“Where are you going?”

“My friend Thompson and I are moving to Seattle.”

“Thompson?” She cocked an eyebrow and her lips twitched with a smile.

“It’s not like that,” I snapped. Thompson and I were not romantically involved. But I had gone to the drugstore to apologize for my behavior in the barn that day.

“Sorry for being a drunken asshole,” I’d muttered. Thompson was still hurt, still angry. He’d given me the cold shoulder, and so I had slunk away. So much for trying to be a decent human being.

But a few days later, after he’d heard about Freya’s disappearance, he had shown up at my house. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.”

“I know how you felt about her. This must be really hard.”

“You were right. It wasn’t real,” I said. “I’m trying to let it go and move on.”

He kicked the ground with his ratty sneaker. “Want to get some pizza?”

It’s not like I had anything else to do. “Sure.”

It was in “our booth” that I told him I was leaving the island, that I needed a fresh start. He had chewed thoughtfully for a moment before he said, “Want a roommate?”

“I’m not into you,” I said quickly.

“Yeah, I got that,” Thompson said, with the slightest roll of his eyes. “But I could use a change of scene, too. We could split the rent on a two-bedroom place.”

I had taken a sip of Coke. “You’re sure you’re not in love with me.”

“Super sure.”

And so, I had agreed.

But now Jamie was looking at me like I was about to elope. “Thompson wanted to move, and I needed a roommate,” I said. “I’ll start college in the fall.”

“That’s amazing.” Jamie’s face lit up. “I’m so proud of you.”

“It was always my plan,” I lied.

It hadn’t been, as you know. I’d been scared to leave the island, afraid I wouldn’t fit in in the big wide world. But Freya had changed me. For better or worse. She had pushed me to the brink of my sanity, forced me to commit an unthinkable act, and I had done it. I had killed the woman I loved to protect a baby from certain death. And I had gotten away with it. There was no need to feel fearful or intimidated anymore. By anyone.

I was formidable.

Maggie had finished her bottle and was dozing in her mother’s arms. Jamie carefully rose from the chair and placed her baby in the playpen. I watched the sleeping child for a moment. She looked so much like Freya. Would the resemblance haunt Jamie and Brian? Would Maggie inherit the cruel, sociopathic-bitch gene? Or would the love of two solid (if a little dull) parents allow her to grow up stable, confident, normal . . . ?