The Swap(76)

“Take anything you want,” Max said. “From the house or the studio. Freya would have wanted you to have it. I want you to have it.”

Okay, so he didn’t know.

I said, “I don’t want anything of hers.”

“She cared about you, Low. As much as she was capable of caring about anyone. She hadn’t had an easy life. It fucked her up.”

I’ll say. But I didn’t. I forced a tight smile. “Good luck, Max.” I wandered down to the studio.

? ? ?

That’s when I scooped Freya’s ashes out of the kiln and found the pellet that had ended her life. There were shelves of her pots, vases, and dishes, at various stages of finish. They were delicate and beautiful, made by her talented hands. But I didn’t want reminders of that toxic relationship and its violent end. Even if I had, I couldn’t take them where I was going. No, I wasn’t here for me. I was here for Maggie.

Selecting a small bud vase, glazed in robin’s-egg blue, I deposited a sprinkling of Freya’s ashes in the bottom. It was not an urn, exactly; no one would know that the fine powder inside was anything but dust from the studio. But I would take it to Maggie. She should have a little piece of her mother.

I drove to Jamie’s store. When I entered, I was greeted by an elderly woman with a big smile. “Hello,” my replacement said. “Can I help you find something?”

What a keener. I’d let customers browse for a while before I pounced on them. “Is Jamie here?”

The smile slipped from her face as she recognized me, as she put the pieces together. I knew what she thought, what everyone in town thought. That I was part of the sordid sexual shenanigans that led to Freya’s suicide. That the five of us had had daily orgies until Freya found herself pregnant by her best friend’s husband.

“She’s in the back room with the baby.”

I brushed past her. “I know the way.”

The door to the storage room was slightly ajar, so I pressed it open. The space had been transformed into a kind of nursery, with a playpen and a rocking chair. Jamie was seated with Maggie in her arms, giving her a bottle. The expression on her face was pure bliss.

“Hey,” I whispered.

She looked up and smiled at me. “Low.”

“I brought this. For Maggie.” I unwrapped the newspaper protecting the vase and set it on a shelf.

“It’s beautiful. Freya was so talented.” Jamie’s eyes were misty. “To think she felt so desolate and overwhelmed that she . . .” She couldn’t say it.

“But it all worked out for the best,” I said lightly.

She half shrugged, half nodded. She didn’t want to articulate the truth.

“I’m leaving,” I said. “In a few weeks.”

“Where are you going?”

“My friend Thompson and I are moving to Seattle.”

“Thompson?” She cocked an eyebrow and her lips twitched with a smile.

“It’s not like that,” I snapped. Thompson and I were not romantically involved. But I had gone to the drugstore to apologize for my behavior in the barn that day.

“Sorry for being a drunken asshole,” I’d muttered. Thompson was still hurt, still angry. He’d given me the cold shoulder, and so I had slunk away. So much for trying to be a decent human being.

But a few days later, after he’d heard about Freya’s disappearance, he had shown up at my house. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.”

“I know how you felt about her. This must be really hard.”

“You were right. It wasn’t real,” I said. “I’m trying to let it go and move on.”

He kicked the ground with his ratty sneaker. “Want to get some pizza?”

It’s not like I had anything else to do. “Sure.”

It was in “our booth” that I told him I was leaving the island, that I needed a fresh start. He had chewed thoughtfully for a moment before he said, “Want a roommate?”

“I’m not into you,” I said quickly.

“Yeah, I got that,” Thompson said, with the slightest roll of his eyes. “But I could use a change of scene, too. We could split the rent on a two-bedroom place.”

I had taken a sip of Coke. “You’re sure you’re not in love with me.”

“Super sure.”

And so, I had agreed.

But now Jamie was looking at me like I was about to elope. “Thompson wanted to move, and I needed a roommate,” I said. “I’ll start college in the fall.”

“That’s amazing.” Jamie’s face lit up. “I’m so proud of you.”

“It was always my plan,” I lied.

It hadn’t been, as you know. I’d been scared to leave the island, afraid I wouldn’t fit in in the big wide world. But Freya had changed me. For better or worse. She had pushed me to the brink of my sanity, forced me to commit an unthinkable act, and I had done it. I had killed the woman I loved to protect a baby from certain death. And I had gotten away with it. There was no need to feel fearful or intimidated anymore. By anyone.

I was formidable.

Maggie had finished her bottle and was dozing in her mother’s arms. Jamie carefully rose from the chair and placed her baby in the playpen. I watched the sleeping child for a moment. She looked so much like Freya. Would the resemblance haunt Jamie and Brian? Would Maggie inherit the cruel, sociopathic-bitch gene? Or would the love of two solid (if a little dull) parents allow her to grow up stable, confident, normal . . . ?