“That’s genius. And super cute. I’ve sat on more cold, wet benches than I can count. Where’d you get it? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Caroline made it,” Addie piped up.

Caroline nodded and indicated the nautilus shell logo on her jacket. “On my website. They have them at Swain’s store, too.”

“Cool. Thanks!”

She saw Flick making a beeline for Will. “Gotta go.”

There were perks to being single, Will discovered. People felt sorry for him. They fixed food and brought it over, the way some folks did after a death in the family. They sent text messages and emails with funny pictures and video clips. They invited him places.

He was grateful for the attention. But sometimes all it did was remind him of what he’d lost—a wife, a carefully planned future, a dream. He looked around and saw couples being couples, functioning with seemingly little effort, sharing the daily joys of living. Yeah, so probably there were hidden issues. But knowing this didn’t keep him from feeling the glaring hole in the middle of his world.

At the annual homecoming game, during halftime, Caroline joined him just as he was about to head into the locker room for the team pep talk. Despite the chilly rain, despite the fact that his team was down by seven points, he’d greeted her with a grin and a wave.

She had invited him to Thanksgiving dinner at her family’s place, and he’d gladly accepted.

It was a start, he thought, as he got ready for what promised to be an epic feast.

A start of what?

Maybe something. Maybe nothing.

Since the divorce, he’d sensed a shift in his relationship with Caroline. It was subtle, and sometimes he wondered if he was imagining things, but he felt drawn to her in a different way. When he saw her coming and going from her shop, he noticed things that used to be filtered out by the fact that he was married. To her best friend. Now he noticed the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, and the curve of her butt in the snug jeans she liked to wear, the fullness of her lips and the sound of her laughter.

Armed with a big bouquet and a box of fancy chocolates—five pounds, enough to feed a crowd—he showed up at the Shelby house on a dark, rainy, muddy afternoon. The entire house held the warm aromas of a classic family Thanksgiving—roasting turkey and sage, baking rolls, sweet cinnamon and apples.

“Thanks for taking in a stray,” he said to Dottie as she greeted him at the door. “I was going to bring a pie, but I figured that would be like bringing coals to Newcastle.”

“You’d be right.” Georgia took his rain jacket and hung it up. “There’s no competing with my maple pecan pie or Mom’s brown sugar pumpkin.”

“You’re never going to get rid of me.”

The Shelby clan surrounded him, amoeba-like, enclosing him in a kind of warmth that was gratifying, but that also filled him with yearning. There were two sets of grandparents present. Georgia came with a husband and two kids. Virginia was there with her daughter, Fern, and a guy she was dating. Both of the brothers had brought dates as well. Will was relieved to see he wasn’t the only non–family member. The presence of the others made him seem slightly less pathetic.

With Dottie directing and everyone pitching in, a mind-blowing buffet materialized, tables were set, conversation flowed, and the football games came on TV.

Lyle proposed a toast, pouring what Will knew was probably an exceptional white wine. There was local apple cider for the kids. Glasses clinked all around. Then everyone loaded their plates and savored the incredible feast.

“Are you having a good Thanksgiving?” Will asked Flick as they indulged in too much dessert.

“Uh-huh.”

“What was Thanksgiving like with your mom?” he asked. He could feel Caroline’s attention drilling into him.

Flick shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t remember.”

“Maybe you had people over or went to someone’s house,” Caroline suggested. She locked eyes with Will over Flick’s head.

“Nah,” he said. “Can I have more pumpkin pie?”

A series of chords burst from the piano. Austin was at the keyboard, and he started off with “All Star” by Smash Mouth. Then “Shut Up and Dance” came around, and there was a bit of actual dancing. Will grabbed Caroline and they laughed their way through the number, bumping into the other couples and the little cousins. The music ended with the ultimate earworm, “Sweet Caroline.”

“That’s my song,” she exclaimed during the intro. “It’s the most awful song, and I love it!”

Watching everyone laughing and singing around the piano filled Will with a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time—the gentle, inclusive embrace of a real family. Sure, he knew he was idealizing things; families were messy and often problematic. But they also had moments of soaring joy and a sense that the world was right. He focused on Caroline, her smile and dancing eyes, the natural curve of her arms as she hugged her kids in close, and the loneliness inside him roared.

Chapter 25

On the one-year anniversary of the Oysterville Sewing Circle, the meeting room was packed. Caroline and her sisters put out a sheet cake decorated with a needle and thread and the message Mend Your Heart. The same phrase, along with the help line phone number, was featured on the little pocket sewing kits Lindy had made to give out. There was a core of regular attendees—Caroline never missed a meeting—and several who came and went. Most had heartbreaking stories to tell. A few were truly inspirational or even transformational. The insights into women who survived violent relationships were life-changing for Caroline.

Some women showed up and said nothing and were never seen again.

One of the lessons, maybe the hardest one for her, was to accept that there were limits to what she could do. The failures were painful to watch. Not everyone could boast of a happy ending. More than once, a member who seemed to be on a path to safety ended up returning to her abuser. Some fell into other abusive relationships, struggled with drugs and alcohol, or sank deeper into poverty and despair.

To Caroline’s surprise, Rona Stevens, whom she’d known since high school, attended a couple of meetings. Though she still had her varsity cheerleader looks, her posture had eroded to rounded shoulders, downcast eyes, and an attitude of defeat. She vacillated between breakups and makeups with Hakon, the school jock. And he was still awful. He didn’t hit her, Rona was quick to point out. Living with him was stressful, though. He controlled every aspect of her life, from how many calories she ate to the way she folded and stacked the bath towels. He had become a toxic, insidious voice in her head, convincing her she was worthless.

“He totally stalks me,” she’d confessed at her first meeting, saying they were on a break. “When we first moved in together, I thought it was sweet how he’d come home unexpectedly with flowers or a bottle of wine. After a while, I realized he was checking up on me. He checks the mileage on the odometer. He monitors my phone. He bugs me about the way I dress and wear my hair.” A look of exhaustion had swept over her face. “Sometimes I just want to be by myself, and he accuses me of not loving him. That might be the one thing he’s right about.”