Wren’s arms fell to her sides. “Not really.” She dropped onto a stool. “Your mom and I … well. Let’s just say, that”—she waved a hand in the direction of the sculpture without glancing at it—“has become an issue.” She slumped against the worktable, letting her forehead land in a palm, and continued grimly, “It’s the last one in the series. The others are already in New York”—Wren made a sound that barely qualified as a laugh—“the city, I mean. The show’s coming up at the beginning of next month. I promised my agent this piece would be finished in time, but I’m cutting it so close I’ll have to transport it myself just to get it there by the opening. And I can’t even finish it yet.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have an ingredient I need for the main glaze. Gerstley borate. It’s hard to come by these days, but I think my pal Mark has a stash. He’s in Avon but out of town this weekend. I’ll have to head to his studio on Tuesday or Wednesday. Can’t go Monday. I’m directing the first day of the Memorial Art Gallery’s ceramics symposium.” Her gaze flitted over the sculpture. “This thing isn’t even bisqued yet. It’s barely bone-dry.” She dropped her head in her hand again. “I’ve been putting off finishing it for weeks.”

Maggie considered the sculpture, this time out of the corners of her eyes, as if she were passing an accident. A safer angle—it made looking away that much quicker. “Because it’s … painful?”

“Yes, and because I haven’t known how to talk to your mother about it. Honestly, Margaret, if there had been a reasonable way for me to avoid telling Min, I would have. I didn’t want to trash her happy childhood memories. Truly, I didn’t. With the folks gone, memories are all she has left. That’s the reason I’d never talked about what … well, what used to happen to me. I let her believe what she wanted to believe. And I still would have, except this show’s going to get back to her. You know she’ll hear about it. She searches for news about me.”

Maggie nodded. Even when Mom and the aunt were at their most distant, going months without shooting an email the other’s way, once letting an entire year slip by without talking on the phone, Maggie’s mom was still fiercely proud of her twin’s accomplishments. In fact she subscribed to art magazines for no other reason than Wren. Any word of praise for her sister thrilled her. So yes, she’d learn of this latest series.

Maggie winced, imagining her mother seeing this sculpture. It would devastate her. Maggie didn’t doubt that for a second.