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A kind of legacy, she thought, for those who came after her.

For now, she filed what she’d written, then pushed her mind into work. Work could stand as sanctuary as well as purpose.

Later, when Yoda scrambled out from under her desk to run downstairs, she shut down. She started down the steps as Cleo came in carting her guerrilla box she used for supplies and carrying wet canvases.

“What a day! I nearly finished one painting, then had to stop to sketch this kid—three, maybe four—sailing in a little sloop with, it had to be his mom. I swear he looked like he’d woken up on a day that melded Christmas, his birthday, and Halloween together.

“I haven’t forgotten about dinner,” she continued. “I’ll throw us something together. I lost track of time, which is when you know it’s really going well.”

“Trey and Owen are bringing pizza. About six.”

“Oh.” Cleo pulled the band out of her hair, shook out her curls. “I thought it was just you and me tonight, but pizza sounds… Shit. Something happened.”

“It did. Not Dobbs—or not one of her tantrums. The mirror. I went through again.”

“Damn it, Sonya, why didn’t you call me, or text? I’d’ve come right back.”

“Exactly, and I promise, no need for that. Go on, put your things away. I’m going to go pour us both some wine.”

“This can wait.”

“I need time to get my head out of work mode and into this anyway. It’s nearly six, so by the time you finish they should be here.”

“And you’ll only have to go through it once,” Cleo concluded. “Okay. I won’t be long.”

Case in hand, Cleo jogged up the steps, and Sonya turned to the portrait of Astrid Poole.

“You didn’t know. You, your Collin, his twin, his sisters, Arthur’s widow. You didn’t know he’d been murdered, just an obstacle for Dobbs to remove. If you had, somehow, you might have lived.”

She started back, pausing at the music room to study the portraits. It would all have been different, she thought. But the first domino fell with Arthur Poole.

In the kitchen, she opened a bottle of wine and stood looking back at the woods.

So peaceful just now, and so welcoming in the green of spring. She’d walk there again; she promised herself that. She wouldn’t let Hester Dobbs block her from any part of what was hers.

When she heard dogs barking, she turned back to pour the wine.

Trey came straight back, and after setting pizza boxes on the island, took her face in his hands. He gave her a long, careful study, then nodded.

“Okay.”

“Yes. Okay. There’s beer in the butler’s pantry,” she told Owen.

He took two out of a six-pack, then took the rest to the pantryfridge. “Now there’s more. I can go through the mirror,” he pointed out. “I could be here inside fifteen minutes.”

“I couldn’t wait. I mean that literally. Let’s get started on this pizza. Now that you’re here, I realize I’m starved. And here’s Cleo.”

When she came in, Owen tapped a finger to her hand. “Missed a spot.”

Cleo glanced down at a smear of red paint. “I’ll get it later. Now, Son, you can tell us what happened without interruption.”

By the time they sat, she had the narrative clear in her head, and a lot of appreciation for three people who understood her.

“I’m going to start at the beginning, which has nothing to do with the mirror. Laine and Matt—they own By Design, where I used to work—called. They wanted to congratulate me on the Ryder account. And to let me know word had gotten back to them on the crap Brandon pulled before my presentation, and that he no longer works for By Design.”

“Well, I’ll absolutely drink to that.” And Cleo did.

“He maligned me and my work in his presentation—something Miranda Ryder didn’t care for. Then he lied to Laine and Matt about that, and about what happened between him and me. So, he’s out.”