They arrive at Victor Street at the same time as Shawn, who kisses her cheek and hands her a tray of brownies he has brought from Kahvila. “I’ll unload the groceries,” he says, maybe as a way of apologizing for walking out on her in the bathroom that morning, but who knows – her reading of Shawn has been a little off in the past few days.

As she makes her way towards the house, she is surprised to find Walter standing on the front lawn next to the garden shed, seemingly inspecting something on the ground. “Walter?” she says, crossing the driveway.

He straightens up, scratching his head under his Tilley hat. “Oh, hello, Katriina.” He eyes the tray of brownies. “You’re baking now, I see.”

Even though she and Walter have never had a conversation that lasted more than five minutes, Katriina has always thought of him as something of a kindred spirit, someone who values focus, industriousness, decorum. Once, when she and Shawn were first married, she snuck away during a family dinner to the shed that was then Walter’s office. She had told herself it was to get some work done, but really she just needed a break from the Parkers. She found Walter studying a map rolled out across the floor.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she’d said.

But Walter just gestured towards the desk. “Have a seat,” he said without lifting his eyes from the map. They have been meeting up there ever since, even after the woodshed was converted into Hamish’s distillery – silently smiling and nodding and carrying on their work. She likes to think those evenings mean as much to Walter as they do to her, even though they have never said anything about it to each other.

Now, Katriina smiles, looking down at the brownies. “They’re from Kahvila. You know I’m a terrible baker.”

Walter peers at the brownies through the cellophane, then touches her wrist. His eyes lock with hers. “You look tired,” he says. “I hope you’re taking care of yourself.”

The words hit her straight in the stomach. For one sickening second she wonders if the sleeves of her sweater have rolled up, if he can see the scars. She furtively tries to adjust them, rubbing her arms against her sides while balancing the tray. “Of course,” she says. “Why would you ask that?”

Before Walter can respond, Tommy and Petey run up to them, jumping on him like puppies.

“Hey there, little monsters,” he says.

Katriina bites her lip, harder than she means to. Just let it go. “It’s nice that you’re here,” she says brightly. “I thought you didn’t get back until tomorrow night.”