Caroline was in the kids’ room, going through their school backpacks and checking homework. She’d never pictured herself doing such a thing, and she felt like a fraud. Notes from teachers, permission slips, practice sheets—it was all new to her.

Sometimes, like at the present moment, it started to feel normal. It started to feel like her life. Not the life she’d imagined for herself, but something she never in her wildest dreams could have conceived of. Both Addie and Flick seemed to be settling in at school. They even seemed proud that the superpower shirts had become a thing. They were trendsetters, she liked to tell them.

The day was winding down. They’d had their supper and baths. Now Flick lay on his bed, absorbed in Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. Addie had found an old Barbie set in a carrying case that opened like a closet and was playing with the vintage dolls. Thanks to Caroline’s mother, Barbie still lived in the case with her boyfriend, Ken. “She could be Wonder Woman’s friend,” Addie exclaimed. “They’re the same size.”

“Good idea,” said Caroline. “They could even share clothes.” She held up a tiny ball gown made of weird polyester calico. “I remember making this—a failed experiment. Sewing for Barbie is actually harder than sewing for grown-ups. But see, she has a lot of cool clothes and her own motor scooter. I got in trouble for making her a car.”

“Why did you get in trouble?”

“I borrowed one of my dad’s Italian leather shoes to make it. I stuck on the wheels with a hot glue gun, which seemed like a good idea at the time. But it ruined the shoes forever. Dad was so mad at me.”

“Did he whack you?”

“What? Whack me? No.” Caroline felt a spike of awareness. “Is that what happens when someone’s bad?”

Addie shrugged her shoulders, her typical reaction when Caroline brought up the topic. Neither she nor Flick had given any indication that they knew what was happening to their mother or who the abuser was, yet that didn’t mean they hadn’t seen anything.

“Well, I want you to know that whacking is never okay. Or hitting, smacking, punching, or shoving. Violence—hurting someone—is never, ever okay. You know that, right?”

Another shrug. Addie tried a denim skirt on Wonder Woman.

“Did anyone ever hit you? Or Flick? Or your mama?” These questions had been asked by emergency caseworkers in the whirlwind following Angelique’s death, and the answer was always inconclusive.

Once again, no. Addie shook her head, and Flick pretended not to hear.

“I want you to know that we can talk about anything. It’s important. And I promise I’ll always listen,” Caroline persisted. “Maybe you saw scary things.”

She paused. No response.

“Maybe you heard yelling in a mean voice.”

Still nothing.

“I want you to know that yelling is not okay, and you should never think it’s your fault. There was nothing you could have done to stop what happened to your mama. I will do everything I can to help you feel safe. Can you talk to me about how you feel?”

The kids looked at each other and held their silence.

“I miss Mama,” Addie said after a few moments. “I feel sad.”

“So do I, and Flick does, too.” Caroline drew Addie into a hug. “I wish I knew how to help you, baby,” she whispered into the girl’s soft hair. “You don’t deserve what happened to you. Your mama didn’t deserve it, either. You’re safe now, and I’ll always keep you safe.”

After a few minutes, Flick grabbed the book they’d been reading together. “Read to us. Read Old Yeller,” he said.

“Good plan. I think we’re on the last chapter.” Caroline opened to the bookmarked page and started reading. She still remembered the warmth and safety of snuggling in bed with her sisters and brothers while their mother read to them. Yeller had been her favorite. He and Travis had adventures the way she and Wendell did. Poor Yeller had harrowing episodes—getting attacked by a bear, saving Travis from wild hogs, being bitten by a rabid wolf.

As she read the part about Yeller’s festering bite, she could feel the kids coiling against her in dread. She recalled bracing herself, too, but her mom had read the reassuring final scene with a smile on her face. Just when it seemed all was lost, Yeller’s eyes cleared. He stopped foaming at the mouth. He wagged his tail and whined a sweet greeting to Travis. He was all right. He and Travis were going to be just fine.

Except.

Caroline frowned as she heard herself reading the final scene. Wait. What? This was not the story she remembered. Right there in black and white, the book said Yeller had rabies and Travis shot him dead. With a sense of betrayal and disbelief, she kept reading, but it didn’t get better. “Jesus H. Christ,” she said, tears falling as she snapped the book shut and flung it aside. “What the hell kind of ending is that?”

“Did Yeller die?” Addie asked, her chin quivering.

“Travis shot him. Why did Travis shoot him?” Flick punched his pillow.

“That’s not how it’s supposed to end,” Caroline said. “When my mom read it to me, the ending was totally different. It was totally happy.”

“I don’t want Yeller to be dead,” Addie sobbed.

“It’s just a story,” Caroline said with an angry sleeve-swipe at her tearstained cheeks. “It didn’t really happen.”

“It’s the saddest thing ever.”

“I know,” Caroline said. “I know. I’m sorry I read you such a sad story. The ending I remember was totally different. The Old Yeller my mom read us had a happy ending. Yeller got better and they kept his puppies, too.”

“Then why’s he dead now?” Addie asked.

Because my mom changed the ending.

It took Caroline another thirty minutes and repeat readings of Go, Dog. Go! to coax them to sleep. When they were finally settled, she grabbed the offensive book and went to confront her mother.

Her mom was in the living room, lost in a new novel from the library. Caroline dropped Old Yeller in her lap. “You changed the ending,” she accused.

“What?”

“You read Old Yeller aloud to us and you changed the ending so that he got better and lived happily ever after.”

“Did I?” Mom removed her reading glasses. “That was smart of me. I certainly didn’t want the five of you up all night crying over a sad dog story.”

“I lived my whole life thinking this was the best book ever because I thought it ended well for Yeller.” She made a fist around the damp tissues in her hand. “And I just finished reading this to Addie and Flick, only I read them the real ending, thinking it was going to get better. And the goddamn kid shot his goddamn dog and that was that. It took forever to console them and get them to sleep, and it’s a school night.”

“Oh dear. You should have given them a happy ending.”

Rain engulfed the peninsula in a sweep of wind and darkness. Caroline put the kids’ lunches in their backpacks, shuddering at the blustery weather. Flick and Addie stared out the window, their expressions as gloomy as the weather.

“It’s like this sometimes,” she said.

“It’s like this all the time,” Flick grumbled.

“I hate the rain,” Fern said, coming into the kitchen, flinging her backpack onto the floor. “I got soaked just coming in from the garage.”

“Then you’re going to love what I made for you,” Caroline said. “New raincoats!”

“Yay!” Addie jumped down from the table. “You make the best things.”

“It’s a popover jacket,” Caroline said, helping Addie put hers on. “Something I’ve been working on. I’ll show you how it works.” She had been inspired by the children, coming up with a unique design concept. The fleece jackets had a special pocket with a surprise inside—a rain fly and hood that covered them and their backpacks.

“It’s cool!” Flick said. “I like how you make stuff.” He offered a rare spontaneous hug.

Fern’s face brightened as she examined her new coat. “I love it. Thanks, Aunt Caroline.”

It had never occurred to Caroline to make children’s rainwear, but the feeling of pleasure reminded her of something she’d nearly forgotten—designing clothes was a way of showing love. In all the turmoil over her career, she’d nearly lost that idea. The garments bore her signature flourish—the nautilus shell motif on the front pocket. She’d added the logo with a sense of defiance, determined to fight her way back into the business.

The three kids showed off their bright fleece jackets with their custom rain coverings.

“We need pictures,” Virginia said, coming into the kitchen to admire the finished garments. “Caroline, these are really clever.” She took out her phone and snapped a few pictures. “I hope you’re prepared to get orders from all the other moms.”

“That’s the idea,” Caroline said, herding the kids out the door to wait for the school bus at the end of the driveway. She handed her sister a printout of her designs and technical specifications for the jackets.

“Well, this is brilliant. Good for you.” Virginia helped herself to coffee and sat down with the document. “I’m glad you’re moving ahead with your design business.”

“I’ve got to do something. It’s not exactly the career I thought I wanted . . .”