The Oysterville Sewing Circle

by Susan Wiggs

  He smiled—the mild-mannered smile of the Mick Taylor everyone knew and loved. “You do not want to fuck with me,” he continued in a friendly, conversational tone. “Try it, and you’ll be so fucking sorry—”

  “What are you going to do?” she demanded. “Hit me, too?”

  Daria greeted Caroline with a “Shhh—the baby’s asleep,” followed by a hug and a pantomimed squeal. “Oh my gosh, it’s wonderful to see you,” she said. “I can’t wait to catch up!”

  “You look amazing. Motherhood agrees with you,” Caroline said. Daria wore a Chrysalis tunic, one of the prototypes from Caroline’s ruined collection. The shimmery fabric encased her now-slender figure like a cocoon, and the nautilus shell detail on the shoulder concealed a fastener for nursing access.

  “I love it,” Daria said. “I’m exhausted all the time, but I couldn’t be happier.” She brought Caroline over to the tiny kitchen bar, which was cluttered with teething toys, packets of wipes, boxes of organic baby snack food, and stacks of unopened mail. “I have bottled water or . . . bottled water. Sorry, Layton’s out of town and I haven’t been to the store.”

  “In that case, bottled water.”

  “At least it’s the bubbly kind.” Daria poured while Caroline gave her some little gifts for the baby.

  “A rain fly jacket and her own superhero T-shirt.” Caroline held up the shirt. “She’ll grow into it soon enough.”

  “These are wonderful. I wish I had a superpower of my own—the ability to clean the house while I sleep.” She lifted her glass of bubbly water. “To you, my friend. I’ve been following C-Shell Rainwear online. No surprise that it’s fabulous. That piece that ran in Vogue—Cat Willoughby. Come on.”

  “Yeah, that was such a lucky break. Now we’re scrambling to get the garments made as fast as they’re being ordered.” She told her about the deal with Eau Sauvage, earning a quiet high five from her friend.

  “Take that, Mick Taylor,” said Daria. “You know, I never worked for him again after what he did to you.”

  “Funny you should bring him up,” Caroline said. “He has a collaboration with Eau Sauvage, too. Bags he claims he designed, but who knows? One of the things about laboring in obscurity and being under the radar is that he thought I was gone. And he can’t steal what he can’t see.”

  “Now suddenly you’re in the spotlight again. I bet it’s making him completely mental. That’s the best revenge.”

  “I don’t want revenge. But here’s the thing. There’s something else I discovered about Mick Taylor. Something a lot worse. He’s the one who was abusing Angelique, and I’m pretty sure he had something to do with her drug use.”

  Daria’s jaw dropped. “Mick? Seriously? I don’t know, Caroline. He’s a dick for stealing designs, but hitting a woman? Angelique, of all people?”

  “That’s why I didn’t realize it until now. We all assumed it was Roman or some other guy she refused to talk about. But guess what? I went to see Roman and figured out some things.” She explained about the meetings at the church and what she’d learned from Angelique’s sponsor.

  “God, that’s so sad. I feel horrible for not figuring it out. How do you know Mick was with her that day?”

  “It was the smallest thing. His shoes.”

  Daria frowned.

  “He was wearing shoes from Apiary. They’re, like, a thousand dollars a pair. The day Angelique died, someone in Apiary shoes was in my building—I saw the tread marks on my mail and on the stairs going up. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it, but today I saw him in those shoes, and I thought about the fact that no one in my building ever wore thousand-dollar shoes. And then I remembered that Mick had been to rehab. He denied everything, of course. Even tried to gaslight me. He said I’d be regarded as a liar, trying to spread rumors about my former employer.”

  “Did you tell the police?”

  “I called them and made a report. But since I didn’t witness anything directly, they’re limited as to what they can do. No victim, no crime. And it’s Mick Taylor. ‘Mick fucking Taylor,’ as he called himself as he was throwing me out of his office. He can afford any legal team in the city.”

  “He’s a nightmare, and you’re right—worse than I thought. But what can we do?”

  Caroline told her about the Sewing Circle and the things she’d learned. “Guys who abuse women don’t stop at just one. It’s a habit, ingrained, especially in a guy with so much power and status, a guy who’s been getting away with it probably for decades.”

  “So you’re saying there are other women?”

  “With Angelique gone, he’s torturing someone else. Other models. Other designers. Interns and assistants. If I can find someone, talk to her, maybe it’ll start something.”

  “I don’t know, Caroline. Sounds like a long shot.”

  “It does. But maybe I have a superpower, too—knowing how to organize a group of women.”

  Chapter 29

  Will missed Caroline like hell, and she’d only been gone a few days. Christ, he missed her when they were apart a few hours. It was bad. And it was so, so good. In the aftermath of the long, sad failure of his marriage, Caroline was doing the impossible. She was making him feel that kind of soaring, head-in-the-clouds love a teenager felt, but this was better, because he knew exactly what it was and what it wasn’t.

  It was the kind of genuine, deep relationship he’d craved all his life, maybe without even knowing how much he needed it.

  It wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t what his grandma used to call a passing fancy.

  No, this was as real as the ground beneath his feet. It wasn’t going to go away. It was going to get stronger and deeper, day by day. Knowing this was sweet relief, because after Sierra had left, he’d had his doubts that he would ever find a love like this, or that it even existed outside of starry-eyed books and movies.

  Looking back over the years, he marveled at the long and twisty road their story had taken. He remembered every moment with Caroline, beginning when they were kids. The memories were as bright as the sunrise and gilded with happiness. Sometimes he looked back over those days and wondered why he hadn’t seen it, the fact that he had loved this girl beginning with the very first day they’d met.

  After the incident in Africa, a trauma counselor had said—in a different context altogether—that things happen in their own time. Could be that was the reason the love of his life had been right in front of him for decades, and he simply hadn’t recognized it.

  Her trip to New York solidified something he’d been thinking all along. When she sent him a text message saying she was back, he left his assistant coach in charge of practice and went straight to her parents’ house. She came outside as he was getting out of his car and flew into his arms.

  “Hey,” he said, his heart filling up as he inhaled the scent of her hair. A second later, he realized she was crying. “Hey, what’s the matter? Didn’t the meeting in New York go well?”

  “It did. And it didn’t,” she said. “Long story.”

  “I’ve got all day. Get in.” He held the car door open for her. As he backed out of the driveway, he saw her mother in the window.

  “She’s a lifesaver,” Caroline said. “I don’t know what I’d do without her, watching the kids and giving us a place to live.”

  He drove to the main town of Long Beach, where shops and businesses were closing for the day, and headed south to the wooded trails and cliff-top lighthouses. As he parked in the deserted coast guard lot, she smiled and murmured, “Our spot.”

  “We came here together the first day we met, remember?”

  They hiked out to the rocky escarpment at the tip of Cape Disappointment and sat watching the waves. The sky was overcast, the ocean an impenetrable iron gray. “It was strange being back in the city,” she said. “I spent nearly half my life there, but in a way, it felt like I was starting all over again. The deal with Eau Sauvage is moving ahead, so that’s all good. Willow was awesome in the meeting. I also m
et up with some people who knew Angelique.”

  He put his arm around her and let her talk. She’d uncovered some hard truths about the kids’ mother, including the fact that the guy beating up on her was Mick Taylor, the same one who’d stolen Caroline’s designs. “It’s like he’s got this horrible hidden side, so my friend Daria and I reached out to women who’ve worked with him or are working with him now. Models and interns and assistants.” She looped her arms around her knees and stared straight ahead at the horizon. “I tried to convince them that it was safe to speak out, that it’s not okay the way he treats people.”

  Will studied her profile. She was so beautiful to him, somehow both determined and vulnerable at the same time. “Let me guess. Nobody spoke up.”

  She nodded, letting out a sigh. “This business is hard at every level, but especially for women who are desperate to establish themselves. They worked all their lives to get to New York, and there I was, a stranger, telling them to point the finger at a guy who can end their careers the way he ended mine. I was naive, thinking they might come forward. They’re not going to throw themselves under the bus for my sake. They have bills to pay. Some probably have kids. No one can afford to rock the boat. Before all this happened, I probably would have been the same way. Remember, I’m the one who walked away after he stole my designs. And now I’m asking them to stand and fight?”

  “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

  “I’m being realistic. You know, I’ve been following the #MeToo movement along with everybody else. And wouldn’t we all like to march and speak out? But guess what? This is real life, and our bills are real, and we need real jobs.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. It was idealistic and certainly current to point the finger and call out men and incidents that exploited and even harmed them. It all sounded good on social media and the news, but protests didn’t pay the bills. He’d seen it in the military and in education as well—women staying silent rather than risking their careers.

  “How can I help?” he asked her simply.

  She turned to him and there was that smile, the one that lit her face. “You’re already helping.”

  Caroline gave each of the kids a kiss on the head and sent them down the driveway to wait for the school bus. It was their first day without their cousin Fern, because Virginia had bought a cottage on the south end of the peninsula, moving ahead in her post-divorce life.

  “When did kissing my kids goodbye start seeming so normal?” she asked her mother, who was making a second pot of coffee.

  “You’re a natural.”

  “Nah. But you’re a good teacher. Seriously, Mom, I don’t know how to thank you and Dad. Now that Virginia’s gone—”

  “Do you want to move to the garage apartment?”

  “That’s really nice, but what I want is to be on my own again. Supporting myself and the kids.”

  “I have no doubt you’ll do that,” her mother said, handing her a mug of fresh coffee. “There’s no hurry. We love being able to help with the kids.” She paused. “Take all the time you need. It’s probably premature to say this, but you and Will are getting really close.”

  Please don’t say how close, Caroline thought.

  “I’m happy for you,” Mom said. “He’s a good guy, and you’re . . . different around him. In a good way.”

  “Am I?”

  “He lights you up, Caroline. It’s really nice to see.”

  Caroline looked out the window at the wind-harried dunes. “Is it weird that we’re together? Me and Sierra’s ex? I ran into her mother the other day, and she all but accused me of breaking them up. She said if I hadn’t come back, they’d still be together.”

  “Sierra’s mother probably misses her desperately, and she’s grieving. She knows as well as you and I do that your coming back didn’t end Sierra’s marriage.”

  “The timing must seem incredibly suspicious. Honestly, this was the last thing I expected.” And the thing was this—Caroline was so in love with Will Jensen that she couldn’t see straight. But lately she wondered if he was already regretting their newfound love. She came with two kids, a struggling business enterprise, and a complicated adoption proceeding. So much baggage to bring to a new relationship.

  She opened her laptop and checked her email queue. It was a mile long these days. This morning brought a series of attached documents from the social worker who was helping her with the adoption. Feeling a twinge of apprehension, she opened a document with important in the subject line.

  The words on the screen blurred before Caroline’s eyes. Everything inside her turned to liquid and drained away on a wave of horror. She must have made a sound, because her mother dropped everything and came over to the table.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Caroline managed to catch her breath. “There’s . . . Mom, there’s a problem with the adoption.”

  “What do you mean, a problem? The hearing is on the calendar, and we’ve got the party all planned. What could possibly go wrong at this point? My God, you’re white as a ghost, Caroline. Is it their immigration status?”

  Caroline nearly came undone as she tried to find her voice. “The children’s father hasn’t relinquished his parental rights.”

  Chapter 30

  Caroline stepped out of the car in front of the Pacific County courthouse, trying to keep her knees from wobbling. The domed 1910 building faced the bay with brooding symmetry, its blocky shape dominating the surrounding gardens and crammed parking lot. More cars lined the road, and there were several news vans topped with gear, the crews rolling out cables and cameras.

  What should have been a simple case of adoption had become notorious. Caroline had barely slept for days as she braced herself for the confrontation.

  Flick and Addie got out of the back seat, and Virginia went to park the car. The nightmare that had begun with the paternal rights claim had extended to her home, her heart, her dreams.

  Caroline hadn’t been able to afford a lawyer, so her parents had put up a retainer to an attorney who specialized in family law. Because everyone knew Caroline was going to need all the help she could get.

  Theresa Bond, the lawyer, had advised Caroline to bring the children to the hearing. Caroline had tried to explain the situation to the children in a way they could understand. But they didn’t understand. “Mama always said we don’t have a father,” Flick insisted.

  “I don’t want a father,” Addie had stated. “I just want you.”

  Now Caroline took both their hands. She hoped they didn’t notice how cold hers were. She was utterly terrified. She’d promised these children repeatedly that she would keep them safe. And now that promise was in jeopardy.

  Judges almost never terminated the rights of a natural parent against that parent’s will. Almost never.

  She clung to the almost.

  A gleaming SUV with blackened windows silently docked itself at the curb. Out stepped a couple of men with briefcases, followed by Rilla Stein and Mick Taylor. Cameras flashed and journalists called out questions. It was bizarre, seeing them here at the far edge of the country, uncomfortable transplants from New York.

  Mick Taylor was the children’s father. An expedited DNA test had verified the claim. Caroline was still in shock. The children had been born in Haiti, so she’d assumed the father was there. Yet now, she couldn’t help but notice Flick’s nose was very slightly aquiline, and maybe Addie’s eyes were a certain shade of flecked green. According to the documents filed by Mick’s legal team, Angelique had never told Mick the children were his.

  Caroline had nothing to say to him or any member of his entourage as they surged past, dogged by reporters and photographers. Mick had found her Achilles’ heel. The one thing that could take her down. Although custody cases usually ground slowly through the system, Mick’s powerful legal team had won an injunction against Caroline’s adoption petition.

  Addie made a small, almost inaudible sound. The little girl was staring at M
ick, and a small trickle of pee tracked down her leg.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Caroline whispered. “Let’s go inside, okay?”

  With both kids in tow, she threw her bag on the security scanner and quickly found a restroom. “We’ll get you cleaned up,” she said, taking off Addie’s undies, shoes, and socks. She rinsed the things in the sink and dried them under the hot hand dryer. As she helped Addie get dressed again, she looked into the little girl’s eyes.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “Did something upset you?”

  Addie kept her eyes downcast.

  “Sweetheart, can you say what it is?”

  Addie shook her head. “I don’t want to go out there.”

  Caroline’s heart nearly burst. The sight of Mick had frightened the little girl. “I’ll keep hold of your hand. You can sit right in between Grammy Dot and Grandpa Lyle. We’ll never let you go.” She prayed it wasn’t an empty promise.

  She and the kids stepped out into the courthouse lobby, and she was stunned by the size of the crowd waiting to enter the courtroom. Her parents, sisters, and brothers, of course. A contingent from the Sewing Circle. Restaurant people. Neighbors who had known her all her life.

  And Will. In a perfectly tailored suit that showed off his flawless military posture.

  Caroline tried to hold it together as she joined her lawyer and they entered the courthouse. The interior rotunda was grand and intimidating, with twin winding staircases and a huge stained-glass dome glaring from high above the mosaic-tiled floor. She was numb with fear as they made their way to the courtroom. She caught Will’s eye as they passed, but the moment was quickly gone. When she’d first heard the news, Will had held her in his arms and let her vent. He doesn’t want the kids, she’d raged. He wants revenge.

  She had not realized what she’d set in motion the day she’d confronted Mick in New York.