“I think so,” Caroline agreed. “Even the most persistent stalker is going to think twice before accosting someone here.”

“Does that happen?” Sierra glanced at the door.

“According to things I’ve been reading, it’s been known to. But right here next to the police station? I’m hoping our get-togethers will be blissfully uneventful.” She looked at the clock, then checked her phone. “What if nobody comes?”

Sierra shrugged. “Then we’ll go drinking and try again next week.”

Virginia organized some pamphlets and a sign-in sheet on a table by the door. “Where’s Georgia?”

“She said she was running late.” Caroline checked her phone once more.

“And we’re early.”

“I’m worried. I created a dedicated email address for the group contact, and I got all excited when I heard from some people, but no one said they’d actually come.”

“That’s a bad habit of yours, worrying about things that haven’t happened yet,” Virginia said.

“Is it? Is it better to anticipate trouble and worry, or to wait for the trouble to happen and then deal with it?”

Virginia thought for a moment. “The latter,” she said. “And that’s something straight out of my divorce therapy. I loved my marriage. I was happy every day—until Dave dropped the bomb that he wanted a divorce. So I have to wonder, if I’d spent my time wondering and fretting about why he was such a workaholic, why he was so emotionally absent, why he was always boasting about Amanda at the firm—would I have been able to do something about it? Or was it better to be blissfully ignorant? Should I be glad he hid it from me?”

“He should have said something,” Sierra said instantly, her voice sharp with vehemence. “Anything less is cheating. He knew that.”

“Whoa, okay, I guess we know your opinion,” Caroline said. She noticed the way Virginia was eyeing Sierra. A tiny unsettling question stirred in her mind, but she crushed it. “I still don’t know if I should wait or worry.”

The chairs were arranged in a loose circle. Flyers and name tags and pens set out. A whiteboard on which she’d written, We believe you. We believe in you. Then she wrote the mission statement under that.

Everything was ready. Caroline was ready. But nobody came.

Sierra glanced at the clock over the door. The hour was straight-up seven o’clock. “Okay, now you can worry.”

Virginia nodded. “This is going to take time, Caroline. We just need to keep showing up, right?”

“Right.” Caroline felt defeated. She’d hoped maybe one or two women would come. “And where’s Georgia? Did she ditch us?”

“Maybe something came up with one of her kids,” Virginia suggested.

“Maybe.” Caroline sighed. She started halfheartedly packing up the flyers and other supplies. “I wonder if seven isn’t a good meeting time. I suppose we need to do more outreach and try again next week. Or it could simply mean this was a bad idea.”

At that moment, the door pushed open. “Who’re you calling a bad idea?” Georgia demanded, bustling into the room. Behind her came Lindy Bloom, carrying a couple of trays. “Sorry we’re late. Had to grab some things from the restaurant on the way.”

With a flourish, she covered the table with a crisp linen drape. Everything about Georgia was assured and efficient, from her wash-and-wear jersey top and low-heeled sandals to her pixie crop haircut. She was excellent at many things, but her true passions were baking and running the show.

Now she showed a different side of leadership—strong but compassionate. “Well, don’t just stand there,” she said over her shoulder. “Give us a hand.”

Caroline and the others broke into action. Virginia fetched the coffee service from Georgia’s minivan. Caroline helped Lindy set out the trays of baked goods and savory bites—some of Georgia’s most popular items from Star of the Sea.

Caroline stole an iced raisin bar and rolled her eyes, savoring the perfect balance of sweetness and spice. “No wonder Mom always liked you best,” she said.

“Right.” Georgia smiled. “The oldest always has to break the parents in. Remember that.”

Caroline polished off the cookie. “Thanks for coming tonight. I wish some actual people would show up.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Lindy set down a stack of cocktail napkins and fanned them out with a twist of her fist.

“You know what I mean,” Caroline said. “We plastered announcements all over town, but there are no takers.”

“It’s not like you to give up so quickly,” Georgia said. “Honestly, Caroline, I’m super impressed. This project . . . It’s going to be something special.”

“You’re all overachievers, the lot of you,” Sierra declared. “I don’t know how you do it all on top of kids and jobs and everything else.”

“You make time for what’s important, I guess,” Georgia said.

The simple statement lit up an uncomfortable truth for Caroline. Her art and her career had consumed her entirely for nearly a decade. She wondered what she’d missed with those blinders on. As she helped her sisters transform the plain beige room into a welcoming meeting space, it occurred to her that maybe she should quit regarding her situation as a fiasco. Maybe she should view it as an opportunity instead.

Sierra helped Lindy with the coffee service. “So are you one of the organizers, too?” she asked.

The older woman lifted her brows in a flash of irony. “I plan to help out when I can,” she said. “But no. Not an organizer. That honor belongs to Caroline. I’m a survivor.”

With that, she scrawled her name and the word survivor on a tag and stuck it to her perfectly tailored blouse. Then she looked at Sierra. “Close your mouth, dear. You’ll be catching flies. It’s a long story, but if no one else shows up, you’ll hear it all tonight.”

“Oh, Lindy. I didn’t know.”

“Exactly. That was a huge factor in my situation—the secrecy.” She handed Sierra a name tag. “You look beautiful as ever,” she said. “I always loved it when you came to the shop to model things for Caroline.”

Sierra stuck on the tag. “You were a wonderful mentor. I hope the shop’s doing well.”

“Well enough.”

Caroline was thrilled with the support of her sisters and friends, but still disheartened by the low turnout. She was contemplating drowning her sorrows in lemon squares and espresso brownies when the door opened, and a woman slipped inside.

“Echo,” she said. “Hey, I’m glad you came.”

“You have no idea how tempting it was to spend the evening with a glass of wine and a trashy novel.” Echo looked worn out as she helped herself to coffee. Then she noticed the spread of Georgia’s goodies. “I take that back. This looks amazing.”

Caroline felt a rush of gratitude—and sympathy. In addition to working at Lindy’s, Echo drove a school bus in the morning. Caroline hoped the sewing gig would take some of the pressure off Echo. Of course, that meant more pressure for her. She’d had a good meeting about a small-business loan from a local bank, but setting up her own outfit was not going to be easy.