There was one thing, however, that Maggie had to address: her mom’s photo albums. Since returning to the cabin, she’d waited for the right moment to discuss her realization with Wren. But that moment just wouldn’t arrive. The aunt was almost always busy, even at mealtimes now. She carried her slapped-together sandwiches into the studio and got back to work.

Maggie finally decided she couldn’t wait any longer. At the beginning of December, the night before Wren was to leave for New York City, she found the aunt in her studio, poring over some paperwork.

Wren glanced up with a vague smile. “Hey.”

Maggie perched on the edge of a chair and stared out the windows. The wind roared against the lake-facing wall. Though it was dark out, the light by the back room’s exterior door was on, and in its halo, snowflakes twirled. “Are you worried about the weather?”

“No point. I have to head out, regardless. I just hope parts of the thruway aren’t shut down. I don’t relish taking the slow, scenic route to New York. Not this time around.” She lowered her frown to her papers and turned another page. “I’ll be meeting up with a few ceramists. They’ve got contacts that may help me track down some of these less accessible materials. Worth their weight in gold, and for good reason. Certain high-fire glazes…” She whistled softly.

“Pretty?”

“Gorgeous.” Patting the papers against her thigh, she glanced around. “Can’t think of what else I might need. The truck’s packed.”

There were no murky shadows in either damp box. Nothing sat on the long table waiting to be trimmed. But the kiln was open, and Maggie spied some bone-dry greenware on its shelves, probably the work Wren had set aside so she could take care of the last sculpture. “It looks so clean in here.”

“Sam’s doing. Glazing’s a messy business—at least as messy as throwing. As soon as I finished the last firing, he helped me wrap and load the sculpture into my truck, then tackled the disaster in here. I think he was glad for the challenge.” She hummed a sad note. “He’s got a lot on his mind.”

Maggie leaned over the table and rested her chin in her hand. “How did the sculpture turn out?”

“It’s…” The aunt tapped the wheel’s base with the toe of her sneaker before finishing flatly, “Done.”

Maggie straightened in the chair. “There’s something I didn’t tell you about my visit to Carlton.”

The aunt’s mouth curled into a lopsided smile. “You never told me anything about the visit.” She waved a hand when Maggie started apologizing. “Forget about it. I gathered your mom wasn’t open to working things out?”