The Oysterville Sewing Circle

by Susan Wiggs

  After three near misses, she couldn’t help but think the problem might be with her. Did she not know how to be in love? How to stay that way, nurturing a relationship along in all its sustaining, exhilarating passion and delight?

  Maybe she expected too much, dreaming of something that was ultimately unreachable. Long ago, there had been one moment when love was defined for her, and perhaps to the detriment of all future relationships, she could not forget that moment.

  Ultimately she surrendered to reality. Her primary relationship was not with a man, but with her career. That was a relationship she could control. One that wouldn't be destroyed by someone else’s priorities—or so she thought. Then Mick Taylor came along and ruined that for her, too.

  “The New York fashion world isn’t known to be a great dating pool,” she told her family. “It hardly matters now. I’m single and in charge of two kids. Single and unemployed. Not exactly man-bait, you know?”

  Virginia slid her a glance. “Actually, some guys are drawn to women with kids.”

  “Hey.” She leaned across the arm of her chair. It was a relief to shift the topic away from the giant mess she was in. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

  “If by seeing you mean dating, and if by someone you mean a few yummy men, then yes. I’m seeing several someones. And believe me, having a kid does not deter the right kind of guy.”

  “Well. That’s good to know. Anyone special?”

  Virginia shook her head. “For the time being, dipping my toe into the dating pool is a low-stakes game, because I’m completely unprepared for anything more. Meeting new guys is just a distraction. Something to do when Fern has to go to her dad and Amanda’s.”

  “Jesus, you mean Dave’s already with that woman? He couldn’t wait until the ink dried on your divorce papers?” Caroline was outraged on her sister’s behalf. “God, he sucks so bad. Why didn’t I know about this?”

  “Didn’t seem very sisterly to pile my troubles on top of yours. And frankly, I hate the story I’ve been living. Turns out my ‘perfect’ husband pulled the oldest trick in the book. He took up with an associate at the law firm, plotted a slick exit, and brought my life to a screeching halt. She’s awful, too—one of those phony Christians who claimed she was ‘saving herself for marriage.’”

  “I guess you should have asked whose marriage,” Caroline said. “She ought to be ashamed, but apparently she’s shameless, targeting a married man with a kid. Vee, I wish I’d been a better sister. You didn’t do anything to deserve this, and I’m really sorry it’s happening. What can I do?”

  “I’ll fill you in on all the gory details eventually.” The flames painted her beautiful face with exhaustion. “Believe me, they are gory.”

  Caroline stabbed a dry stick into the fire. “Okay, it’s official. I’m never going to look at a man. Ever.”

  “Famous last words.”

  “Speaking of last.” She downed the rest of her wine. “I saw Will Jensen,” she said. Not exactly a safe topic, but the wine was melting her reserve.

  Virginia sat forward. “Already?”

  “He was at the Bait & Switch early this morning when I rolled into town. Out running with a group of kids.”

  “He does that,” she said with a nod. “High school coach. And?”

  “And nothing.” Yet a sudden strange flutter in her gut didn’t feel like nothing. “The kids were having a meltdown, so I pulled over at the store, and he helped me out.”

  “And?” Virginia persisted.

  He looked wonderful, Caroline thought. He looked like the reason she hadn’t had a sustainable relationship with anyone in a decade. “You tell me. I saw him for like two minutes at six in the morning.”

  “He and Sierra moved to the old Jensen place on the bay.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to catch up with Sierra,” said Mom. “That will be nice. You girls used to be so close.”

  Nice—like hitting herself in the head with a hammer? She and Sierra had been best friends growing up. There had been a time when they’d harbored no secrets between them. When they’d shared everything, even—

  “Will whipped the football team into fine shape,” said Jackson. “Best thing that ever happened to the Peninsula Mariners.” He looked at his watch. “And this Mariner is heading off to bed.”

  “Huh,” Virginia teased. “I bet you have a hot date.”

  “I’m in the middle of reading a hot new novel.”

  “Jealous,” Caroline said, standing up and giving him a hug. “I’ve gone to sleep every night reading The Pout-Pout Fish and The Emperor’s New Clothes.”

  “Good choice for a designer,” Virginia said.

  “Really? Because the point is, the emperor is naked.”

  “Wait until you see what they’ve done to the town library,” Mom said. “It’s doubled in size. There’s a story hour every day. Your kids will love that.”

  They’re not my kids, thought Caroline.

  Oh, but they were.

  Caroline crawled into bed in the room that used to belong to Georgia. The settling sounds of the old wooden house and the murmur of the surf in the distance were the lullaby of her childhood.

  There was a quality of sleep that happened only here at home. Surrounded by the cocoon of warmth imparted by a quilt softened by years, Caroline surrendered to a sense of utter security. Whether warranted or not, being here in the place where she had grown up felt safe—a feeling she had not experienced in a very long time. She slipped deeper into the crisp, sun-scented bed linens and released a sigh of relief.

  This reprieve from worry was only temporary. She knew that. Her problems, like her new life, were just getting started. She had to make a new plan, not just for herself but now for the two children who had become her responsibility. She had no idea where to start.

  Start here, she thought. Start now.

  Her family had gathered around with soothing noises and gratifying reassurances. But coming back here felt like a step backward.

  Later, she thought, tucking her arm around the freshly laundered pillowcase. I’ll figure things out later. For the moment, she snuggled into the comfort of a familiar bed. Finally, she was about to get a good night’s sleep. She was floating toward sweet oblivion when she heard a little blip of distress.

  No, it was just her imagination.

  Another blip, followed by a sniff.

  Caroline blinked into the darkness. “Addie?” she whispered.

  Two small silhouettes were framed in the doorway.

  “We can’t sleep.”

  Great.

  “Of course you can sleep,” she said. “You’ve been sleeping like champs at every hotel we stayed at.”

  “Because you were in the room with us,” Flick said.

  “I never realized my presence was a sleep aid.”

  “We’re all alone here,” Addie said, her small voice quavering. She clutched Wonder Woman to her chest.

  Caroline gritted her teeth. At the same time, something different stirred inside her. She’d never been anyone’s sleep aid before. “I thought you’d be excited to have a room all to yourself.”

  Silence for several beats.

  “We don’t want to be all by ourselves,” Flick said.

  She hadn’t minded sharing the motel rooms with them. She’d grown used to their soft sighs and occasional whimpers. “Listen. I’m super tired, too tired to argue with you. So I’ll make you a deal. You can sleep in here tonight because it’s your first night. Starting tomorrow, you sleep in your bed all night every night.”

  The kids looked at each other. Then back at Caroline. With an elongated sigh, she lifted the blanket. They snuggled in like puppies, rustling a bit and then settling down, nestled close against her.

  Caroline turned out the light.

  Chapter 8

  Fabric shops all had a peculiar, distinctive scent, subtle and evocative, a waft of nostalgia. When Caroline stepped through the door of Lindy’s Fabric and Notion
s and took a breath, she recognized the aroma of dry goods and dye, sweet machine oil and tailor’s chalk, and dried lavender and bergamot from the display of fine imported tea, one of Lindy’s sidelines.

  Familiarity washed over her as she took in her surroundings. Even the jangle of the little brass bell over the door awakened memories. The shop had been like a second home to Caroline while she was growing up. She’d spent countless hours here, learning the basics of sewing and design that had become her life’s passion.

  This was her first venture away from the children since Angelique’s death, and she felt a tangible release of tension. Her mother had gathered Flick and Addie in like a hen clucking over a clutch of eggs, and she’d shooed Caroline off with a brisk flap of her apron. “Take a little time for yourself,” she’d said. “I’m in charge now. Go have a look around town.”

  Caroline had seized on the opportunity. She needed it. Needed to be something other than a worrier. Needed to find her next logical step. So naturally the path led her to Lindy’s.

  “Hello, can I help you?” said the young woman behind the cutting table. She wore thick-framed glasses and an apron in a conversational birdcage print that managed to look very cool, and a name tag that read echo.

  “I hope so,” Caroline said, scanning the neat rows of fabric bolts. The shop was deserted other than a marmalade cat napping in the window display. “I’m an old friend of Lindy’s. I used to work here. Is she around today?”

  “There’s a familiar face,” called a voice from the workroom in the back of the shop.

  Caroline felt herself light up with pleasure. “Lindy? Oh my gosh. It’s so great to see you.”

  The older woman—she was about Caroline’s mom’s age—opened her arms as she bustled into the shop. “Miss Caroline Shelby, as I live and breathe. I heard a rumor that you were in town,” she said as they hugged. She stepped back, beaming. “My star pupil. How nice to see you again.”

  Lindy had owned the shop for as long as Caroline could remember. She was a talented seamstress and quilter who had generously given Caroline access to the machines in her workroom, as well as basic lessons in sewing and patternmaking.

  “This is Echo Sanders,” Lindy said. “Another rising star.”

  Echo’s cheeks reddened in a bashful blush. “We’ll see,” she said.

  “My goodness, we go way back, don’t we?” Lindy said.

  Ever since she was old enough to thread a needle, Caroline had dreamed of designing and making clothes. Discovering, thanks to a trip to Portland with Lindy, that such a thing as design school existed. Lindy had given her a catalog from the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York, and Caroline was a goner. With relentless focus, she had conquered patternmaking, sample sewing, grading, and sizing.

  “I’ll always be grateful for all the time I spent here. You were such a fabulous teacher. I used to want to wrap the world in your vintage cotton prints.”

  “And it appears you’re doing just that,” Lindy said, then turned to Echo. “She’s been working as a designer in New York.”

  Echo leaned her elbows on the cutting table. “That sounds like a dream come true.”

  “It’s . . .” Caroline glanced away. “It’s been quite a ride.”

  “I hope we get a chance to catch up soon,” Lindy said.

  “I’d like that. I don’t know where to start.” She sighed. “I’ve left New York. I’m looking for a way to get back on my feet.”

  Lindy’s brow knit. “Back on your feet? Is everything all right?”

  “It’s a long story,” Caroline said. “I lost a close friend in New York, and now I’m taking care of her kids—Flick and Addie. They’re five and six years old.”

  “My goodness, Caroline. What happened? That is, if it’s not prying . . .”

  “Not at all.” Caroline took a deep breath. “If I’ve learned anything through this, it’s that keeping secrets can be toxic. Angelique died of an overdose. I didn’t even know she had a drug problem. I’m pretty sure she was in an abusive relationship, too, and the biggest regret of my life is that I had my suspicions and didn’t do anything.”

  “You weren’t her keeper.”

  “I was her friend. I wish I’d known what to do. I mean, I asked questions, but obviously not the right questions to get a straight answer from her.”

  Lindy’s expression changed. Her usual soft, professional facade hardened as she crossed her arms in front of her. “Let me guess. She said she tripped and fell. Bumped into a door. Banged herself on the subway.”

  “Something like that,” Caroline agreed. “I thought she might be covering up, and I didn’t force the issue. I should have pushed harder to make her tell me what was going on.”

  “You can’t. That never works.” Lindy’s voice was firm.

  Caroline faced her onetime mentor and teacher, a woman who had seemed as steady and grounded as the lighthouses along the coast. Lindy was married to a banker, known for his work with the Rotary Club. “Lindy?” she asked softly. There was a feeling she recognized. A knowing. It was the feeling she’d had about Angelique, but she’d dismissed it. “Are you all right? I don’t mean to sound nosy, but—”

  “No, ask away,” Lindy said. “You said it yourself just a moment ago—secrets can be toxic. And to answer your question, yes. I’m all right now. But for years, I was married to a man who hit me.”

  Caroline pressed down on the cutting table to steady herself. She tried to reconcile her memories of Lindy and her scion-of-the-community husband. She’d scarcely known him. Mr. Bloom had always driven nice cars and worn bespoke suits. They had a gorgeous house with a swimming pool and endless ocean views. He’d attended church every Sunday. He’d seemed like the model citizen.

  Caroline scrambled to take it all in. She’d known Lindy since she was a little girl, browsing through drawers of buttons and bolts of fabric. She had spent so many hours with her, nattering away, oblivious to a woman’s secret pain. A moment ago, she would have said she knew this person well. She was fast learning that everyone had hidden facets. To realize Lindy had been suffering all that time filled her with guilt. “I’m sorry for the trouble you had with your husband,” she said. “Are you all right now?”

  Echo was listening intently. Lindy took a deep breath, and her expression softened. “I’ve been divorced for three years, and he moved away and I never have to see him again.”

  “Oh, Lindy. I’m glad you’re not in that anymore.”

  “Yes, I . . . Well, life is different since the divorce. Mostly in a good way. I’ve put off any thought of retiring. Part of claiming my freedom also means having to provide for myself. I’ve had to simplify my life considerably, as you can imagine, but I’m safe and sound.” She smiled across the table at Echo. “I won’t ever get rich running this shop, but I’ve never been happier.”

  “I hope business is good.”

  “It could always be better. I’m getting by.” Lindy’s smile was wistful.

  “Honestly, I’m still in shock,” Caroline said. “I was as self-centered as any kid, and I had no idea you were going through such a horrible ordeal.”

  “No one knew for a very long time. There are still people in town who don’t believe it. Because as I suppose you’ve gleaned by now, secrecy and shame are a big part of the syndrome.” Lindy took out a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “I feel so silly, getting emotional after all this time. It’s just such a relief to talk about these things.”

  “Listen,” Caroline said to her, “the last thing you should be feeling is silly. No one should have to suffer through something like that.”

  Lindy offered a wobbly smile. “I’ve always liked you, Caroline. You have a good heart.”

  It didn’t feel that way. She’d been oblivious. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Caroline asked. “I mean, I know you’re safe now, but if you need something . . .”

  “The talking,” Lydia said. “Just like this. It does help.”

  “Yes,” Echo sai
d, her voice barely audible. “The listening, too.” She was staring down at the table. Her hands were tense on the cutting mat.

  Lindy patted Caroline’s arm. “Echo and I have something in common. We’re both survivors.”

  “Oh, God. You too?” Caroline felt as if the curtains had been swept aside, revealing a hidden world she’d never imagined.

  Echo lifted her gaze. “I walked away from a man who took everything from me. I’m still picking up the pieces. Lindy’s been kind enough to give me a job here. I used to work sewing at a fabricator down in Astoria, making gloves and outerwear for the military. But they lost their government contract and laid everyone off. I guess they’re moving all their fabrication work offshore like everyone else.”

  Caroline thought about her purpose coming into the shop, and now she dismissed the idea. “I’d love to talk to you more sometime,” she said to both women. “That is, if it’s not painful. There’s so much I don’t know about what my friend was facing. I owe it to her kids to understand.”

  Lindy neatened the supplies around the cash register. “Like I said, talking can help. Anytime, Caroline. And welcome home.”

  That night before bedtime, Caroline found a slender cord of Christmas lights in the basement. Crawling on hands and knees, she installed them along the upstairs hallway.

  “Did I miss something?” asked Mom, arriving from the laundry room with a stack of folded clothes. “Are we putting up lights super early, or are these for the Easter Bunny?”

  The children, watching from the doorway of their room, giggled softly.