The Oysterville Sewing Circle

by Susan Wiggs

  “Sounds like a lot of trouble.”

  “I suppose it is, but people love it. And anyway, a clambake is more about the party than the clams. It’ll be totally fun. You’ll see.”

  “Good, because I could never eat a clam.” Sierra shuddered. She stepped back and examined her silhouette in the mirror, perfectly draped in the sundress Caroline had designed.

  Sierra never ate much of anything, Caroline had observed. She subsisted mostly on Popsicles and diet soda and the occasional rice cake.

  “The corn and potatoes are my favorites,” she said. “You’ll like that part.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Oh my gosh.” Sierra twirled in front of the mirror. “This is the nicest dress. It’s one of a kind, and it fits perfectly. You’re a genius—do you realize that? Total frickin’ genius.”

  Caroline couldn’t suppress a grin. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

  “I do. You designed and made every stitch of this all by yourself. And I feel amazing in it.”

  “It’s easy to make you look amazing,” Caroline pointed out. “That’s pretty much how you look when you wake up in the morning.”

  “Oh, huh. Nope, Tyra Banks says it takes at least two hours of hair and makeup to turn a girl into a natural beauty.”

  “Right. Speaking of which, how’s my makeup?” She was still getting used to wearing it and had a horror of looking too made up.

  Sierra put her finger under Caroline’s chin and tipped her face to the light. “You’re adorable and you hardly need a thing. Just, maybe . . .” She grabbed a brush and did a little blending. “The skirt you made for yourself is just right, too. All those cool pockets and snaps.” She tucked a lip gloss into one of the pockets. “Try to remember to put a bit of lip gloss on every hour.”

  “Okay.” Caroline wished her plain white tank top had some curves, but she was still waiting for them. Her sisters, in a rare moment of compassion, had told her they’d been late bloomers, too. But standing next to Sierra, she felt as if the blooming would never happen. “Ready?” she asked.

  “Not for clams, but I’m totally down for the party. It’s going to be so much fun—I just know it.”

  “Are you supposed to volunteer in the Oceanside Church booth?” Caroline asked.

  Sierra pursed her lips. “I promised my parents I would. My dad wants me to help sign up more kids for church youth group.”

  “I’ll pitch in,” Caroline said. “Summer youth group isn’t so bad. It’s more about the youth than the church, that’s for sure. Minimal churchy stuff. Some of the older kids sneak away after the meetings and make out. Both my older sisters have done it.”

  “Now that,” Sierra said, “sounds better than clams.”

  “I overheard my parents say that more girls get pregnant thanks to church group than sex ed class.”

  Sierra snickered. “At least in sex ed they tell you how not to get pregnant. In church group, they just say you should wait. Like that’s going to happen.”

  “Exactly.” Caroline decided to brush her teeth and put fresh rubber bands on her braces. They were such a pain. The orthodontist swore it would all be worth it one day. She would never understand why braces had to happen in high school, when looks seemed to matter more than life itself.

  “Have you ever made out with a boy?” asked Sierra.

  Caroline’s tiny rubber band went flying. “No,” she said quickly. Yet her mind darted instantly to that moment last summer. That kiss. It wasn’t a make-out-type kiss, though. It was goodbye. But she’d lived for a whole year on that goodbye. And here was her chance to explain Will to Sierra, since she’d failed to speak up yesterday.

  Her mind emptied out once again. She couldn’t. She simply couldn’t. “What about you?” she asked.

  Sierra swished her skirt as she gave herself a final once-over in the mirror. “Sure I have. Remember Trace Kramer?”

  One of the star players of the Peninsula Mariners. “You made out with Trace Kramer?”

  Sierra flipped her hair back. “Under the bleachers after a football game last fall.”

  “You never told me about that.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t really like it. Mainly because I didn’t really like him. He was pushy and sweaty, and neither of us really knew what we were doing. I’m going to have a real boyfriend this summer.”

  “Yeah? Who do you have in mind?”

  “Nobody yet. I’ll know him when I see him.”

  “Right. Like when Lizzy Bennet met Mr. Darcy for the first time?” They had read Pride and Prejudice in English class this year, and Caroline still dreamed about it.

  “They couldn’t stand each other,” Sierra pointed out.

  “But they felt something.” Boy, did they ever.

  “We’ll see if Mr. Darcy appears,” said Sierra, putting away the bin of hair spray and makeup.

  “It’s about time,” declared Jackson when they unlocked the bathroom door. “You guys were in there forever.” Jackson was eleven years old, and the only thing more annoying than him was Austin, who was nine and not only annoying but grubby. Both boys stood in the hallway outside the bathroom, holding a dripping wet burlap bag between them.

  “What the heck . . . ?” asked Caroline.

  The smelly wet bag brushed against her new skirt as the boys pushed their way into the bathroom. Sierra plastered herself against the wall to avoid touching whatever it was they had. “What’s that horrible smell?” she asked.

  They didn’t answer as they set the bag—which was moving—in the tub.

  “Mom!” Caroline yelled.

  “Shut up,” Jackson said.

  Their mom usually ignored Caroline when she yelled, anyway. “What are you doing with that bag?” she demanded. “Oh my God.”

  Sierra gave a little scream and clung to Caroline’s arm. “Is that a rat?”

  “It’s an otter,” said Austin, jumping up and down. “A baby otter. We found it and we’re keeping it.”

  “It stinks,” Caroline said. “I’m not even telling Mom. She’ll just follow her nose.”

  “Ew,” Sierra said, leaning forward to peer at the little creature scrabbling at the edge of the tub. “It’s kind of cute, though.”

  “Don’t let its looks fool you,” Caroline told her. “Otters are gross. They leave dead fish and poop everywhere.”

  “Let’s name him Oscar,” Jackson said. “Oscar the otter.”

  At that moment, the creature flung its oily body up and out of the tub. Its muscular tail slapped against Caroline’s bare legs and dotted her skirt with dirty water and sand.

  “He’s getting away!” Austin yelled and made a dive for the scuttling critter.

  “What’s going on in there?” Their mother’s voice rang down the hall.

  Caroline grabbed Sierra’s hand. “Let’s get out of here before all hell breaks loose.”

  “Caroline?” Mom met them on their way out. “What are your brothers up to now?”

  “Dunno,” she said. “We’re going to the clambake now. See you later!”

  “Be careful,” Mom called. “Don’t forget to wear your helmets. Boys! What in the world . . . Get that thing out of my house!”

  Caroline grabbed a pair of cutoff shorts from the clothesline, then made a beeline for the bikes. “Stupid brothers. Jeez.” She tugged on the shorts and used the soiled skirt to scrub at the muddy streaks on her legs.

  “Is your house always like that?” Sierra asked.

  “Nope. Some days it’s even worse.” Caroline hopped on her bike. “That’s why I always come over to your house.”

  The back door slammed open and the otter fled across the yard and into the dunes. The boys chased after it, and then Mom appeared, yelling at them to get inside and clean this place up.

  “Your brothers are kind of nutty,” Sierra observed.

  “You think? Let’s go.” Caroline pedaled away from the drama. Her annoyance evaporated as they rode their bikes into town, savoring the feel of the sunshin
e on their bare arms and legs and the smells of new growth all around them.

  They locked the bikes to a rack near the boardwalk and joined the stream of people heading to the beach. The weather was perfect, warm and golden, the light of early evening glimmering across the water.

  The beach scene was everything Caroline loved about summer—music drifting from someone’s car speakers, a volleyball game going on in the sand, kites sailing overhead, coolers filled with frosty cans of root beer and candy-colored soda, bowls of chips and dips set out on long tables, grown-ups standing around the clam pit, drinking and gossiping. She loved the clothes people put on for summer, too—white jeans and gold jewelry, fluttery swimsuit cover-ups and bare feet, toenails painted seashell pink. Looking around, she saw nothing as interesting as Sierra’s outfit.

  Caroline and Sierra helped out in the church booth, signing up kids for youth group. “We’re getting a mad rush of boys,” Caroline said as Sierra collected a stack of sign-up clipboards. “They’re all checking you out.”

  “They can check all they want,” she said breezily. “If my dad catches them . . .” She swiped her finger across her throat. “Dad’s clueless, though,” she added, watching her father passing out summer activities calendars. “Come on, let’s escape while we can.”

  They left the booth and went to hang out with their friends. A group of them, led by Rona Stevens, got up the nerve to dance. “Come on,” Sierra said, grabbing Caroline’s hand. “Let’s go for it.”

  Madonna’s “Nothing Really Matters” broke the ice. The number loosened everyone up, and pretty soon they were all crowded together on the sand, laughing and bumping into one another and trying out new dance moves. Sierra was practically drowning in compliments on her new dress. Caroline basked in the reflected glow. A couple of high school girls even asked if she could make outfits for them.

  After a while, they took a break for a cold drink. Zane Hardy, who had been Caroline’s lab partner in biology last year, handed her a can. “Lemonade okay?” he asked.

  “Sure, thanks.” She took a sip, then pressed the chilled can to her neck. “I worked up a sweat out there.”

  “Yeah, I saw.” Zane cleared his throat. “I mean, um, you’re a good dancer.”

  “You think?” Caroline chuckled. “No way.”

  “Sure, you are. I always feel like such a dork when I dance.”

  She set down her can. “You’re probably thinking too much. Forget you’re dancing and have fun.”

  “New York City Boy” came through the speakers—totally danceable. “Come on,” she said, leading the way. “Nobody’s gonna think you’re a dork.”

  He balked, but only for a few seconds. Once they joined the crowd, everybody kind of mashed together, and by the end of the song, Zane was busting a move along with everyone else.

  “See?” Caroline teased. “You’re a New York City boy.”

  “And you’re cool,” he said. “We should hang out this summer.”

  Oh. Well. She didn’t know if he was coming on to her or simply being friendly. There was only one way to find out. “Are you coming on to me or just being friendly?”

  His cheeks turned bright red. “I don’t . . . I’m not . . .”

  She felt bad for making him stammer. Boys were such a combination of bravado and insecurity. She saw that trait in her brothers all the time. “Sorry. My mom says I’m blunt as a spoon.”

  At that moment, Sierra came over and grabbed Caroline’s arm. “Oh, hey, Zane.”

  “Hiya,” he said, his face still red.

  “I need to borrow Caroline for a minute.” She pivoted away, towing Caroline along behind her. “That kid is totally crushing on you,” she said.

  “Who? Zane?” Now Caroline felt a blush coming on.

  “Of course Zane. I can tell. He’s cute, too.”

  “I guess . . .” Was he? Longish hair parted on the side. Skinny jeans and a vintage T-shirt. He had a nice smile. That made him cute, she supposed.

  “I need to show you something. So, remember how I said I’d know him when I see him?” asked Sierra.

  “What? Who? Oh, yeah. Mr. Darcy.”

  Sierra pointed Caroline toward a lone figure down by the water’s edge, tossing a Frisbee for a hyper little dog. “Well, I just saw him. Only I don’t think he’s called Darcy.”

  Caroline stared in the direction Sierra was pointing and felt a jolt of recognition shoot through her body.

  He wasn’t Darcy.

  He was taller, of course. That was what boys did—they got taller every year. He was lean, but more muscular, too, his shoulders and legs silhouetted against the rushing waves. His shirtless torso glistened with salt water or sweat. The sunlight glinted gold on his hair, and his voice was deep and unfamiliar as he called out a familiar name. “Duffy! Here, boy!”

  Caroline’s stomach churned. It was Will Jensen. Will and his grandparents’ dog, Duffy.

  “Oh well, shoot,” she stammered, “he’s not—”

  Sierra wasn’t listening. When the Frisbee went flying past, she snatched it out of the air like a trained athlete. They’d been in gym class together all year, and Caroline had never seen her friend execute a move like that.

  Now in possession of the Frisbee, Sierra laughed as the dog danced frantically around her. “What a cute little guy,” she called out. “Can I throw it for him?”

  “Sure,” said Will, scooping up a T-shirt as he came toward them. His stare seemed to be glued to Sierra. Of course it was. She looked utterly, totally amazing in the dress Caroline had made for her. In the deepening light, she was almost too beautiful to be real, like a mermaid. No wonder Will couldn’t look away, even as he yanked on a familiar Go Navy T-shirt over his head.

  She flung the disc into the air, and Duffy scampered after it. “I’m Sierra,” she said.

  And I’m invisible, thought Caroline.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m—”

  “That’s Will,” Caroline interrupted, her voice a bit louder than she’d intended.

  The moment she spoke up, his attention swiveled to her. His face lit with a grin that was suddenly familiar, despite the deep voice and big shoulders. “Hey, stranger,” he said.

  “Hey, yourself,” she replied, her heart racing as if she’d just sprinted a hundred yards. “You’re back.” She had an insane fantasy in her mind that he would sweep her up like Rhett did Scarlett in Gone with the Wind and kiss her so hard she fainted.

  “You guys know each other?” asked Sierra. “That’s so cool.” She snapped her fingers. “Your grandmother’s Mrs. Jensen, right? We saw her yesterday. I should have recognized the dog.”

  Duffy came racing back with the Frisbee. Neither Will nor Sierra seemed to notice the dog, so Caroline flung the disc for him again. It caught the breeze and seemed to go for miles.

  “Are you hungry?” Sierra asked Will.

  “Always. How about you?”

  “Starving,” Sierra said.

  She was never starving. She barely ate. Maybe meeting Will had whetted her appetite. Chattering away, she walked with him toward the food tables, now laden with steaming trays of clams, potatoes, and corn.

  Caroline trailed along in their wake. Her stomach was in knots. Literally, it was. She knew she wouldn’t be able to eat a single bite.

  Right before her eyes, Sierra and Will seemed drawn to each other like magnets. Instant attraction, a high school Lizzy and Darcy.

  Suddenly the magical summer Caroline had imagined wasn’t so magical after all. She grabbed a piece of driftwood and stabbed it into the sand, furious at herself. She should have said something to Sierra. She should have just come out and admitted the truth. And the truth was, she’d had a crush on Will Jensen ever since she’d figured out what a crush was.

  Now they were both lost to her—her best friend and her crush—and she’d been the one who had made it happen.

  She glared at the beach scene—people playing and dancing, gathering at the booths, buying chances at the c
akewalk and raffle. Summer at the beach—the season she looked forward to all year long.

  And beyond it all, the great wild ocean stretched out to infinity.

  Part Four

  Appreciate the journey, and recognize your strength.

  —See the Triumph

  Chapter 19

  Caroline was in the kids’ room, going through their school backpacks and checking homework. She’d never pictured herself doing such a thing, and she felt like a fraud. Notes from teachers, permission slips, practice sheets—it was all new to her.

  Sometimes, like at the present moment, it started to feel normal. It started to feel like her life. Not the life she’d imagined for herself, but something she never in her wildest dreams could have conceived of. Both Addie and Flick seemed to be settling in at school. They even seemed proud that the superpower shirts had become a thing. They were trendsetters, she liked to tell them.

  The day was winding down. They’d had their supper and baths. Now Flick lay on his bed, absorbed in Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. Addie had found an old Barbie set in a carrying case that opened like a closet and was playing with the vintage dolls. Thanks to Caroline’s mother, Barbie still lived in the case with her boyfriend, Ken. “She could be Wonder Woman’s friend,” Addie exclaimed. “They’re the same size.”

  “Good idea,” said Caroline. “They could even share clothes.” She held up a tiny ball gown made of weird polyester calico. “I remember making this—a failed experiment. Sewing for Barbie is actually harder than sewing for grown-ups. But see, she has a lot of cool clothes and her own motor scooter. I got in trouble for making her a car.”

  “Why did you get in trouble?”

  “I borrowed one of my dad’s Italian leather shoes to make it. I stuck on the wheels with a hot glue gun, which seemed like a good idea at the time. But it ruined the shoes forever. Dad was so mad at me.”

  “Did he whack you?”

  “What? Whack me? No.” Caroline felt a spike of awareness. “Is that what happens when someone’s bad?”