“No,” Sierra said swiftly. “God, no. I was hit on, but not hit. I knew how to handle myself.”

“I’m not surprised. I wish more women could say that.” She paused, hesitant to share an idea in its first stage. Then she realized her friendship with Sierra was coming into its own again. “My sisters and I are setting up a support group for survivors of domestic violence. Turns out it’s more common than any of us knew. I think it’ll help me deal with Flick and Addie.”

“No kidding? That’s good, Caroline. Really.”

“After what happened to Angelique, I’ve been feeling so powerless. This is something. It might add up to a big fat nothing, but it feels right. There are women who need help, right here in our town. I can’t go back and rescue Ange. But the more I learn about domestic violence and addiction, the better I’ll be able to help Flick and Addie.”

“Well. So it sounds like you’re sticking around for a while.”

“I don’t know what else to do. God, I feel so stuck.”

“Join the club.” Sierra hung the outfit in the closet. “I’ve missed you,” she said. “I’ve missed having someone who gets me. Someone I can say anything to without worrying about being judged.”

Wasn’t that supposed to be the husband’s role? Caroline wondered.

They went outside together. Will had hung a swing from the biggest tree in the yard, and the kids were taking turns on it.

“They’re never going to leave,” Caroline said.

He laughed briefly and gestured at the three of them. “Look at us. We got the band together again.”

“What band?” asked Flick.

“We were never a band,” Caroline said. “It’s just a saying. When we were kids, the three of us spent our summers together. We were inseparable. Do you know what inseparable means?”

Addie shook her head.

“It means we were almost never apart. We got together every single day and had adventures.”

“Speaking of adventures,” Will said, “I need to pick up some things at the lumberyard.”

“Can I go?” Flick piped up. He was clearly already hero-worshiping Will.

“Maybe another time,” Caroline said.

“Definitely another time,” Will agreed, then strode toward the pickup truck parked near the barn.

“We were quite a trio,” Sierra mused. “I used to forget that you saw him first. Now I don’t think of it at all.”

Caroline threw her a sharp look.

“Tell me about when you were little,” said Flick. “Did you play right here? And on the dock?”

“We did. It looks pretty much the same,” Caroline said. “It’s just the way I remember.” Her gaze traced a path from the driveway to the front porch. “First time I ever came here, I was riding my bike. And Will, as I recall, was a frogman.”

“What?” Flick leaned forward.

“It’s true. When I met him, he was soaking wet, like a frogman.”

“What’s a frogman?”

“A guy who’s at home on land and in the water—both. Do you know how to swim?”

Both children shook their heads.

Caroline and Sierra exchanged a glance. “You’re peninsula kids now. We’ll have you swimming by the start of summer.”

Chapter 13

It was a welcome change to have a project—something other than kids and work and worry and uncertainty. There was a feeling of mission, too, something Caroline wished she had embraced long ago. She wanted to create a safe place for women like Echo Sanders and Lindy Bloom. And perhaps for the foolish girl she’d been long ago, the night before Sierra’s wedding. Her commitment to the project was pathetically too little too late to be of any help at all to Angelique. Maybe, just maybe, it would help someone else, a woman like Lindy, who had suffered alone for so long with no one to turn to.

The notion of actually making a difference in someone’s life was probably too idealistic. But lately Caroline was feeling disillusioned, and doing something good would be good for her, regardless of the outcome. Sometimes she paused in the middle of whatever she was doing—reaching out to the local paper, reserving the meeting space, printing flyers—and pondered the changes in her life. Not so long ago, she’d been a New York designer on the cusp of a breakthrough. Now she was looking after two young children, reserving domain names for a new business enterprise, and researching domestic violence.

She laid into the project with a vengeance. She ticked things off her list. Assemble a team. Get the word out. She could do this.

“I need your help,” she said to Sierra, regarding her across the table at Star of the Sea, where they’d met for coffee.

“Help with what?” Sierra asked.

“The Oysterville Sewing Circle.” She grinned at her friend’s expression. “That’s what I’m calling my women’s group—the one I told you about.”

Virginia joined them, sliding into the booth. “What’s up?”

“The Oysterville Sewing Circle,” Sierra explained. “Caroline’s on a mission.”

“And you’re going to help,” Caroline declared.

“A sewing circle?” Virginia looked astounded. “I can’t even sew on a button, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Can such things be?”

“Well, it’s not really about sewing, and it’s not really a circle.”

Virginia leaned back in her chair as realization dawned on her face. “The group, you mean. That’s what you’re calling it?”

“Yes. We’re going to meet at the police station annex down in Long Beach.”

“I want to be the first official member,” Sierra declared.

Virginia stared at her. “Wait a minute. Do you mean . . . Jesus. Did Will—”

“God, no.” Sierra waved away the unspoken question. “Will’s a saint.” Her voice held a bitter edge. “You both know that. I want to support you. It’s a good thing you’re doing.”

“If we manage to get it done. Georgia’s in, by the way,” Virginia said.

“My God,” Sierra said. “Then is Georgia . . . ?”

“Oh hell no.” Virginia waved her hand. “Who would ever mess with Georgia? I appreciate you asking, though. To tell you the truth, I’ve learned that anyone can be sucked into domestic violence. It’s a factor in so many of the cases I investigate for the county. It’s not limited to women who are uneducated or poor or who had troubled childhoods. It can be women like you and me and Georgia—people with good families and resources and education.”

“Yeah,” Sierra said. “So creepy.”

“Something happens—the guy needs to control and dominate because he feels inferior. Or he’s reenacting something from his own past. A lot of times, he becomes a drunk. So we’d better be prepared to meet all kinds.”

Caroline flashed on a memory of Angelique—regal and poised, commanding attention as she controlled a room full of high-powered fashion professionals with the slightest gesture or narrowing of her eyes. She simply had not looked like a victim—but as Virginia pointed out, women knew how to wear masks that made them seem put-together, successful, confident.

She opened a folder of printed material and showed them the flyer she’d designed. The logo was a stylized pincushion with needles and thread and the phrase Mend Your Heart, with contact information and a meeting schedule. “I wanted an innocuous-sounding name for the group, one that isn’t likely to attract the kind of people who beat up their partners.”

“And you picked sewing.” Sierra smiled. “Of course you did.”

“How many wife-beaters do you suppose are interested in sewing?” Caroline asked.

“Good point. Most men run from sewing.”

“I’m glad you like the name. It’s a tribute to the Helsing?r Sewing Club, a little footnote in World War Two history. That’s what a gang of resistance fighters called the fishing fleet in Denmark during the war to hide their real purpose from the Nazis. Right under the Germans’ noses, they ferried boatloads of Jews from Denmark to Sweden. Said they were going to their sewing club.”

“Cool,” said Virginia. “I’m glad that you’re doing this, Caroline. So proud of my sister.”

“I had another idea. One of the biggest hurdles for survivors is finding work. And thanks to the PTA, I need help with every part of my fabrication operation. Because guess what? A school district in Seattle and another in Portland saw the superhero T-shirts and ordered some. Echo is already sewing for me. I can only offer minimum wage at this point, but if this works out, I’ll need to hire more workers. And then I started thinking of other places that could employ women . . .”

“Georgia will be all over that,” Virginia said. “She can train people in restaurant work.”

Caroline thought about Nadine, the waitress. She’d reached out to her—a tentative overture. I’m starting a women’s group . . . But Nadine had regarded her with a blank expression. Not everyone was going to embrace the idea. Maybe no one would. “So anyway, I’m going to book the police station annex for our first meeting. I need to make sure Mom’s okay with me leaving the kids.”