by Susan Wiggs
The only problem was, she didn’t have a shop. She was going to need a large workspace for herself and Echo to get the shirts made using the industrial machines and cutting tables.
Finding a place for the support group meeting had been less challenging. There was a community room in an annex next to the police station, which was perfect. She could think of no better place for women who had been involved with violent men. She and her sisters—Georgia had embraced the project with both incredibly competent arms—had stayed up late every night, planning and organizing.
Staying busy helped keep panic at bay.
She reminded herself of that as she drove slowly through the small community of vintage houses, weathered picket fences, spectacular gardens, and oyster sheds. She turned at the mailbox with fading letters—water’s edge. Cypress sentinels lined the drive, and a weather-beaten picket fence, bearded with moss, bordered the lawn. The old painted house overlooked Willapa Bay, the preternaturally calm water mirroring a fringe of forested lowlands. There was a dock and an oyster barn, and another huge barn located across a meadow at the edge of a wooded area.
Oh, the adventures she’d had here, exploring and playing hide-and-seek, dipping a net into the water to see what came up. She remembered wearing old sneakers to keep from cutting her feet on oysters and barnacles in the bay. At certain times of the year, they could find salmon swimming through the forest on their muddy, migratory path. But the greatest adventure of all had been—
“Hey, guys!” Will strode toward her as she parked the car. “Welcome.” He wore lived-in jeans that had faded in all the right places, a denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled back, a bandanna hanging from his back pocket, and a metal tape measure clipped to his belt. He was, as always, a man completely at home in his own skin.
She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat, ducking her head to hide a completely uncalled-for blush.
“We come bearing gifts,” she said, getting out of the car and holding out a mason jar. Flick and Addie got out of the back seat and looked around. “My mom’s strawberry jam. First batch of the season.”
Will took it from her. “The first time I met you, you brought your mom’s strawberry-rhubarb jam.”
“Some things never change,” she said, knowing it for the line it was. Nothing ever stayed the same. Yet she couldn’t help being a little surprised that he remembered such a small detail from that day.
He hunkered down to Addie’s level. “You were asleep in the back of Caroline’s car the first time I met you. But the second time . . .” He gave a low whistle. “You turned into Supergirl.”
“What did you do to your eye?” asked Addie, gazing steadily at him.
Caroline was mortified. “Addie—”
“It’s fine,” he said, not looking away from the little girl. “When I was in the navy, I was in an accident and I hurt my eye pretty bad. They had to replace it with an eye made out of acrylic. Sometimes I wear a patch over it like a pirate, but mostly I wear this one.”
“Whoa,” she whispered.
Caroline froze with shock. What the hell? He lost an eye?
Flick pressed close to his sister. “Which eye is it?”
“Which one do you think it is?” Will regarded them placidly, clearly unruffled by their curiosity.
“They look the same to me.”
“They’re supposed to.”
With exquisite gentleness, Addie laid her hand on his left cheek. “This one,” she said.
He nodded. “You’re right. Some people, like you, can tell right away. Most don’t notice.”
I didn’t notice, thought Caroline.
“What do you see when you look out that eye?” asked Flick.
“Enough with the questions,” Caroline said. Jesus Christ, he’d lost an eye.
Will got to his feet. “If I close my other eye, all I see is a dense fog, the kind we have around here some mornings. Fortunately, the other eye sees just fine. Come on inside. Let’s go find Sierra and maybe have a taste of Dot’s jam.”
Like a pair of imprinted ducks, they followed him up the front steps.
Sierra was perfectly outfitted in pale blue cropped jeans and a crisp white top. “Welcome to our abode. I made cookies and lemonade.”
Caroline hadn’t seen Will and Sierra together since the weekend of their wedding a decade ago. One of them knew the reason for that. The other didn’t.
Addie and Flick stuck close to Caroline as they stepped inside. The house was the same rambling Victorian that had seemed so grand to her long ago. Originally built by Will’s ancestor, it had mullioned windows with wavy glass, carved woodwork, a fancy staircase, and a big bay window with a view of the water. The smell of newly finished wood and paint mingled with the warm scent of freshly baked cookies.
“This way to the kitchen,” said Sierra. “Watch your step—it’s a work in progress.”
They made their way to a bright, open kitchen with new cabinets and countertops, and a breakfast nook with a view of the dock and oyster barn. “Have a cookie,” said Sierra, offering a perfectly arranged tray of pecan sandies, black and whites, and oatmeal cranberry cookies with white chocolate chips.
Caroline gave the kids a nod. “When it comes to cookies, Sierra is a pro, because her dad is the pastor of a big church. After services, it’s all about the cookies.”
They looked mystified, and she wondered if she should be taking them to church. Would it help them adjust to their new life?
“She’s right,” Sierra said. “I know at least ten recipes by heart.”
The kids climbed up to the table and helped themselves. “Thank you,” Addie said, and nudged her brother.
He echoed his thanks. Caroline helped herself to a cookie. “Good lord, what did you put in these things, crack?”
“She’s the cookie whisperer,” Will said. He patted his midsection. “Fattening me up.”
Caroline cut her glance away from his well-built form, which showed not an ounce of fat. She wandered over to the kitchen island, currently laden with sketches and swatches of material. “So tell me about this project.”
“Will’s obsessed,” said Sierra. “In a good way. He did most of the work himself.” She gave Caroline a quick tour of the space. “He removed a wall and put up new cabinets and countertops. Remember how old and poky the kitchen used to be?”
Caroline nodded, admiring the bright, clean space. It had been modernized, but still retained the charm of bygone days. “It’s fantastic,” she said. “After living in a tiny walk-up in New York, I feel surrounded by luxury.” What she didn’t say was that back in the city, living in a cramped apartment was a badge of honor for emerging designers. “It’s all so wonderful, you guys. I’m really happy for you.”
I’m really happy for you. One of the great empty phrases used by so many people to hide so many real feelings. Could you actually tie your happiness to someone else’s?
Maybe, she thought, watching Flick finish off a second cookie, an expression of pure bliss on his face. One of the unexpected bonuses of having these kids was that when they were happy, their smiles lifted her heart.
Addie left the table and went to the back door, looking out at the sparkling waters of Willapa Bay. “Are there chickens?” she asked. “Grammy Dot has chickens.”
“No chickens, but this morning, I spotted a robin’s nest with three eggs in it,” Will said. “Want to check it out?”
Addie turned back to look up at Caroline. “Can you come?” she asked softly.
The little girl was understandably tentative about new situations. By contrast, Flick tended to dive recklessly into the unknown. Both children held back from new people—a natural reaction, Joan had told her.
“Here’s an idea,” Caroline said. “We could all go.”
Sierra glanced at her phone and swiftly replied to a message. “Sorry,” she said. “Setting up a meeting.” Then she tucked the phone in her back pocket, grabbing a wide-brimmed straw hat as they went out the back do
or.
Will strode ahead, his movements loose-limbed and easy, the way she remembered. Always the athlete, comfortable in his own body. The kids tumbled outside, following him across the lawn to a stand of gnarled old rhododendrons. “Let’s be super quiet,” he said to them. “The mama bird spends most of her time on the nest, and we don’t want to disturb her. I need to lift you both up so you can see. Is that okay?”
It was cool of him to ask, Caroline observed. In her crash course on parenting a grieving child, she’d learned that kids, just like any adult, deserved to be asked before you touched them.
They both nodded assent, and in one swift movement, he scooped them both up at the same time, one on each arm.
Caroline must have made a sound, because Sierra nudged her. “I know, right? He likes to show off his Captain America arms.”
He leaned in and said, “The nest is just there, in front of us. The mama bird’s in it.”
“I see her!” Addie said in a whisper. “Flick, do you see her?”
“Yep, she’s cute.” Flick leaned even closer.
In a sudden whir of wings, the bird shot from the bush, chittering in panic and disappearing amid the tall trees at the edge of the yard.
“You scared her, Flick,” Addie accused.
“Did not! I—”
“Have a quick look at the eggs, and then we’ll leave her alone,” Will said. “Can you see all three eggs?”
“They’re so little,” Addie said. “And they’re blue! How come they’re blue?”
Will set them down on the lawn and stepped away from the rhododendron. “Sunscreen,” he said. “The color keeps them from getting too warm.” He grinned at their expressions. “Seriously, it’s sunscreen, just like you wear in the summer to keep from getting burned. The blue eggs stay cooler. Come on. Let’s give the mom a chance to come back.” He backed farther away.
“Will she come again?” asked Addie. She slipped her hand into Will’s.
“Sure,” he said. “I’ve been watching her for a few days. She always comes back.”
“What if she doesn’t?” asked Flick.
“He just said she’s gonna,” Addie told him, her voice edged with annoyance. She looked around behind Will and stuck out her tongue at her brother.
“But what if she doesn’t?” Flick persisted.
“In that case, the eggs won’t hatch,” said Will.
“Never? Not ever?”
“Nope. That’s the way it works.”
“It’s sad,” Addie said. “I want the mama bird to come back.”
“Let’s give her a little time,” Will said easily.
“Our mama died,” Addie whispered.
Caroline’s heart melted. Will sank back down so they were face-to-face and gave both children a gentle look. “My mama died, too, when I was a boy. I think of her every day.”
“She’ll never come back,” said Flick.
“That’s right. It’s really sad,” Will admitted.
“Do you cry every day?” Addie asked him.
“No. Sometimes I still do, though.” His honesty and matter-of-fact tone seemed to put them at ease. “I hope you’ll tell me more about your mama sometime.”
“Caroline’s gonna get me some binoculars for bird-watching,” Flick said.
“Lucky you. Come on down to the dock and I’ll show you something else.”
Addie beckoned to Caroline. “Are you coming?”
Caroline looked at Sierra. “Are we coming?”
Sierra was checking her phone again. “Oh, sure. There are some lawn chairs where we can sit and chat.”
Will found a couple of life jackets for the kids and buckled them on.
“Why do we have to wear these?” asked Flick. “Are we going in a boat?”
“Not today, but when you’re on the dock, you should have a vest in case you fall in.”
He was so careful with the children. Caroline observed, watching them follow him to the weather-beaten dock, its planks bearded with moss. And they were quickly drawn to him; he was so naturally at ease. A small dinghy and an oystering scow were moored at the end. Will grabbed a rope and hauled in a float bag.
“What’s that?” asked Addie.
“Yearling oysters,” he said, taking one from the flat mesh bag. The kids leaned in, checking out the crusty outer shell. He took a stubby-bladed oyster knife from his belt and opened the shell with an expert twist, displaying the glistening inside. “Ever tried eating one?”
“That’s the oyster?” Addie peered at it.
“It looks yuck,” said Flick.
With exaggerated relish, Will slurped it down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
Predictably, they recoiled in horror.
“Kids don’t usually like them until they get older,” said Will.
He opened another and offered it to Sierra, who shook her head. “Not a fan. Never have been. You know that.”
“That must mean you’re still a kid,” Caroline said.
“I tried my first oyster with you,” Will told Caroline. “Remember?”
“Yep, and you loved it.”
“She told me a saying—that eating an oyster is like kissing the sea on the lips.”
“Double ew,” said Flick.
Will held the shell out to Caroline. Touching it to her lower lip, she let the cool, briny morsel slip into her mouth. It was creamy and soft, almost buttery, salted by the ocean. Willapa oysters had a flavor all their own, tinged with a hint of sweetness compared to East Coast varieties. She laughed at the kids’ expressions. “It’s what’s known as an acquired taste.”
“This whole place was built a hundred years ago, all because people love eating oysters.” Will gestured out at the bay. They walked farther out on the dock, and he showed them how to dip a small net down into the clear depths. Sunlight flashed on the water, and for a moment, time was swept away.
“All those hours we spent on the docks around here,” Sierra said, seeming to read her thoughts.
Caroline could still feel the golden heat of the summer sun on her back as she lay belly down, mesmerized by the urchins and anemones and mussels clinging to the dock pilings. She could see them with knife-edged clarity through the shimmering water. She used to imagine patterns and designs swirling to watery life, leaving trails of sparkles that somehow wove their way into her imagination.
“I remember those days,” she said.
“I was obsessed with hiding from the sun,” Sierra said.
“I remember that, too.” She eyed Sierra’s wide-brimmed hat.
“You made me that great sun-safe gown, remember? I thought I was a queen, parading around in your creation.”
“Should I be putting sunscreen on the kids?” Caroline asked. “It’s early in the season, but—”
“Sunscreen is always a good idea, even for people with dark skin. Trust me. I’ve made a study of these things.”
“Caroline, look!” Addie held up a whorled seashell. “It’s just like your design!”
She took the nautilus shell in her hand. It was unoccupied, but still intact. “Other way around. I used this motif in my designs. It’s my signature. You’re very observant.” She handed it back to Addie and looked away to hide a wave of frustration.
“What is it?” asked Sierra. “I bet your designs are beautiful.”
“They are. They were, anyway, and I suppose that was the problem.” Caroline didn’t feel like talking about the demise of her career. “Long, boring story. It didn’t work out.”
A deep laugh burst from Will as he held out a Dungeness crab for the kids to inspect. Flick and Addie edged forward, then shrank away as the creature brandished its claws. Will slipped it back into the water and they leaned over to watch it swim to safety. Then Flick dipped the net and brought up something shiny from the depths.
Caroline exhaled in a long sigh as she and Sierra strolled back to the bank at the edge of the dock. “It’s so beautiful here. We were lucky to grow up in such a magical p
lace.”
“We couldn’t wait to leave,” Sierra reminded her, motioning her over to a pair of gray wooden Adirondack chairs. “And now look at us. Back where we started from.”
“For now,” Caroline said.
“Forever,” Sierra said. “Christ.”
Caroline glanced over at her. Sierra was as gorgeous as ever, perfectly put together. Brilliant manicure, trendy nude lipstick, expertly blended makeup. Yet there was something different about her. Something indefinable. “You sound frustrated.”
“Will is so happy here. We’re trying to make it work.”
It. Did she mean the marriage? Her career? Her life?
“After the accident—”
“What accident?” asked Caroline. “Oh, his eye, you mean.”
“It happened while he was stationed overseas. He lost his eye and had to take a medical retirement. His grandparents had moved to assisted living, and Will started a new career as a teacher.”
“I have about a hundred questions,” Caroline admitted. “About everything. The accident?”
“He’s never talked about the mission in detail, because you know the number one rule of Navy SEALs. Total secrecy. He was stationed in Diego Garcia, and it was a hostage rescue near Somalia. Some American aid workers were being held for ransom. Will was the only casualty—a shooting. He never said who shot him, just that it was too dark to see. And that’s pretty much all I know.”
“I’m sorry that happened,” Caroline said, wincing as she imagined him being shot, injuring an eye.
“He was devastated, and the recovery was hard. When his grandparents gave him the house in a living will, he latched onto it. He’s always loved this place, and now he’s on a mission to fix it up. It’s all part of his grand dream of a white picket fence, a family, small-town life . . .”
After the chaos in New York, that didn’t sound so bad to Caroline. “What about your dream?”
Sierra shaded her eyes and looked out across the bay. “It’s kind of hard to make myself a priority when my husband is the perfect one.”
“What? Come on.”
“You know I’m right. He’s perfect. Spotless military record, local hero, teacher and coach, wonderful husband. And look at him.” She gestured at the dock, where he was completely absorbed in the kids. “My dream?” She picked at a dry bit of wood on the chair arm. “I make a lot of trips to Seattle and Portland for work.”