by Susan Wiggs
They stood together in silence. Kids and dogs at play were the embodiment of pure joy. Sure, they got rashes and fainted at the doctor. They made messes and noise all day, every day, it seemed. But the rewards of seeing them grow were beyond anything she’d ever imagined.
“So how are you doing?” Caroline eyed Will. “And you know what I’m asking.”
“I’m good. Getting used to my new reality.”
“I wish I knew how I could be a better friend.”
“We’ve always been friends,” he said quietly.
Usually after a breakup, the couple’s friends went their separate ways, staying loyal to one or the other of the riven pair. Caroline felt torn between both of them. Sierra had relocated to the city. She was constantly on the move in her new job. Caroline had called her many times. Sent text messages and emails. The responses were brief, almost dismissive. Then she sent a note that summed it up: I’m reinventing my life and I’m doing great. For the time being, it’s easier for me if I don’t bring along anything from the past. Hope you understand.
Caroline stopped calling her.
Will was a different story. She saw him often, since the rainwear workshop was on his property. A couple of times, she’d been working when a woman came to see him. A date. He was dating. He was back on the market. And that of course made her think about the way things had been when they were young.
She remembered a time when she’d had feelings so powerful she thought she would explode, but she had kept them hidden.
Was she doing that now?
“I can listen,” she stated.
He held a long silence. “Hell, don’t I know it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Sierra ended a pregnancy. She said she told you.”
Caroline looked away, seared by a sense of guilt. “It’s none of my business. I wish she hadn’t said anything.”
“She told you before she told me.”
“She knew it would hurt you.”
“It’s a huge thing to keep from your spouse,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I really don’t know what to say.”
“Most people don’t. Hell, half the time, I don’t.”
There were so many other things Caroline wanted to talk to him about. She hesitated, though, uncertain about who they were to each other after all that had happened. Their friendship was different in ways she couldn’t quite get her head around. She wished . . .
“Have you made a decision?” The shelter manager came out and watched the kids and dogs playing together. The brown one fetched a stick tirelessly. The black-and-white one nestled sweetly in Flick’s lap.
“Oh, boy.” Caroline glanced at Will. “This is going to be hard.”
“Blackie is really nice,” Addie said. “But so is Brownie.”
Flick nodded. “We can’t choose.”
Shit, thought Caroline. Two dogs?
“We have to pick one,” she said. She, too, was completely torn. Both dogs were lovely and either one would make the kids happy.
“I have an idea,” Will said. He hunkered down and the chocolate lab mix scurried over, trying to climb his chest and lick his face. “I need a dog, too,” Will continued. “Suppose I take this one home and you guys take the other.”
“Yay!” Addie jumped in the air. “We can visit him, right?”
“Sure you can. Any time you want.”
“Will, that’s incredible,” Caroline said. She felt the sweetest sense of relief. “Are you sure?”
“It’s fine.” He rubbed the ecstatic dog behind the ears. “I’ve been wanting a dog for a long time. Sierra never did, though. So I figure there’s no reason to put it off any longer.”
Chapter 24
“Why’s it called ‘homecoming’ if we’re already home?” asked Flick, craning his neck to check out the scene.
“Everybody comes together to welcome back people who went to high school here.”
“Is Sierra coming back?”
The town always went all out for homecoming. Corsages of giant mums, a special performance with alumni band members, and of course the all-important homecoming court—king, queen, and courtiers. Sierra had been homecoming queen their senior year. She’d been paired with Bucky O’Malley, the head cheerleader, because he was the only one who came close to her in good looks. Caroline had never been a member of the court, but she’d made Sierra’s faux-ermine cloak for the halftime show.
“Sierra won’t be back this year. You’ve probably never gone to a homecoming game,” Caroline said. “It’s like a regular football game, only with lots more people.”
There was a rally in the parking lot of the stadium, crowded with people in letterman jackets and school colors. The smell of rain was heavy in the air, but everyone seemed to be ignoring it. Star of the Sea had a booth, and they stopped by for a snack—gourmet corn dogs and cookies with the Peninsula Mariners team logo. The sounds and smells stirred waves of nostalgia—the rivalries, the romances, the regrets. The ridiculously big dreams that too often came crashing down with the onset of adulthood. Caroline spotted people she hadn’t seen since high school, greeting several of them and garnering raised eyebrows of inquiry as they noticed her kids.
One of the inquisitive looks came from Zane Hardy, her onetime lab partner. He looked the same—cool glasses, shaggy hair parted on the side, skinny jeans, vintage tee layered under a buffalo plaid shirt. Only now he had a little boy in tow who looked so much like Zane it was almost comical. She smiled at him but kept going. Sometimes the best part of nostalgia was wondering what if . . .
She and the children found seats in the bleachers, and they were soon swept up in the excitement, stomping their feet as the alumni band blared an opening number and watching the cheerleaders in utter fascination. “Caroline, they do cartwheels almost as good as you,” Addie said.
Caroline gave her a hug. “Right, kiddo.”
With much fanfare, the players burst through the paper banner at the locker-room tunnel.
“I see Will!” Flick jumped up and down, pointing. “Hey, Will! Can we go say hi?”
“Not right now,” Caroline said, although privately, she had the same thought. It was great seeing him in his element, in charge of a team bent on winning. He was an energetic presence, talking earnestly to his assistant and players. After the kickoff, he seemed wound tight as a drum as he paced the sidelines, clipboard in hand. He was chewing gum, which caused his jaw to bulge rhythmically.
“. . . still dating half the town,” said a woman’s voice a couple of rows back.
Caroline whipped a glance behind her. She recognized Lanie Cannon, an attractive, available single mom. Lanie worked at the local grocery. Single women seemed to be everywhere these days. And they were all after Will Jensen.
“. . . should just ask him out.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Didn’t he help your older boy get into college last year?”
Caroline leaned back to eavesdrop.
“Totally,” said Lanie. “Beau got an athletic scholarship to UW thanks to Will. I won’t have to go to the poorhouse paying for tuition. A couple of years ago, I couldn’t afford Beau’s athletic fees, and someone mysteriously paid them. I think it was Will.”
Of course it was Will, Caroline thought.
“Well, there you have it. Tell him you want to make him dinner as a proper thank-you.”
“So obvious.”
“He’s a guy. You need to be obvious.”
“I wouldn’t mind if he was more obvious,” Lanie said. “I’ve heard he never goes past first base. Or maybe the first down, in football speak.”
“He’s the local coach. Probably trying to avoid gossip. Or—hey—waiting for the right girl to come along. Maybe you should—”
“Can I get a foam finger?” asked Addie, pointing to a concessionaire hawking swag.
Caroline tried ignoring her. One thing she’d learned about kids—they all liked everything for about five
minutes. After that, the thing was forgotten and, worse, discarded and left for her to pick up. She couldn’t help mulling over what she’d heard the women discussing. And she couldn’t help thinking back to a secret she’d held enshrined in her heart for far too long—the night she’d lost herself, for only a single illicit moment, in Will Jensen’s arms.
“Can I?” Addie persisted. “Please?”
“No,” Caroline said. The overheard conversation had irritated her. “Finish your hot dog.”
“Aww . . .”
When the halftime show started, so did the rain. Umbrellas sprouted like mushrooms in the gloom. “Gear up, you guys,” Caroline said.
The kids pulled their rain flies out of the pockets of their popover jackets and put them on. Caroline donned a prototype of her latest design for C-Shell Rainwear—the stadium coat. Her seat cushion transformed into a lightweight raincoat in a cool print. She shook it out and put it on, and when she looked down at the field, she spotted Will looking directly at her.
Their gazes held for a moment; then he lifted his arm and beckoned her.
“Hey, is he waving at you?” asked the woman behind her. “I think he is!”
“Let’s go find Will,” Caroline said, taking Addie’s hand. “Watch your step.”
They were halfway down the narrow concrete steps when someone tapped Caroline on the shoulder. “Excuse me.” It was Lanie Cannon, brushing the rain from her eyes.
Good lord, was she looking for a catfight?
“Yes?” Caroline was not going to let her by.
“I was just noticing . . . Did you just turn your seat cushion into a raincoat?”
Oh.
“I did, actually,” said Caroline.
“That’s genius. And super cute. I’ve sat on more cold, wet benches than I can count. Where’d you get it? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Caroline made it,” Addie piped up.
Caroline nodded and indicated the nautilus shell logo on her jacket. “On my website. They have them at Swain’s store, too.”
“Cool. Thanks!”
She saw Flick making a beeline for Will. “Gotta go.”
There were perks to being single, Will discovered. People felt sorry for him. They fixed food and brought it over, the way some folks did after a death in the family. They sent text messages and emails with funny pictures and video clips. They invited him places.
He was grateful for the attention. But sometimes all it did was remind him of what he’d lost—a wife, a carefully planned future, a dream. He looked around and saw couples being couples, functioning with seemingly little effort, sharing the daily joys of living. Yeah, so probably there were hidden issues. But knowing this didn’t keep him from feeling the glaring hole in the middle of his world.
At the annual homecoming game, during halftime, Caroline joined him just as he was about to head into the locker room for the team pep talk. Despite the chilly rain, despite the fact that his team was down by seven points, he’d greeted her with a grin and a wave.
She had invited him to Thanksgiving dinner at her family’s place, and he’d gladly accepted.
It was a start, he thought, as he got ready for what promised to be an epic feast.
A start of what?
Maybe something. Maybe nothing.
Since the divorce, he’d sensed a shift in his relationship with Caroline. It was subtle, and sometimes he wondered if he was imagining things, but he felt drawn to her in a different way. When he saw her coming and going from her shop, he noticed things that used to be filtered out by the fact that he was married. To her best friend. Now he noticed the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, and the curve of her butt in the snug jeans she liked to wear, the fullness of her lips and the sound of her laughter.
Armed with a big bouquet and a box of fancy chocolates—five pounds, enough to feed a crowd—he showed up at the Shelby house on a dark, rainy, muddy afternoon. The entire house held the warm aromas of a classic family Thanksgiving—roasting turkey and sage, baking rolls, sweet cinnamon and apples.
“Thanks for taking in a stray,” he said to Dottie as she greeted him at the door. “I was going to bring a pie, but I figured that would be like bringing coals to Newcastle.”
“You’d be right.” Georgia took his rain jacket and hung it up. “There’s no competing with my maple pecan pie or Mom’s brown sugar pumpkin.”
“You’re never going to get rid of me.”
The Shelby clan surrounded him, amoeba-like, enclosing him in a kind of warmth that was gratifying, but that also filled him with yearning. There were two sets of grandparents present. Georgia came with a husband and two kids. Virginia was there with her daughter, Fern, and a guy she was dating. Both of the brothers had brought dates as well. Will was relieved to see he wasn’t the only non–family member. The presence of the others made him seem slightly less pathetic.
With Dottie directing and everyone pitching in, a mind-blowing buffet materialized, tables were set, conversation flowed, and the football games came on TV.
Lyle proposed a toast, pouring what Will knew was probably an exceptional white wine. There was local apple cider for the kids. Glasses clinked all around. Then everyone loaded their plates and savored the incredible feast.
“Are you having a good Thanksgiving?” Will asked Flick as they indulged in too much dessert.
“Uh-huh.”
“What was Thanksgiving like with your mom?” he asked. He could feel Caroline’s attention drilling into him.
Flick shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t remember.”
“Maybe you had people over or went to someone’s house,” Caroline suggested. She locked eyes with Will over Flick’s head.
“Nah,” he said. “Can I have more pumpkin pie?”
A series of chords burst from the piano. Austin was at the keyboard, and he started off with “All Star” by Smash Mouth. Then “Shut Up and Dance” came around, and there was a bit of actual dancing. Will grabbed Caroline and they laughed their way through the number, bumping into the other couples and the little cousins. The music ended with the ultimate earworm, “Sweet Caroline.”
“That’s my song,” she exclaimed during the intro. “It’s the most awful song, and I love it!”
Watching everyone laughing and singing around the piano filled Will with a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time—the gentle, inclusive embrace of a real family. Sure, he knew he was idealizing things; families were messy and often problematic. But they also had moments of soaring joy and a sense that the world was right. He focused on Caroline, her smile and dancing eyes, the natural curve of her arms as she hugged her kids in close, and the loneliness inside him roared.
Chapter 25
On the one-year anniversary of the Oysterville Sewing Circle, the meeting room was packed. Caroline and her sisters put out a sheet cake decorated with a needle and thread and the message Mend Your Heart. The same phrase, along with the help line phone number, was featured on the little pocket sewing kits Lindy had made to give out. There was a core of regular attendees—Caroline never missed a meeting—and several who came and went. Most had heartbreaking stories to tell. A few were truly inspirational or even transformational. The insights into women who survived violent relationships were life-changing for Caroline.
Some women showed up and said nothing and were never seen again.
One of the lessons, maybe the hardest one for her, was to accept that there were limits to what she could do. The failures were painful to watch. Not everyone could boast of a happy ending. More than once, a member who seemed to be on a path to safety ended up returning to her abuser. Some fell into other abusive relationships, struggled with drugs and alcohol, or sank deeper into poverty and despair.
To Caroline’s surprise, Rona Stevens, whom she’d known since high school, attended a couple of meetings. Though she still had her varsity cheerleader looks, her posture had eroded to rounded shoulders, downcast eyes, and an attitude of defeat. She vacill
ated between breakups and makeups with Hakon, the school jock. And he was still awful. He didn’t hit her, Rona was quick to point out. Living with him was stressful, though. He controlled every aspect of her life, from how many calories she ate to the way she folded and stacked the bath towels. He had become a toxic, insidious voice in her head, convincing her she was worthless.
“He totally stalks me,” she’d confessed at her first meeting, saying they were on a break. “When we first moved in together, I thought it was sweet how he’d come home unexpectedly with flowers or a bottle of wine. After a while, I realized he was checking up on me. He checks the mileage on the odometer. He monitors my phone. He bugs me about the way I dress and wear my hair.” A look of exhaustion had swept over her face. “Sometimes I just want to be by myself, and he accuses me of not loving him. That might be the one thing he’s right about.”
She’d stared at her knees, seeming to shrink into herself. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Probably nothing.”
“This is something,” Virginia had softly pointed out.
After two meetings, Rona had gone back to him. The occurrence was all too common. Some women changed their minds, recanted their stories, and went back to their violent partners.
The failures only made Caroline and her sisters more determined than ever to sustain the group. There was no way to save them all, but Caroline had to believe change was possible. She had to believe the Sewing Circle was a lifeline for some of these women. The anniversary meeting was a chance for this reminder. They started off as they always did, with a reading of the mission statement and someone saying, “Shall we begin?”
“I came to this group after I’d hit the lowest point in my life,” said Amy. “I was climbing out of a hole so deep I thought I’d never see the light again. At first I didn’t want to talk about what had happened to me. Didn’t want to hear what happened to others. Now I can’t imagine life without this group. But I do have to imagine life without you guys.”