Mom studied the neatly folded shirts. “What is your heart telling you?”

Caroline felt defensive even though her mother didn’t seem to be criticizing her. “That I’m falling in love with these kids. But that’s not going to put a roof over their heads or give them a secure future.”

“You don’t need to decide right now,” said her mother. “Give yourself some time.”

Caroline nodded. She needed to stop thinking about it for a bit. “I had a nice visit with Lindy Bloom and a woman named Echo who works at her shop. Did you know they’re both domestic violence survivors?”

“Surv—what? Lindy?”

“I was shocked, too. Apparently she suffered for years and no one knew.”

“Good lord. Quentin Bloom?”

“Is that his name—Quentin? I never knew. Always thought of him as Mr. Bloom. That’s what Lindy called him, too—Mr. Bloom.”

“Goodness. I did business at his bank for decades. I’d heard they split up, and he left the peninsula, but . . . Good lord,” she said again.

“I’m learning that this syndrome is rampant. It crosses all boundaries—the fine upstanding banker and the trashy guy Echo was with. I need to learn more. Help more. I need a lot of things. I wish I could reach out to women who have been where Angelique was. Listen to them. Learn from them.”

“Maybe you can. See if there’s a local group.”

“There’s not. At least, none that I could find online.”

“What about finding them in person? I think we’re discovering that this problem is everywhere, even in our cozy little town. Even . . .”

“Mom, what are you saying? Do you know someone?”

Her mother hesitated, then said, “There’s a young woman at the restaurant—Nadine. Georgia hired her last year when she showed up looking for work. She had a broken cheekbone and a restraining order against her boyfriend, and not much else. Zero job skills. Georgia started her in the back, washing dishes and sweeping.”

“Do you think she’d be open to a conversation?” Caroline didn’t know much about support groups. She’d always assumed they were meant for needy, distraught individuals who couldn’t cope on their own. Now she realized just being able to speak openly in a safe place could make a world of difference.

“You never know until you ask,” said her mother.

Caroline felt a spark of inspiration. That gut feeling when she knew something was right. She glanced over at her mother, and their gazes held as an idea took shape. “What if I started a group? A support group, right here in town? Do you think people would come?”

“Caroline, you’ve always been so full of ideas, it must be exhausting to be in your head.”

“I just keep thinking about Angelique. Maybe if she’d had a safe place to talk, friends who were supportive, who listened and understood . . .” She saw her mother stifle a yawn. “Anyway, maybe it’s crazy, but I’m going to look into it.”

“It’s a wonderful notion.”

“Thanks for listening, Mom. You’re the best.”

A fleeting smile. “The older you get, the smarter I get, right?”

Chapter 10

Will finished off Monday morning practice with time sprints around the track that circled the football field. One of the athletes, a senior named Beau Cannon, showed major promise, and he was currently being recruited by several Division I colleges. Will had high hopes for the kid. Beau’s single mom probably wouldn’t be able to pay for college without a scholarship.

“Good work today,” he said as they left the field together. “You’re right at thirty-six seconds on the three hundred.”

“I need to be under.” Beau wiped his brow with the tail of his jersey.

“At the risk of sounding like a broken record—it’s your start. You need to explode off the blocks. Run the first twenty meters like you’re a scalded dog. That’ll shave your time down to where it needs to be. Keep practicing your start and you’ll get there.”

Beau nodded. “Thanks, Coach. Will do.”

The hunger in the boy’s eyes looked familiar to Will. He remembered his own days as an athlete, attending DoD schools wherever his father happened to be stationed. He could still summon up the almost-painful feeling of striving, wanting to be the best, pushing himself to the limit. Despite the pain, it was also a kind of high that had filled him up, almost obliterating the sense that he didn’t belong anywhere.

He’d just get settled into a school and then they’d move again. When he was twelve years old, his mother had died suddenly, leaving a gaping hole in his life, and exposing the yawning gulf between him and his father. Driven by grief, he had pushed himself harder still, but even the most extreme sports failed to fill the void.

In the navy, he pursued the toughest training courses he could find—BUD/S and SEAL training. The exercises were so grueling that there were days when his soul seemed to leave his body. He found survival mechanisms he never knew he possessed, and during active duty, they’d saved his life more than once. Serving in the navy had been his way of finding a place in the world—for a while.

“Do you miss it?” asked Beau. “Being on the SEAL team, I mean. Would you still be doing that if you hadn’t been injured?”

“I don’t think much about the what-if,” Will said. “I always wanted to live here on the peninsula, and I always wanted to be a teacher. The plan just happened sooner than anticipated. Are you thinking about enlisting?”

“It’d be a big help to my mom,” Beau said.

“Tell you what. Come by my office after sixth period and we’ll talk.”

Relief softened his eyes. “Thanks, Coach.”

He watched Beau heading for the main building, seeing so much of himself in the kid—the eager yearning, the focus. But could he honestly recommend a stint in the military to anyone? It took a passion for service. Or maybe a complete lack of alternatives.

After the incident that had taken his eye, his path had changed almost overnight. He returned to his wife and to civilian life. Now here he was, the way he’d always planned, yet still wanting more. Wanting permanence. Wanting Sierra to find contentment. Wanting a family.

Life was good here. He’d always believed that. This place was part of his DNA, the one consistent element of his peripatetic childhood. As a navy kid, he’d been all over the world, and his grandparents’ place in Oysterville, where he’d spent his summers, was the home of his heart. It was a boy’s paradise, where he could explore the crystal-clear blue waters of Willapa Bay or brave the turbulent swells of the Pacific on the west side of the peninsula. He was filled with memories of riding horses and flying kites on the seemingly endless flats of shifting sand, hiking through mysterious forests, fishing for the freshest of seafood, or gathering the sweet, prized oysters for which the town was famous.

Slinging a towel around his neck, he checked the time and crossed the parking lot to his car. On the far side of the lot, he spotted Caroline Shelby walking toward the administration office with her two kids. He didn’t feel the astonishment of seeing her the other day, a distant memory suddenly made flesh. Now he felt an instinctual urge to connect with her again.