Chapter Thirty-Six

Days split themselves into careful segments now: construction work under the punishing sun, Lisa's occasional visits with lunch that made the crew exchange knowing looks, evenings spent shaping clay while trying not to think about the family dynamics in the main house. Jim moved between these worlds like a man walking a tightrope, never quite belonging to any of them completely.

The Pieta took shape beneath his hands, Mary's face - Rory's face - emerging more clearly with each session, though he tried to blur the resemblance. Some nights, Lisa would sit with him while he worked, her presence a comfort that carried its own kind of guilt.

"You're good at this," she said one evening, watching him smooth clay with careful strokes. "Different from music, but still... it comes from the same place,……