She tried not to stare at his bare chest, and the way his swim trunks hung at the very edges of his hip bones. “And your dad likes his shore duty?”

He finished quickly and slung a towel around his neck. “Guess so. He’s got a girlfriend now. I think he’s going to marry her.”

“Oh! So is that good news, or . . . ?”

“It’s okay, I guess. Her name’s Shasta and she works on base. She’s pretty nice. A lot younger than Dad, which is kind of weird. I think she’s only, like, fifteen years older than me.”

Caroline tried to imagine her dad with someone other than Mom. It was impossible. There was no way she could picture someone coming into their house and taking charge of things. “Does she have other kids?”

“Nope. I overheard them talking about having another kid, which is why I think they’re going to get married.” He studied the color-drenched clouds blooming on the horizon. “Dad never talks about my mom. Sometimes it’s like she never even existed.”

Caroline hated dishwashing detail so much she felt like crying. The tubs of gloppy used dishes flowed into her area in a never-ending stream of greasy gray tubs, waiting for her to hose everything down with hot water. Her supervisor, Mike, was a total lazybones who spent more time in the loading area with his cigarettes than he did in the kitchen. Georgia and Virginia were waiting tables and seeming to love every minute of it. Yet Caroline knew that even if she got a promotion to hostessing or waitressing, she’d still hate it. Her four-hour morning shift seemed endless.

After just a couple of weeks, she sat down with her mother and said, “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Sweetie, you’re just getting started.”

“I want to help, Mom. You know I do. But dishwashing is killing my soul.”

“Yikes. Sounds serious.”

“Mom.”

“All right. I’m sorry. I should know better than to argue with your feelings. What’s on your mind, Miss Caroline?”

“I have a proposal to make. How about instead of the restaurant, I find a job doing something else?”

“You can’t work anywhere but in a family business until you’re fourteen.”

“I’m almost fourteen. And Mrs. Bloom said she needs help in the fabric shop and she’d pay me under the table until I’m old enough. I love it there, Mom. Please.”

“Oh, Caroline.”

She held her breath. When Mom said, Oh, Caroline, like that, it meant she was softening.

“Can I just try? And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll come back to the restaurant. I promise.”

“Your sisters love the restaurant. You’ll be waiting tables before you know it.”

“I love the restaurant, too. Just not working there. Please. Mrs. Bloom said I can get a discount on fabric, too. And you know how much fabric I buy.”

“I do know. You’ve made some wonderful things, Caroline.”

“I’ll make even more wonderful things if you let me work at the shop.” She still remembered walking into Lindy’s for the first time. She’d been in third grade, and for some reason her mom had sent her there to get a card of buttons. Caroline had returned hours later, having spent her entire allowance on notions, thread, and fat quarters—precut pieces of cotton fabric. She had raced to her room with her treasures and immediately set to work fashioning an outfit for her American Girl doll. Even though her scissors were blunt and she sewed by hand rather than machine, the garment she’d made was a thing of beauty. Caroline was so proud of it that she’d taken it to Mrs. Bloom, who said unequivocally that it showed promise.

After that, Caroline found any excuse to go to the shop, captivated by the array of fabrics and the long metal drawers with patterns lined up like maps to El Dorado. The hand-drawn illustrations on the envelopes haunted her dreams. All of her school notebooks were filled with drawings of clothes, everything from ball gowns to boleros.

Mom hesitated. “I’ll give Lindy a call . . .”

Caroline threw her arms around her mother. “You’re the best! You won’t be sorry.”

“No,” said Mom, her face soft with understanding. “I won’t be.”

Caroline jumped on her bike and raced into town to tell Will the news. Behind the glass-front freezers at the ice cream parlor, he looked both ridiculous and cute in a white shirt with a button-down collar, striped apron, and goofy peaked paper hat. “My mom said okay! I don’t have to wash dishes anymore. I can work at the fabric shop, right across the street.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “Hey, would you like to—”

“Hi, Will!” A cluster of girls burst into the shop, led by Rona Stevens.

Like to what? Caroline ground her teeth in irritation. He was just about to ask her . . . what? If she’d like to go to the movies? Hike to the top of the Willapa Hills? Get pizza? What?

She’d never know because the shop was now infested with cheerleaders. Rona and her friends were all about the short shorts and candy-colored lip gloss and giant hair bows that looked like an extra appendage. “We need ice cream. Screaming for it. Oh, hiya, Caroline.”

“Hi, yourself.” For some reason, Caroline always felt inadequate around Rona. She was famous for having made out with a high school junior—a guy who called himself Hakon, for some reason—at a Tolo dance last year. Supposedly Hakon was her boyfriend, but that didn’t stop her from flirting with Will.

“What’s the flavor du jour?” she asked, leaning toward the case until her boobs practically touched the glass.

“Cranberry crunch,” Will said, seemingly oblivious to her boobs-first pose. “Want a taste?” He handed each of the cheerleaders a tiny plastic spoonful. He offered one to Caroline, but she shook her head.

“No, thanks. I know what I want.”

“The usual?”

“Yep, you got it.”

He dug out a scoop of sea salt caramel fudge and expertly seated it on a waffle cone. Caroline counted out her money and slid it across the counter. The other girls insisted on tasting all the flavors. Eventually, with an excess of giggling, they ordered their selections. Caroline was annoyed at how flirty they were being, but Will didn’t seem to mind. Rona made a show of adding a hefty tip to the jar on the counter.

“We’re heading to the go-kart track,” she said to him. “Want to come after you’re done here?”

He wiped the marble counter. “Can’t. I promised my granddad a round of cribbage tonight.”

“What’s cribbage?” Rona cocked her head. “Sounds scary.”

“It’s his favorite game.” Will grinned in friendly fashion. “Thanks, though. Maybe another time.”

“Definitely another time.” She flicked a dismissive glance over Caroline. “See you later, kids.”

After they left, Caroline perched on a stool and watched him finish wiping up. “What’s high school in California like?” she asked him.

He looked up briefly. “I went to a DoD school in Guam, so a regular public high school seems really different.”

“In a good way? Or were there bullies like the ones you had to fight in Guam?”