Freya’s friendship was my lifeline.

11

Most people were wowed by Freya’s beauty, style, and charisma, but there was more to her than that. She was creative, visionary, a truly talented artist. She had come into my store carrying a large cardboard box. She’d set it on the countertop and extracted several pottery pieces. The bowls, vases, and platters were somehow rugged and delicate at the same time, the glazes evoking the sea and the sky and the beach. They fit perfectly into my aesthetic, and I knew I had to stock them.

I’d suggested we discuss terms over coffee, so we moved to a cozy café across the street. At a tiny table, with two steaming lattes (Freya’s was a beet latte with almond milk), we discovered we had much in common. In addition to sharing a passion for art and design, we were the same age, married without children, and struggling to adapt to our new environment. And though we didn’t articulate it then, we were both lonely. I think we recognized that in each other.

Soon, we were seeing each other on a regular basis: for coffee, lunch, or wine. We had dinner with our husbands twice—once at Freya’s magnificent waterfront home, once at our modest bungalow. I’d been ashamed of our slightly run-down cottage set back in the woods, but Freya and Max pronounced it “homey and cozy.” Despite their differences, the guys had hit it off, too. Brian and I had never really had “couple” friends. In the past, I would become friendly with a woman only to discover her partner was a pompous ass. Brian would introduce me to his buddy’s wife, who’d turn out to be competitive and snarky. But we liked Max and Freya in equal measure.

One night at dinner, when Freya bemoaned the island’s lack of a SoulCycle, we planned more vigorous visits. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings, before I opened the store, we went for a forest hike. It was a walk, really, the path meandering gently through the woods and along the coastline. The rain forest felt magical, almost prehistoric with its massive cedars, abundant ferns, curtains of moss. It was on these walks, our environment so private, isolated, almost confessional, that our friendship grew and deepened.

Our standing date was weather dependent, of course. The island got a lot of rain, which Freya struggled with. It can be depressing for people who come from sunnier climes, but I was used to it. I’d spent my entire life in the Pacific Northwest—or as we Canadians call it, the South Coast. I was born and raised in Vancouver, moved to Seattle when I married Brian. I had spent my life in the gray and the gloom. It wasn’t the weather that caused my malaise.

It was a bright but mild morning, perfect walking weather, when Freya mentioned her connection to Low. “I hear my favorite student applied for a job at the store.”

I knew Freya taught pottery classes to a group of seniors. I couldn’t recall anyone from that demographic looking for work.