“She said she was working late in the studio and she fell asleep.” Freya looked at me then and her tone became pointed. “Turns out, she’d been living in the attic above the studio.”
“Oh my god.”
“She had a sleeping bag, a pillow… She even had breakfast food.”
“And she didn’t ask you if she could stay there?”
“Of course not.” Freya gave a derisive snort. “If we had known she was there, she wouldn’t have been able to creep around outside watching us like a stalker.”
I was not close to Low, not like Freya had been, but the girl seemed harmless. She was unusual, awkward, even aloof. But she was just a kid. It couldn’t have been easy growing up feeling different, being ostracized by her peers.
“Could there be another explanation?” I asked. “Maybe something’s going on at home?”
“An explanation for squatting on my property? For staring into my windows in the middle of the fucking night?”
Freya was angry. She felt violated, and I would have, too. Of course, if Low had been staring into my windows in the wee hours, she’d have nodded off from boredom. Brian and I went to bed religiously at eleven. We made love on Sunday mornings. The most exciting thing a Peeping Tom would see at our house would be a late-night trip to the toilet.
“And I have no idea how long she’s been spying on us.” Freya paused then, just for a breath. “Who knows what she’s seen.…”
It twigged on me then. Low could have been there the night we took the magic mushrooms. She could have seen Max and me having sex in the guest room with its massive, uncovered windows. I glanced at Freya, but her eyes remained on the trail ahead of us. I’d tried to let that night go, convinced myself that it couldn’t hurt me. But my heart palpitated with dread.
“I’m not telling you to fire her,” Freya continued. “I’m just saying be careful. Don’t trust her.”
“I can’t fire her without cause,” I replied. “Besides, she’s only working weekends right now.”
“It’s your call,” Freya said, feigning indifference, but she was clearly annoyed.
We’d reached the parking lot by this time, Freya’s gleaming white SUV waiting with my shabby Mazda. There were two cars parked between us, their passengers nowhere in sight. Freya escorted me to my vehicle.
“Low might tell you things,” she said. “About me. About Max. Don’t believe her. She’s obsessed with us. She’ll say anything to hurt us.”
“Do you really think she’s that sick?” My voice was tight with concern—for Freya, for myself, even for Low. She might need psychological help, which was hard to find in our small community.
“She’s fucking crazy.” Freya was adamant. “I just hope she doesn’t hurt anyone.”
With those ominous words, she kissed my cheek and moved to her car.
25 low
No word could have hurt me more… stalker. It was the same term thrown in my face when Topaz had ditched me in ninth grade. I had wanted to speak to the girl alone, to see if we could salvage our friendship, but she was constantly surrounded by a gaggle of popular assholes. Tapping on her bedroom window in the middle of the night had seemed a good strategy. I’d done a couple of practice runs, hiding in the shrubbery, working up my nerve. And then, I finally made my approach. How was I to know that Lara Wittman and Kyra Ma were sleeping over? That my looming presence in the night would send them into frightened hysterics? That I would theretofore be labeled a stalker—or more precisely a lesbo stalker—even though I had never been attracted to Topaz in that way.
It was like Freya had known the best way to wound me. While I’d never shared the exact details of my ninth-grade friendship gone wrong, Freya knew I was sensitive about my loner status. She knew I was afraid to put myself out there socially and have my desperation thrown back in my face. She had carefully chosen her words to cut me. She was cruel and heartless. Why didn’t that make me stop loving her?
All I wanted was to talk to her, but I couldn’t, not without perpetuating the myth of my obsession. I couldn’t risk driving down her street, walking past her yoga studio, eating at her favorite restaurant. I had to observe her from a safe distance. In fact, I had to borrow a pair of binoculars from Vik. If Freya spotted me, it would make everything a million times worse.
My life had become empty and meaningless. I considered Virginia Woolf–ing myself—filling my pockets with rocks and walking into the freezing ocean. I would have done it, if I thought anyone would care. My family would be upset, of course, until they realized that Eckhart could have his own room, then they’d be secretly grateful for the space. Freya would be flattered. She’d tell people that I was so obsessed with her, that I’d offed myself when she’d sent me away. I’d become notorious in death, the tall friendless stalker whose ghost haunts the harbor.
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.
Jamie fussed around the till, but I could see her grappling with the news. Her brow was wrinkled with confusion, her jaw clenched with tension. But mostly, she just looked sad. When she felt my gaze on her, she looked up and her eyes were shiny with emotion.
“Hormones can be really powerful,” she said weakly. “I just hope you two can sort things out one day.”
“I don’t know. She made some pretty crazy accusations.”
“Do you want some tea?” her voice was strained. “I’m going to make some.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Jamie scuttled to the kitchen. I picked up another one of Freya’s creations and wiped it gently with the cloth.
26 jamie
Alone in the kitchen, I flicked the kettle on and paced the tiny space, waiting for the water to boil. My stomach was queasy, my forehead hot. Freya was pregnant. Why had she kept it
from me? I thought we were friends… best friends. Her pretense disappointed me. But I had to admit the real source of my distress. I was jealous. Freya, who hated children, who had never wanted one, was pregnant. And I was not.
Of course, Low could be lying. Freya had warned me that the girl would say anything to hurt Freya and Max, the gorgeous couple in the glass house. But this pregnancy news didn’t hurt Freya, it hurt me. Low had no reason to wound me like that. I had stood by her. I had kept her employed even after Freya had banished her. Why would she tell me my best friend was expecting if it wasn’t true?
The electric kettle boiled then and automatically turned itself off. I reached for a mug but stopped. I couldn’t stand there, drinking tea with Low, wondering if what she had told me was the truth. I had to know for sure. And there was only one way to find out. I hurried out of the kitchen.
“It’s so dead today,” I chirped. “Let’s close early.”
Low glanced at the clock on the wall. “But it’s only four.”
“I know. But we haven’t had a customer in hours. There’s not much point staying open.”
“If you want to go, I can stay till five thirty,” my assistant offered. “I’ll cash out and lock up.”
Low had worked alone before. She knew the closing procedures and was fully capable of handling them on her own. But Freya’s words rang in my memory. Don’t trust her. And Low may have just lied to my face, may have said those words just to crush me. Until I knew for sure, I couldn’t leave her alone in my store.
“It’s fine,” I insisted. “You can go. I’ll close up.”
Low loped into the back room to grab her coat. Shooting me a resentful look, she left. I immediately texted Freya.
Closed early. Meet me for happy hour?
If she were pregnant, she wouldn’t be drinking. Shouldn’t be drinking, anyway. I tried to remember the last time we’d had alcohol together. Our recent visits had mostly been walks and coffee dates. She’d brought sandwiches to the store a couple of times and we’d had a picnic on the front counter. But I was almost certain that Freya had had a mimosa on a recent brunch date. Maybe she wasn’t expecting?
Her text came back.
Busy in the studio. Coffee tomorrow morning?
Her refusal to meet for drinks meant that she could be pregnant. But I needed confirmation. And I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
I need to see you. It’s about Low.
The message was read, but she didn’t respond right away. My heart pounded as I waited for the shivering ellipsis that prefaced her reply. Finally, they came, followed closely by the words:
Come to the studio.
* * *
I’d been in Freya’s pottery studio a couple of times. In contrast to her pristine home, it was a disaster: dust coating every surface, buckets full of muddy clay on the floor, filthy rags draped over the backs of chairs or the edge of the sink. But in the midst of it all were racks of Freya’s creations at various stages of finish. They were all so beautiful that they compensated for the slovenliness of the space.
Freya wore a large smock, which did double duty in protecting her clothes and hiding her bump. If there was one. She wiped her hands on a cloth.
“Hey, hon.” Freya kissed my cheek.
I decided to dive right in.
“Low says you’re pregnant.”
Freya’s face darkened. “It wasn’t her place to tell you.”
“So it’s true.”
She reached for my hand then, her blue eyes soft. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I knew it would be hard for you to hear.”
“I’m your friend,” I said, through the lump in my throat, “I’m happy for you.”
“Are you sure? I know how much you wanted a baby and I never wanted to be a mom. It doesn’t seem fair.”
But maybe it was fair? I had betrayed my best friend and my husband when I slept with Max. Perhaps karma had played a hand in conception. “I’m thrilled for you. Honestly.”
“Thank God.” She gave my hand a squeeze, then released it. “Because I’m going to need you. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.”
“We’ll figure it out together.” I would get over my envy, tamp it down inside of me. I would be there for Freya and her child. My infertility would not impact my support.
“I would have told you, but I was in shock,” she said. “I wasn’t even sure I could conceive. We’d always been kind of lax with birth control. I just assumed we couldn’t get pregnant.”
“How far along are you?”
“I’m at the end of the first trimester.” She smiled then and smoothed the smock over her tummy. Her normally flat abdomen was slightly inflated, like she’d swallowed a small melon. “The baby’s due in May. Spring is my favorite season.”
She was delighted, glowing. Any reservations I’d had about her desire to be a parent evaporated in the face of her excitement.
“Max must be thrilled.”
“He was surprised at first, but he came around. This feels like a positive new chapter for us.”
“A baby is a gift,” I said.
“It is.” Freya’s eyes were sparkling. “I even got back on Instagram. I took a photo of my belly. Just a simple shot, but the lighting was really beautiful, so I thought… what the heck. I’ll reactivate my Instagram and post it. I just said: hashtag new beginnings. And I got fifteen thousand likes!”
“Wow,” I said, through a twinge of discomfort. Freya wanting to share her baby news with her legions of fans was not all that unusual, but she’d told me many times how toxic and ugly social media was. Her followers had turned on her in the face of Max’s trial, spewing vitriol and hatred. Freya had lashed back at them, and she’d received death threats, they’d had to hire security. Max’s lawyer had instructed her to deactivate her account to avoid inflaming tensions. Now, she was sharing her most special, most intimate moment with all those strangers… but not with me.
“There’s been so much pain and ugliness,” Freya said, and she looked beatific, almost angelic. “And now, we can focus on a beautiful future as parents.”
“It’s wonderful news,” I said, drawing her into a hug.
It was wonderful news, I told myself. Even if it wasn’t my wonderful news.
27
After my meeting with Freya, I picked up some groceries for dinner and a couple of bottles of wine and drove home. I expected to find my husband writing—Brian’s deadline was fast approaching—but his laptop was hibernating, and his chaotic mess of an office was empty. When he still wasn’t home after I put the food and wine in the fridge, I texted him.
Where are you?
As soon as I hit SEND, I heard the rumble of feet on the front steps. Brian staggered in wearing running tights and a fleece jacket. He was sweaty and panting.
“Hey, I just texted you,” I said.
“You’re home early.” He kicked off his sneakers and paced in a slow circle. “I went for a run.”
“You’ve been running a lot lately.”
“It’s great for stress.” Then he suddenly dropped to the floor and assumed plank position.
My husband had been blessed with a quick metabolism and a natural wiriness. Over the course of our years together, he’d worked out sporadically, usually staying fit with games of pickup basketball or bike rides with his buddies. As I watched him on the floor strengthening his core, I realized how isolated Brian had become. He’d left his sporty pals behind. On the island, he had no friends but Max, a professional athlete who worked out like a warrior. And they hadn’t seen each other in months.
“I left work early to see Freya,” I said, to the back of his head. “She had some news.”
“What was it?” he asked, through gritted teeth.
“She’s pregnant.”
Brian held his position for a few more seconds, then lowered his knees. “Really?”
“I was surprised, too. And so was she. She didn’t think they could conceive, but it just happened.”
&nb
sp; He didn’t speak for a moment, absorbing the news. Then he said, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “I felt jealous at first, but I’m happy for her. I think she really wants this baby.”
My husband gave me a sympathetic smile and squeezed my arm. “I need water,” he said, and moved to the kitchen.
“She’d always told me she didn’t want kids,” I said, trailing after him. “She sounded like she kind of hated them. But it’ll be different with her own.”
Brian filled a glass with water. “And Max?”
My one-time lover’s name on my husband’s lips elevated my pulse, but I affected a casual tone. “I haven’t seen him, but Freya said he’s happy. He was surprised, but they both feel like this is a new beginning for them. They’ve been through a lot of ugliness. A baby will bring so much joy.”
Brian drained the glass and set it down. “It’s hard to envision them as parents.”
“I thought so, too, until I saw how excited Freya is.”
“A baby will change their lifestyle. No more magic-mushroom parties, for one.”
“Definitely not.” I laughed awkwardly.
We had never talked about that night. My one attempt at a confession had been subverted, and I could see no reason to bring my dalliance with Max into the light now. So I changed the subject.
“Freya’s feeling pretty overwhelmed. But I said I’d help her and support her.”
“You’re a good friend to her.”
“We can have a role in this baby’s life, Brian. We can be its auntie and uncle.”
My husband almost smiled, but not quite. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“I’ll start dinner.”
As he walked to the bathroom, I saw the tension in his posture. This was hard news for him to hear, too. He’d wanted a baby as much as I had, and our best friends—our only friends—on the island were expecting. But he would come around eventually. My acceptance had been expedited by a guilty conscience. Brian’s would take more time.
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