiful. Freya was so talented.” Jamie’s eyes were misty. “To think she felt so desolate and overwhelmed that she . . .” She couldn’t say it.

“But it all worked out for the best,” I said lightly.

She half shrugged, half nodded. She didn’t want to articulate the truth.

“I’m leaving,” I said. “In a few weeks.”