A day after his drowned body had washed ashore, Lindsay had been cremated on that  same beach. It was done by a group of his fellow artists, who knew of his wishes and  carried out the macabre operation at dawn, so as not to attract the attention of the  authorities. Sukey would have attended, despite the gruesome nature of the undertaking, but Phoebe needed her, and the needs of the living must always outweigh  those of the dead. Besides, Lindsay would have wanted her to comfort Phoebe at such  a time.  

When Lindsay’s ashes were ready, Phoebe and Sukey took them down to the beach to  scatter them. It was a gray, windy day, the sort of day that would carry the ashes off to  every spot on earth by way of the sea, bearing them to unknown destinations. There  they would mingle with foreign soil, float in the air breathed by other peoples, and  become a tiny part of everything in the world. 

They stood on the rocks overlooking the sea. Phoebe held the plain urn aloft, the  vessel almost too large and ungainly for her delicate miniaturist’s hands, and tipped it  forward. The wind caught the ashes, which billowed like a flock of infinitesimal birds in  coordinated flight. Sukey watched as the ashes danced in the churning air and  swooped toward the cresting waves. 

The ceremony completed, the women returned to the hotel where they’d stayed when  they and Lindsay had first met. With one hand, Sukey guided Phoebe, who was  clutching the empty urn as though it still held precious contents. Sukey’s other hand  burrowed into a concealed pocket of her cloak, where earlier she had placed a small  pouch containing a handful of ashes before the solemn procession to the beach.  Finding their way past the drawstring pouch’s mouth, her fingers entwined with all that  was left of Lindsay, and all that would not be shared with the world.