It had been four months since the explosion. Three since the divorce papers were signed. Two since Claire returned to the island alone.

The barn stood in the same place, but nothing about it felt familiar. The stone foundation had held, but the frame had been gutted, rebuilt in cedar and steel. The smell of ash still clung to the earth behind it-just beneath the new grass.

Claire unlocked the wide front doors and stepped into the studio with a mug of coffee and a notepad tucked under one arm. The kiln was new. Larger. Digital. The insurance money had arrived faster than she'd expected, and she'd spent it without apology. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in cold, late-winter light. Her sketches were pinned to a cork wall in rows. Most were abstract. Some were not.

She sat at the long workbench, picked up a charcoal pencil, and didn’t draw.

Outside, the island was still sleeping. Ferries came and went half-empty. Shops stayed closed until spring. That suited her.

She wasn’t hiding. She was rehearsing.

A knock startled her.

Claire opened the door to find Beth, bundled in wool and holding a brown paper bag.

"I brought scones. Julian’s recipe, my execution."

Claire smiled faintly. "You still use too much nutmeg."

"Tradition."

Beth came inside without waiting for an invitation. She set the bag on the counter and looked around.

"It looks... better. Bigger. Like it was always meant to be this."

"It cost more than Tom thought it would."

Beth raised an eyebrow. "Tom thinks silence costs too much."

Claire poured a second coffee. "What brings you over?"

Beth hesitated. "There’s an event this weekend. Fundraiser for the Historical Society. Dinner, art auction, small-town gossips in velvet."

Claire looked amused. "You want me to attend or donate?"

"Both. But mostly attend. Someone asked if you were still alive."

"I am. Just less publicly."

Beth didn’t press.

After she left, Claire opened the bag. Inside was not just scones but a folded newspaper clipping. An announcement. *Retrospective Opening: The Early Work of Claire Winthrop - Boston College Art Gallery, April 8th.*

She hadn’t agreed to that yet.

She hadn’t even returned the curator’s call.

The clipping had a note on the back in pencil: *He asked about you.*

Claire stared at it for a long time.

Then she picked up the charcoal and began to draw.

Continue reading (Chapter-2) » By Friday, she had RSVP’d to the gala. But it wasn’t the gala she was thinking about.