“Welcome to parenthood. Trust me, everybody feels exactly that way at one time or other. And yet our kids survive. A year ago, I thought my divorce was going to turn me into a babbling idiot and Fern into a basket case. Now the two of us—we’re doing okay.” Her expression turned soft with affection as she watched her little girl scampering up the ladder to the tallest slide on the playground.

“You are,” Caroline assured her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you during the whole Dave drama last year. I know it must’ve been awful, finding out he was cheating with someone at his firm.”

“It was the most special kind of awful,” Virginia agreed. “One of the sucky things about it is that, as bad as it felt, there was really nothing unique about my situation. My marriage failure story is the same as everyone else’s. We got so busy, with both of us working and looking after Fern. Too busy, and we neglected each other. Then he took up with that young associate at his firm.”

“I hope his nuts fall off.”

“Right? And when I confronted him about Amanda, he tried denying it. Then he acted as if his cheating was my fault.”

“Damn. I always thought you two were the standard everybody else had to live up to. You checked all the boxes—great careers, a nice house, perfect daughter . . . I thought you guys had it all.”

“So did I. Until I realized how far apart we’d grown. I was the firm’s investigator, for chrissake, and he took up with that woman right under my nose. It’s remarkable how much you don’t notice even when it’s smack in front of you. And too easy to be so focused on other matters that you forget to pay attention to something that’s crying out for attention.”

Caroline thought about that. She wondered how many opportunities she’d missed with Angelique simply by failing to notice something important. “I’m sorry for what you went through, but I’m glad you and Fern are doing well.” She felt a knot of guilt in her stomach. “You lost your marriage because you weren’t paying attention. Flick and Addie lost their mom because I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It wasn’t your job to parent their parent,” Virginia pointed out.

“How did you get so smart?”

“It’s funny how smart you can be in hindsight,” said Virginia. “And after half a year of therapy. Uh-oh.” Her tone and posture changed as her gaze tracked a woman hurrying toward them with purposeful strides.

“What’s uh-oh?”

“Here comes Cindy Peters, president of the PTA. She’s pretty much in charge of the whole school. You don’t want to be on her bad side.”

Cindy Peters had the perfect-mom look—coordinated crop pants and matte jersey top that complemented her yoga-sculpted figure, designer vegan sandals that matched her bag—and a gleam of determination in her eyes. “Excuse me,” she called. “Are you Flick’s mom?”

Caroline stuffed away the chip bag and brushed the crumbs from her hands. “Hi, yes, no, I—”

“Hi, Cindy,” Virginia said easily. “This is my sister, Caroline.”

Cindy flashed a toothpaste ad smile and stuck out her hand. “Great to meet you.”

Caroline shook hands, sharing the crumbs she hadn’t managed to brush away. “Virginia tells me you’re the PTA president.” She gestured at the pile of school forms. “I have my application here. I’ll try to get to it soon.”

“That’s terrific.” She took a familiar red cape from her bag. “My son Rutger says this belongs to Flick.”

Oh, shit. Was that the kid Flick had fought with today? “Um, yes, actually—”

Cindy sat on the bench next to her. “In that case, we need to talk.”

A half hour later, Flick and Addie were enjoying a playdate with Cindy’s kids while Virginia and Caroline headed down the street to the fabric shop.

“Okay, you’re my new hero,” Virginia said. “That was so cool, and so unexpected when Cindy said all the other moms wanted to know where you got the shirts.”

“You say ‘other moms’ as if I’m one of them.”

Virginia sent her a level gaze. “You are. And you just made a deal to mass-produce the shirts for a PTA fundraiser.”

“I don’t even know what hit me.”

“The promise of a big fat check from the fundraising committee, apparently.”

Cindy Peters was a woman who got things done. The spring fundraiser was coming up, and the regular T-shirt vendor for the event had canceled the order because of a production delay. Cindy had offered Caroline a more-than-generous per-piece price, certain the snap-on cape would be a huge hit.

“It’s not exactly a commission from Yves Saint Laurent,” said Caroline. “But I’ll take it, provided I can deliver the goods. It’s completely insane, but that’s pretty much been my life these days. It wouldn’t suck to fabricate the shirts and make a little money to get back on my feet. Am I insane to think I can pull it off?”

Virginia found a parking spot near the fabric store. “Not insane at all. And trust me, it’s empowering to get back on your feet. I mean, when I worked at Dave’s law firm, it was a job, but it was secondary. Now that I’m back in charge of my own life and livelihood, the stakes are higher. Some things are harder. But I wouldn’t trade the independence for anything. Well, maybe a better car.” The door creaked as she opened it.

“I’m so damn scared,” Caroline admitted. “I didn’t sign up for this. One day I had a job as a fashion designer, and the next, I’m in charge of two little kids and an order for three hundred shirts.”

“As Heidi Klum says”—Virginia affected a German accent—“‘One day you are in, and the next day you are out.’”

“I’m out,” Caroline said, still trying to get her head around this crazy new situation. “I’m so far out, I doubt I’ll ever get back in.”

Virginia strode down the sidewalk toward Lindy’s shop. Caroline had filled her sister in about Lindy and Echo—the abuse, the need to talk. Virginia had not been surprised. In her job as an investigator, she had been privy to all sorts of secrets—dirty and otherwise.

“My little sister did not just say that,” Virginia stoutly declared. “Where’s the girl who fought and clawed her way to a fashion career in New York?”

“That girl? She grew up and realized there’s no way to stop the top designer in New York from stealing her designs. No way to get back into the industry after being blackballed. And with two helpless little kids—”

“You’re flooding.”

“I’m drowning.” Caroline sighed and slowed down, scanning the main street of the town, the shops and cafés gathered together like old familiar friends. “No, you’re right. I need to regroup and sort myself out. Starting with these kids.”

“Starting with a project that’s going to help you and the kids.” Virginia held open the door of the shop. A few customers were browsing, and Echo stood at the cutting table, measuring from a bolt of quilting fabric.

Lindy smiled and waved from behind the counter. “Welcome back!”

“Thanks,” Caroline said. “I’m here for supplies. Lots of supplies, as it turns out.”

“My sister got a big production order from the primary school,” Virginia said. “Check this out.” She showed off Flick’s superhero T-shirt, demonstrating the snap-on cape.

“That,” said Lindy, “is adorable. I love the slogan on the front. How can I help?”

“The PTA wants to produce them for a fundraiser,” Caroline said. “I can have the shirts printed wholesale, but the pocket and cape will need to be a custom cut-and-sew job. If I can get them made for a reasonable per-piece price, it could be a fresh start for me. So I wanted to talk about supplies, and maybe see about getting some help with assembling them.”

“Echo can sew like the wind,” Lindy said.

Over at the cutting table, Echo gave her customer the fabric. “She’s right. I can.”

Caroline thought about the up-front money she was getting from the PTA. She held up Flick’s shirt. “How would you feel about helping fabricate a few hundred superhero capes? I mean, it’s not military-grade outerwear and I’m not a government contractor, but—”

Echo’s face blazed with a smile. “I’d love to.”

“That’s great. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

Echo rang up the other woman’s purchase, then turned to Caroline. “Are you sure?” With nervous-looking hands, she snatched up a roll of trim and reeled in the excess. “I mean, if you’re really sure . . . I could use the extra income, even if it’s not a lot.”

Caroline thought about Echo’s situation. Abuse didn’t end when the pummeling stopped. It took a person’s self-confidence as well. “I’m really sure, and Lindy wouldn’t say you’re good unless you’re really good. I promised Cindy—the PTA president—I’d see if I can get it done. It was an impulse, but I think we can make it work. I can’t pay much to start . . .”

“I don’t mind. I love to sew, and you’re an amazing designer. We were looking at your stuff online. Amazing.” Echo’s posture changed. Her shoulders straightened and her eyes lit.

“Let’s give it our best shot, then.” Caroline felt more animated than she had in a long time. There was nothing like a design project to get her going, even something as simple as the kids’ shirts. “Did you say the outfit in Astoria is getting rid of their machines?”

Lindy checked something on her phone and wrote on a slip of paper. “Here’s the number.”