If she didn’t, it would be awkward because it would seem as if she were avoiding them. If she went, it would seem weird because of their long and complicated history together.

Just go, she told herself. Get it over with.

We’re not kids anymore, she reasoned. The past is the past. They could start fresh. Clean slate. A new dynamic, different from the inseparable trio they had been in their youth.

It was a brilliant spring day, the sun blazing deep into the shoreline and meadows, perfect weather for a visit to Water’s Edge, a place where she’d found magic and joy and trouble, years ago.

“Come on, you yahoos,” she said to Flick and Addie now that she’d made up her mind and accepted the invitation via text. “We’re going to see some friends.” She addressed the kids with a casual air she hoped didn’t sound too forced. “On a nice day like this, you’re going to want to play outside, so bring a jacket.”

“Do we have to?” asked Flick.

“No. You could stay here and contemplate your navel if you want.”

“What friends?” Addie asked.

“Sierra—you met her at the restaurant. And Will.”

“Coach Jensen,” said Flick. He lifted his shirt and stared at his belly button.

“Let’s go. You haven’t seen the Jensen place,” she said. “I think you’re going to love it.”

“How do you know?”

“I used to go there when I was a kid and I loved it. There’s a dock and an old barn and a really good climbing tree that’s probably still there. Have you ever climbed a tree?”

“We’re city kids,” Flick said. “What do we know about trees?”

“I want to climb a tree!” Addie headed for the door. Flick followed more slowly.

She bundled the kids into the car. “It’s a nice drive. They live up the road a ways.”

“Why’s it called Oysterville?” asked Addie.

“Because that’s where the best oysters in the world come from.”

“What’s an oyster?” Addie frowned.

“It’s a thing that grows at the bottom of the bay, in a shell. Most of the shells you see around here are oyster shells.”

“You can find a pearl in an oyster shell,” Flick said. “That’s what Miss Liza told us.”

“Your new teacher knows her stuff. Pearls are hard to find, though.” She flashed on a memory of the seed pearls she’d used in her Chrysalis collection. Her stolen collection.

They were quiet as they drove up the peninsula. The morning mist lay softly in the dense thickets that lined the road. Springtime rose up out of the marshes, alive now with blue heron and wild irises and budding trees. She pointed out a porcupine rooting in the bracken. Chittering birds flitted through the forests of stunted pine. In a distant meadow, a herd of elk grazed.

Yet despite the beauty all around, she clamped her hands too tightly on the steering wheel. She couldn’t stop thinking about the things she’d left behind. While living in New York, she believed she’d escaped the old feelings. But coming back brought everything to the surface.

With a nervous flick of her wrist, she switched on the radio and found a local music station.

“That’s Lorde,” Addie said, recognizing the song. “Mama liked Lorde.”

Caroline glanced in the rearview mirror. Addie was holding Wonder Woman up to see out the window. “She did, didn’t she? What else did your mama like?” She wanted the children to know Angelique, to hold the memories sweetly. They were so damned little. Would they remember her?

“Adele,” Flick said. “And Bruno Mars.”

“One of these days we should make a playlist of songs your mom liked, okay?”

Neither of them spoke. As the plaintive song drifted from the speakers, Caroline tried not to feel overwhelmed by sadness. “Hey, guess what? I’m going to be making superhero T-shirts for your school to sell. Isn’t that cool?”

“You mean everybody’s going to get one?” asked Flick.

“Everybody who wants one, yes.” She paused. “Would that be all right with you?”

Silence.

“Are you shrugging your shoulders? I can’t hear you shrug your shoulders.”

“If everyone has a hero shirt, then we’re all the same.”

Oh, boy. “You and Addie had the very first ones. You’re my inspiration. Is it cool that everybody wants to be like you?”

“I guess.”

Caroline had been busy all week with dual projects—ordering the printed shirts and sourcing the cape fabric, thread, and snaps. She’d gone to the fabricator in Astoria and negotiated a deal to buy a serger and bar tack machine, a cutting machine, and a heat press. They’d thrown in tag piercers and some other gear she’d need to set up shop.

The only problem was, she didn’t have a shop. She was going to need a large workspace for herself and Echo to get the shirts made using the industrial machines and cutting tables.

Finding a place for the support group meeting had been less challenging. There was a community room in an annex next to the police station, which was perfect. She could think of no better place for women who had been involved with violent men. She and her sisters—Georgia had embraced the project with both incredibly competent arms—had stayed up late every night, planning and organizing.

Staying busy helped keep panic at bay.

She reminded herself of that as she drove slowly through the small community of vintage houses, weathered picket fences, spectacular gardens, and oyster sheds. She turned at the mailbox with fading letters—water’s edge. Cypress sentinels lined the drive, and a weather-beaten picket fence, bearded with moss, bordered the lawn. The old painted house overlooked Willapa Bay, the preternaturally calm water mirroring a fringe of forested lowlands. There was a dock and an oyster barn, and another huge barn located across a meadow at the edge of a wooded area.

Oh, the adventures she’d had here, exploring and playing hide-and-seek, dipping a net into the water to see what came up. She remembered wearing old sneakers to keep from cutting her feet on oysters and barnacles in the bay. At certain times of the year, they could find salmon swimming through the forest on their muddy, migratory path. But the greatest adventure of all had been—

“Hey, guys!” Will strode toward her as she parked the car. “Welcome.” He wore lived-in jeans that had faded in all the right places, a denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled back, a bandanna hanging from his back pocket, and a metal tape measure clipped to his belt. He was, as always, a man completely at home in his own skin.

She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat, ducking her head to hide a completely uncalled-for blush.

“We come bearing gifts,” she said, getting out of the car and holding out a mason jar. Flick and Addie got out of the back seat and looked around. “My mom’s strawberry jam. First batch of the season.”

Will took it from her. “The first time I met you, you brought your mom’s strawberry-rhubarb jam.”

“Some things never change,” she said, knowing it for the line it was. Nothing ever stayed the same. Yet she couldn’t help being a little surprised that he remembered such a small detail from that day.