They'd settled on after four, which gave Eva a decent window to cram in as much editing as she could, as well as swing over to the gallery so she could oversee a few prints in the dark room before picking up the girls at end of day.

Claire's home sat on the fringes of what was considered Haven's more affluent neighbourhood, but was well kept and loving tended despite her more shabby neighbours. The door painted a vibrant, cheerful yellow was so completely Claire, Eva thought, pulling the car to park at the curb.

"Where are we?" Hailey asked, pulling out her ear buds. Eva smiled at her, unfastening her seatbelt.

"I'd promised to arrange a play date with Sam's mom, didn't I? Well, today's the day."

"Seriously?" Hailey whispered as Lucy squealed in glee.

"Seriously."

"You're right on time," Claire said when she answered the door, beaming down at three very excited faces. "The weather's perked up so Sam's in the back setting up the sprinklers. Did you guys bring your swimsuits?"

"In the bag," Eva said, handing it over to Hailey who still couldn't seem to stop mentally pinching herself.

"Perfect. Sam's room is upstairs on the left. First door. Go on up to change."

As the girls bounded up the stairs, closing the front door behind her, Eva toed off her converse. "You've got a nice place," she said. Appreciating the rich cerulean walls-a bold colour choice, but one that worked because it was balanced with warm wood, white trim and lots of neutral accents. Fresh flowers were gathered and placed throughout, filling the home with a cozy, fresh scent of a garden that mingled with whatever she had cooking in the kitchen.

"Thanks." Claire wrapped the folds of her periwinkle cardigan over her slender figure, crossed into the living room where a charcoal section proudly sat in front of a whitewashed hearth. "I bought this place after my husband died eight years ago."

"Jesus, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"You'd be the only one then. Guess you don't have much of an ear for local gossip."

"Gossiping would mean I'd have to talk to people," Eva said with a pointed smirk. "And you know from experience I don't do much of that."

"No," Claire's smile spread, "guess you don't."

"What's that?" Eva asked, nodding towards an interesting painting hung over the hearth. Moving closer, her artist's eye danced across the canvas, all bold black swirling strokes. The negative spaces cleverly used, filled in with colour to create an image that slowly revealed itself the longer you stared at it.

A night-time marsh with a heavy moon and barren tree, a tiny sliver of a canoe gliding out over still water dappled in moonlight. Beautiful. And lonely. But proud. Enduring.

"Oh, that's just a little something I made when Sam was a toddler. I paint, kind of a hobby I did to keep myself busy." She joined Eva at the hearth, arms crossed over her chest. "I'd left that on the floor as she was napping on the couch while I'd answered a call in the kitchen. She'd gotten into the black paint and sort of went at it. When I came back in I saw what she'd done and something...clicked. Later that night, I poured myself into those lines and squiggles, using them like a point of reference for inspiration. Trying to see them the way one would an inkblot. And this sort of just...came out of me."

Beyond them Eva's girls thundered down the steps, squealing as they bolted out into the yard, swimsuits on and ready to play.

"It's beautiful," Eva said, brushing a finger along the edge of the frame. "So honest. Pure. It's creation."

"Exactly," Claire agreed, face flushed with joyful pride. "I have a studio downstairs. Want to see?"

Leading Eva down to the finished basement, a rarity on Haven marking this home as newer build, Claire switched on the light revealing a makeshift studio. Canvases were stacked on the floor, draped in heavy sheets spotted with paint. Peeling them back, Eva examined frame after frame.

"These are incredible," she said, halfway through the lot.

"I did these with Sam, too. All the black strokes are hers." Reaching forward, Claire brushed a hand over the painting, a watery smile tugging her lips. "It became a thing we did together."

"What's over there?" Eva asked, drawn to a shimmering shape. Its facets sparkled, catching the light like a polished diamond, a bowled shape of delicate glass...like a raindrop, Eva thought, as it struck the ground. Her fingers ached to touch it but she was afraid it would come apart in her hands. It sat proudly on the table, surrounded by rough sketches, so she picked up those instead.

"Another hobby," Claire said joining her. "This one my grandfather taught me. When he passed I inherited his kiln and equipment, and this year decided to pick it back up again. Forgot how much I missed it. How much I missed him. I used to sit for hours in his workshop, watching him pull and mold and shape the most stunning figures out of colourful molten glass. And these," reaching for a silver chain around her neck, Claire revealed a stunning little pendant of coiled silver wrapped around a bit of something that glimmered and shone. A jagged, rough little bit of crystal, unlike anything Eva had ever seen before.

"What is it?"

"Lightning glass. My grandfather and I would comb the shores following a storm and unearth these little beauties. I have thousands of them. All shapes and sizes that I now rework into jewelry or displays. Again, only a hobby."

At a loss, Eva lifted her gaze to Claire. "You're a true artist, Claire. These are incredible. Everything. I'm in awe."

"Oh...well..." Cheeks deepening from pink to red, she folded a lock of hair behind her ear. "Coming from you, that means a lot."

"These shouldn't be hidden away in your basement, Claire. But on display." Then a thought struck. "My gallery. We could hang some of your paintings, put out the glass ware in the windows..."

Wide eyes grew wider, still. "You want...my art?"

"Sure, if you want to. The space isn't very big, but we could easily manage three or four canvases at a time. And the window box is large enough to house twice that number in glass. What do you say?"

Claire's answer was a chocked sob as she threw trembling arms around Eva's neck.

It felt good. It felt right. And until this moment, Eva had forgotten the simple beauty to be found in a newly cemented friendship.

#

A couple of days blew into the better part of a week and a half. If LeBron's angst-filled pacing was any indication to go by, this was the longest owner and dog had ever been separated. "He'll be home soon," Eva assured. Stretched across her barely made bed, LeBron yawned, set his head on her belly and rolled miserable dark eyes to her. Poor guy misses him, she mused. And if she were honest LeBron wasn't alone in his misery.

Eva looked over to the fresh white petals of a dozen roses, at the center of which a bright red one was crowned. She'd woken earlier that morning to find a large white box wrapped in fine gilded ribbon on her doorstep.

A search for a card came up dry but Eva was sure she had a good idea who'd sent them. Expensive packaging and expensive blooms, not what she would have expected from Marshall. Oddly touched by the romantic gesture, she brought them inside, cleaned up the stems and set them in a vase on her bedside table.

Sitting up, Eva sighed and looked around her at the cramped mess of her room. Seeing it in this state had never been much of a bother before, but it grated her nerves, now. All these stacked, battered boxes, weathering move after move as they'd bounced from location to location in those early days.

Jerry had kept them hopping, literally, for the better part of two years. A couple weeks here, a month there, but never for much longer than that. Unpacking had not only seemed pointless, but a huge waste of time. Why settle, why get emotionally attached when they'd only be ripped up and rerouted elsewhere before the dust had a chance to settle.

He'd never explained why there had been a need for the constant shifting and bouncing. Only that a new spot had been secured, and off they went.

Eva recalled the day she'd received word from Jerry that this was it. The final stop. That same weekend she'd taken the girls out shopping for paint and furniture and decor-transforming their rooms had been a fun little family project that had resulted in red-faced giggles and wearing about almost as much paint as had wound up on the walls.

Then the time had come for her room and Eva froze. Later, she'd told herself. I'll get to it next weekend, to next month. And here she was-two years later. The cans of paint, new bedding and other supplies were still stacked in the far corner, draped beneath a painter's sheet. Forgotten. Ignored.

The puppies scampered in, nosing open her door, Skittles, as always, terrorizing her siblings. Where they'd once been all paws and wild energy, they'd now sprouted-with longer legs and more pointed snouts, shedding the soft layers of baby-fat for more lean muscle. She watched, smiling, as LeBron's entire mood transformed in their company, joining in their rambunctious play with a couple of soft, woofing barks.

Chin propped on her knees, Eva enjoying their interplay. Not too long ago she'd sworn never to do this: pets meant permanence, in her mind. More so than any man. Now she had three of them. So what was stopping her from taking back the rest of her life?

As the tangle of puppies and LeBron scampered down the hall, the sounds of their playful tussling echoing down the corridor, Eva rose, deciding now was the time.

And set to work.

#

Sliding back into the driving seat of his borrowed sedan, he shut the door and made a note in the ledger left open on the seat at his side.

Subject A woke at 8:15 (roughly) AM. Subjects B, C and D woken precisely fifteen minutes later.

Subject A took subjects B, C and D to their usual morning programs. And he went on to list them, accordingly along with everything else he'd observed for the last two hours, right up to, as viewed with a strong set of binoculars, her rolling out a paint sheet in the master bedroom.

Details were key, essential, in his line of work. Details meant the difference between properly executed and just plain sloppy. Details, if overlooked, could get him killed.

And that would just be bad business.

Shifting to his left, he pulled the borrowed wallet out of his back pocket, thumbed through the contents. Vaishali Patel smiled up at him from a Washington drivers licence. As subject A had retrieved the flowers this morning, he would have to secure not only a new vehicle, but a new wallet, as well.

With the island thick with tourists, managing the latter wouldn't be too much of a stretch. As for the vehicle, though it belonged to someone else, all together, he didn't believe in holding on to a set of wheels for more than a few days at a time. Turning a wrist--the ache telling him he was due for arthritis meds--he gauged at least twenty minutes before the ferry rolled in, and required at least half that if he was going to make it there without speeding.

A quick trip to the mainland to discard the vehicle—casting the wallet overboard on the ride over, budgeting at least an hour to locate and hotwire a new one...he could be back on island by early-evening. Plenty of time to continue his preliminary observations before rolling out to Stage Two of proceedings, scheduled to commence in twenty seven hours and forty three minutes.

Pleased with a successful end to the week, he turned on the ignition and steered the car into a leisurely drive.