He enveloped her in his assured, powerful embrace. It was the first time Caroline had felt truly safe since Angelique’s death. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to savor a moment of bliss, receding briefly into the role of cherished daughter.

Her parents were sturdy and good-looking, often cited in the local chamber of commerce brochures as the epitome of a couple who had built their dream out of hard work and dedication. They had met at culinary school in the Bay Area—Dottie, a peninsula girl, and Lyle, a California native. By the time the program ended, they had woven their dreams—and their lives—together.

“Well,” Caroline said, “it’s good to be back. Flick and Addie have come a long way to meet you.”

Her mother went down on one knee and regarded the children at their level. “I’m glad you’re here. My name’s Dottie, and that’s Lyle. You can call me Dottie, or Grammy Dot. That’s what my other grandchildren call me.”

By other grandchildren, was she implying something?

“You don’t have to decide right now,” she added.

Addie clutched Wonder Woman and stared at the ground. Flick regarded Dottie with sober contemplation. “My real name’s Francis,” he said.

“Oh! Do you prefer that to Flick?”

He shook his head. “When I was a baby, I couldn’t say Francis, so I called myself Flick and it stuck. So I’m keeping it.”

“Good plan. I bet you’re hungry,” she said. Dottie Shelby was the sort of person who saw others the way they wanted to be seen. She had a particular talent for finding the best in people, children and adults alike.

“We heard a rumor of pancakes,” Caroline said.

“You heard exactly right. Come on in and let’s eat. Dad will bring in your things. There’s so much to do and see, but you don’t have to do it all today,” Mom nattered on. “You both look like you love to run and jump. Are you into running and jumping?”

Flick and Addie exchanged a glance, and Flick offered a slight nod. Mom didn’t press but strode ahead with confidence.

The kids stuck close to Caroline as they all went inside. The old house welcomed her, as familiar as her mother’s embrace. The foyer was bright with a mirror reflecting the light from the outside and a hall tree made of driftwood.

Every house had a smell. This one was a particular mix of baking, salt air, and the dry, tumbly aroma from a constantly running clothes dryer. At least it used to run constantly when Caroline and her siblings were young. Now there was probably far less laundry cycling through, but the fluffy smell lingered still.

The living room was filled with an eclectic mix of furniture, family pictures, a few antiques, and Mom’s old upright piano.

“We all took lessons,” she said, noting Flick’s interest. “My brother Austin got really good at it.” She steered them to the hall bathroom and somehow managed to change Addie out of her pee-smelling clothes and into clean ones. Then she supervised the washing of hands, still somewhat befuddled by the idea of having to supervise anything of the sort. Just a short time ago, she was on her own, living in the heart of New York City’s fashion district.

There were artifacts everywhere—the pottery soap dish Jackson had brought home from preschool with his little handprint in the middle. Another family picture hung above the commode, this one of the older girls holding up a surfboard with Caroline and the boys seated on it. She still remembered the roars of laughter that had erupted as they’d struggled to stage the shot, getting dumped into the sand multiple times. She was eight or nine in the photo, wearing Virginia’s hand-me-down swimsuit, which she’d rescued from looking like a hand-me-down by sewing a rumba ruffle to the back.

“I’m off to work,” Dad called from the front hallway. “See you tonight, okay, C-Shell?”

“Sounds good,” she said.

Next stop was the kitchen. Contrary to what people expected of a longtime restaurant family, the kitchen was small and plain, with a four-burner range, a roomy fridge, and the all-important dishwasher. Mom always said a fancy kitchen was no substitute for good cooking.

“I’m Virginia,” said her sister, blowing them a floury kiss from her spot at the counter. “And you’re about to have the best pancakes of your life.”

Caroline gave them a nudge. “She’s bossy sometimes.”

“Not bossy,” Virginia said with a sniff. “I just have better ideas than most people.” She was the second eldest and most outgoing of the Shelbys. “I have a secret pancake recipe. But I tell it to everybody, so it’s not really a secret.” She pulled a couple of barstools over to the counter. “Have a seat, you two, and pay attention. You have to sift the dry ingredients together. See how the sifter works?” She demonstrated and gave them each a turn. “That makes everything nice and fluffy. And we use real buttermilk, not regular milk. It tastes kind of sour.” She offered them a sample on a small spoon, but the kids shrank together and shook their heads in silence.

Watching her sister’s ease with the children, Caroline felt a renewal of the doubts that had chased her across the country. Unlike Virginia and her mom, she didn’t “get” kids. She never had. She’d always been vocal about being childless by choice. Possibly that made her boyfriendless as well, but that was the price she paid for clinging to her freedom. Yet here she was with two kids in tow, and she had no idea what to do with them.

She thought for a moment about the expression on Will Jensen’s face when she’d told him, “They’re mine.”

And they were. Yet they weren’t.

“The eggs are from our own hens. See how yellow the yolks are?” Virginia broke two of them into a glass bowl and whisked them together with the buttermilk and a bit of melted butter. Then she combined everything to make the batter. “The biggest secret of all is this awesome cast-iron griddle. It’s a Griswold—they don’t even make them anymore. This one is as smooth as glass. I have it on the perfect temperature. Help me out here.”

She poured the batter and supervised as the kids dotted the pancakes with blueberries. A few minutes later, Caroline got the two of them situated on benches in the adjacent breakfast nook. Their eyes widened as she placed the first batch of pancakes on the table, bursting with berries and slathered in butter and warm maple syrup. The ultimate comfort food.

“Dig in, you two,” she said. “Let’s fill your bellies, and then I’ll show you where you’re going to be staying.” Over their heads, she checked with her mother, who offered a nod of encouragement.

The children devoured their breakfast with gratifying speed. Caroline helped herself to coffee and a pancake fresh off the griddle. It was so good it nearly brought tears to her eyes. “Thanks, Virginia. That was delicious. It’s been a long haul.”

“You’ve all had quite an adventure,” Mom said. “I want you to know, I’m so very sorry about your mother. You must miss her so much.”

“She died,” Addie said. “She’s not coming back.”

“It’s a terrible thing. I wish we could help. All we can do is love you and keep you safe and help you remember your mom. If you feel sad and want to tell us about it, we can listen.”