“Oh, honey.” She looked at me with such pity. “We need to fix that.”

“I love my husband,” I insisted. “He’s a good man. And . . . we have great sex.” I felt awkward sharing this intimate detail, but I wanted Freya to understand me, understand what I had with Brian.

Freya held her palms up in front of her chest. “I was kidding, babe. I think it’s beautiful that you found the right person when you were a kid.”

“We were in college, not kindergarten,” I quipped, as we began to walk again.

“I totally get it,” Freya chirped. “Brian is smart and witty. They say that’s the most attractive trait to females. A sense of humor. And bonus—he’s super cute, too.” She looked over and smiled. “And, of course, he wouldn’t want to share a gorgeous woman like you.”

“Thanks.” I felt myself warm in the onslaught of compliments.

“But now that you live on this hippie island, maybe you can have your cake and eat it, too?”

“What?” I chuckled, bemused.

“I’m kidding.” Freya waved the comment away. “You and Brian fit together perfectly. You don’t need anyone else. You just make sense.”

“You and Max seem like a great pair, too.” They did. Visually at least. His dark masculinity was a perfect complement to her delicate blond perfection.

“Our relationship is complicated. We’ve been through a lot.”

She was referring to the hit, the death, the lawsuit. I knew all about it. Everyone did. It had been in the news, off and on, for over three years. I gave her an understanding smile. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s been so hard. Sometimes, I’m not sure it’s all worth it.”

“If you love him, it’s worth it,” I said.

“I do.” Freya smiled. “And he’s hung like a stallion.”

I laughed, enjoying my friend’s wit.

When I went home to shower and get ready for work, I replayed our conversation in my mind. I’d never been one of those women who chatted about orgasms and vibrators and blow jobs over brunch. But Freya was so comfortable with the subject, so open about sex and desire and freedom. I was fascinated. And titillated. And I loved having a girlfriend with whom I could discuss even the most intimate subjects.

Later that morning, when I opened the store, I pulled Low’s résumé out of the drawer. Freya had gone to bat for this girl, had assured me that she was a good kid who deserved a break. Freya’s word was enough for me. And I wanted to please my new friend. I called the number at the top of the page.

12

low

Even though Freya had personally vouched for me, it took almost ten days for Jamie to offer me a job. She was probably too busy—walking through the forest with Freya, going for coffee with Freya, having dinner with their husbands—to think about her business. On the other hand, she may have been waiting for more applicants, but that wasn’t going to happen. A rumor had circulated through my peer group that Jamie would be a tyrant to work for. She’d told a previous applicant that he wouldn’t be allowed a lunch break, would have to clean the toilet twice a day, and she would dock his pay by the minute if he turned up late. I’m not sure who started it. . . .