At least I still worked at Jamie’s shop on the weekends. I’d shown up for my first shift after the incident filled with trepidation. Freya might have told Jamie to fire me. She might have told her that I was creepy, even dangerous. If I lost my job on top of it all, I really would have drowned myself. Because Hawking Mercantile offered me the tranquility I craved. There were practically no customers from October to April. And I liked being around Freya’s vases, bowls, and dishes. They made me feel close to her. And Jamie was my only link back to Freya.

My boss had been warned about me, that much was clear. She and I had never been especially close, but we’d become comfortable with each other. And she had trusted me. The point of my employment was to give her a break, allow her to take a day off, or go for a leisurely lunch. But now, I could see her watch me, hover over me. Was she afraid I’d steal from the till if she wasn’t looking? Burn the place down if she went to grab a sandwich? What had Freya said about me?

On my second shift after the incident, I was dusting the merchandise when Jamie said, “You miss her, don’t you?”

How had she known I’d been thinking about Freya? Had I murmured her name unconsciously? Then I looked down at the dish I was cradling, gently stroking it with the dust cloth. It was one of Freya’s; she had made it with her own two hands. I’d been there when she glazed it. I set it down.

Jamie said, “I don’t know the full story, but I’m sorry your friendship with Freya had to end. And I hope you won’t feel awkward around me. Freya and I are close, but that won’t affect your employment.”

Her tone was sympathetic and her eyes full of warmth. But she wasn’t fooling me. Jamie thought she had replaced me in Freya’s affections. She thought she had won. I met her gaze and shrugged.

“I don’t blame her,” I said. “I blame the pregnancy hormones.”

My boss’s tawny face paled, evidence that she was unaware of Freya’s condition. The news clearly pained her, but she deserved it for gloating about their friendship. Besides, Freya was almost four months pregnant now. She couldn’t hide behind stretchy pants and flowing tops for much longer. If, in fact, she was still pregnant. Either way . . . now she’d have to explain why she’d kept her situation a secret from her supposed best friend. I suppressed a grin of satisfaction.