The sentiment was a sunken, hollowed-out spot inside her. Caroline realized it was wrong to let herself wallow this way. A better person would turn it into determination. But at the moment, as she drowned in exhaustion, it was the only possible way to feel.

Addie dragged Wonder Woman to the dormer window between the two beds and gazed outside. A thick wisteria vine twisted down the side of the house, its purple blossoms nodding in the breeze. The yard below had fruit trees, gnarled with age, and a fire pit they used to sit around on clear evenings, toasting marshmallows and telling stories. Farther in the distance, past the dunes, was the flat sandy beach.

Caroline hunkered down beside the little girl. “Virginia and I used to stand here together on summer nights, watching people on the beach. You’ll see—in the summer, it stays light ridiculously late, way past nine o’clock. So when we’d see kids still out playing on the beach, I thought it was totally unfair. It didn’t seem right that Virginia and I had to go to bed while the rest of the world was out playing.”

“And yet you survived,” said her mother.

“True,” Caroline agreed, straightening up. When she was older, the wisteria vine had been her secret escape route. She thought it best not to mention that.

“You’re looking at the Pacific Ocean,” she told the kids. “It’s the biggest ocean in the world. Let’s have a rest, and later we’ll go check it out.”

“I don’t feel like resting,” said Flick.

She felt like sleeping for a week. Not an option with two kids needing her. “Tell you what. Let’s go to the beach and explore. And there’s even more good news.”

That always got their attention.

“No car ride today.”

“Yay!”

“After all that driving, we need a little hike to stretch our legs.” They trundled downstairs, and as they headed for the door, she turned to Virginia. “Thanks again for breakfast.”

“You betcha.” Virginia wiped down the counter. “I have questions.”

“You betcha,” Caroline echoed.

“Drinks tonight, after the little ones are in bed.”

“You got it.” Drinks and talking would be a good place to start. She led the children outside. The air was fresh and damp, smelling of the ocean and new growth. “You can play anywhere you want in the backyard,” she told them. “Stay in bounds unless there’s an adult with you.” She walked with them through the orchard, showing them the berry frames and gardens, which were just getting started for the season. There was a chicken coop surrounded by wire fencing.

“Do chickens bite?” Addie asked, eyeing the birds.

“No, stupid, they don’t have teeth,” sneered Flick.

“Hey,” Caroline said, hoping to fend off a squabble. “We talked about this. Even when you’re tired and cranky, you can find a way to speak nicely to people. Or if not, you can zip your lips.”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Caroline ruffled his hair. “Chickens don’t bite,” she said. “Sometimes they try to peck.”

“Does it hurt?”

“You can’t let them get away with it,” Caroline said. “When I was little and it was my turn to gather eggs, I used to take a dish towel with me.” She pantomimed with her hand. “I’d flap it like this, and they’d all go running away. I’ll show you later how it’s done.”

Flick stopped to look at an acacia tree with a carved stone at the base. “That sign says Wendell.”

Caroline felt a bittersweet wave of emotion. “That’s right, Wendell,” she said. “He was our dog. We were all really sad when he died, so Grandpa Lyle’s friend Wayne made a special stone with his name on it.”

“Will Mama have a stone?”

She should have expected that. Though the children didn’t know it, Angelique’s remains had made the cross-country journey with them. The plain sealed container was stowed with the car’s spare tire, and she had no idea what to do with it.

“Would you like one?” she asked.

Another shrug. His code for being at a loss. She rested her palm between his shoulder blades. He was so little and delicate. She’d been dwelling on the disaster her life had become, yet her troubles were nothing compared to the trauma these kids were going through. “You can let me know. There’s no hurry.”

A flicker of movement caught her eye. “Hey, check it out. There’s a little creature living in the dunes. Be really still and watch. It’s called a vole. See where it lives? It’s like a little bird’s nest.”

They watched the tiny creature foraging in the grass.

“Can we pet it?”

“It’s a wild animal. We can watch, but not touch, okay?”

“Looks like a mouse,” Flick said.

The children had never known anything but the city. Their experience with wildlife was limited to messy pigeons and rats sneaking around the Dumpsters of the back alleys.

“This is going to be a whole new world for you,” she said, watching their fascination as they squatted amid the buff-colored grasses and new green shoots to watch the vole, industriously padding its nest with bits of dried leaves and fluff. “So many birds and little creatures everywhere.”

After a while, she led the way to the beach. It was the playground of her youth. There was never a time when she hadn’t awakened to the muffled roar of the ocean and the deep, fecund aroma of salt air.

One of Caroline’s earliest memories was of being lost amid the foredunes and hummocks when the grass was taller than she was. There had been a moment of disorientation, her heart jolting in panic. Then she recalled her father’s advice. Don’t walk in circles. Walk in a straight line. At least you’ll end up somewhere.

Escaping from the tangled grasses, she’d found her family in the yard, probably gathered around the stone-built fire pit, or playing Frisbee with the dog. No one had remarked upon her absence. No one had come looking. From that early memory emerged a notion that had stuck with her ever since: as the middle child of five, she’d been invisible since birth.

Ultimately, her position in the birth order had actually worked out well for her. She was not as organized as Georgia and not as beautiful as Virginia. While everyone else was busy with the restaurant, Caroline was able to go her own way. She discovered that she actually liked disappearing. She often ended up at Lindy’s fabric shop or the fiber arts and design center at the high school, pursuing the mad passion no one else in her family seemed to understand.

Now the children ran along the path, which ended abruptly at the edge of the vast sand flats.

“Watch your step going down,” Caroline called. “It’s a steep—Jesus.”

Flick disappeared as though falling into a hole. Caroline broke into a run, reaching the edge of the escarpment and feeling the soft sandy bank collapsing underfoot. Flick lay at the bottom of the bank, half buried in sand, looking up at her.

“Hey,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“You could have hurt yourself.” She took Addie’s hand and eased her down the bank amid a fall of loose sand.

“It was fun,” Flick said, jumping up and brushing himself off. He looked around with wide-eyed wonder. The scenery here was ever-changing, yet changeless—the sand sculpted by wind and tide, the wrack line woven with kelp and shells, feathers and bones, small pieces of driftwood, and an unfortunate variety of litter.

Flocks of ghost-colored sanderlings rushed in a panic at the edge of the waves. Sandpipers probed the estuaries, and gulls chattered and swooped.

“It’s so big,” Addie whispered, regarding the scene with wide eyes.

“Isn’t it?” Caroline plunked down onto the ground. “Take your shoes off. The sand feels wonderful. Have you ever been to a beach before?”

“Mama said she’d take us to Coney Island,” said Flick. “She never did, though.”

Caroline tried not to think about all the things they’d never get to do with their mother. “Well, you’re here now.” She jumped up. “I can’t be at the beach and not do a cartwheel,” she declared. “It’s completely impossible. No matter what sort of mood I’m in, I have to do a cartwheel. There’s something about these wide open spaces I can’t resist.”

With that, she spread her arms and executed a less-than-perfect cartwheel. “How’s that?”

“I want to try!” Addie leaped into a crouch.

“That wasn’t a cartwheel,” Flick said.

“It takes practice. Pay attention now.” Caroline drew a line in the sand with a stick. “You have to start in a lunge. It’s like a warrior pose in yoga.” She knew they practiced yoga at their school. “Put both hands down on the line and kick your feet over your head.” She showed them another cartwheel. “And then you land in a lunge on the same line. Voilà!”