“He’s a guy. You need to be obvious.”

“I wouldn’t mind if he was more obvious,” Lanie said. “I’ve heard he never goes past first base. Or maybe the first down, in football speak.”

“He’s the local coach. Probably trying to avoid gossip. Or—hey—waiting for the right girl to come along. Maybe you should—”

“Can I get a foam finger?” asked Addie, pointing to a concessionaire hawking swag.

Caroline tried ignoring her. One thing she’d learned about kids—they all liked everything for about five minutes. After that, the thing was forgotten and, worse, discarded and left for her to pick up. She couldn’t help mulling over what she’d heard the women discussing. And she couldn’t help thinking back to a secret she’d held enshrined in her heart for far too long—the night she’d lost herself, for only a single illicit moment, in Will Jensen’s arms.

“Can I?” Addie persisted. “Please?”

“No,” Caroline said. The overheard conversation had irritated her. “Finish your hot dog.”

“Aww . . .”

When the halftime show started, so did the rain. Umbrellas sprouted like mushrooms in the gloom. “Gear up, you guys,” Caroline said.

The kids pulled their rain flies out of the pockets of their popover jackets and put them on. Caroline donned a prototype of her latest design for C-Shell Rainwear—the stadium coat. Her seat cushion transformed into a lightweight raincoat in a cool print. She shook it out and put it on, and when she looked down at the field, she spotted Will looking directly at her.

Their gazes held for a moment; then he lifted his arm and beckoned her.

“Hey, is he waving at you?” asked the woman behind her. “I think he is!”

“Let’s go find Will,” Caroline said, taking Addie’s hand. “Watch your step.”

They were halfway down the narrow concrete steps when someone tapped Caroline on the shoulder. “Excuse me.” It was Lanie Cannon, brushing the rain from her eyes.

Good lord, was she looking for a catfight?

“Yes?” Caroline was not going to let her by.

“I was just noticing . . . Did you just turn your seat cushion into a raincoat?”

Oh.

“I did, actually,” said Caroline.

“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.