The Oysterville Sewing Circle. Susan Wiggs

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      “Sounds good. So you’re going to put on pretty clothes and knock ’em dead,” he said.

      “Right.” Her too-smooth brow tried to frown. “The world’s oldest model.”

      “Only my ninth graders think thirty-four is old.”

      “News flash—the entire fashion industry thinks thirty-four is old.”

      He knew better than to argue with any female about the fashion world. But damn. Despite the accident that had taken one eye, his good eye could see perfectly well that his wife was gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that made people do a double take, the way they might when a perfect rainbow appeared in the sky. She had shiny red hair and a tall, slender body, green eyes that gleamed like rare jewels. Her face had graced ads for toothpaste, cat litter, fine perfume—anything that could be marketed alongside a pretty face.

      And as incredible as she looked, she had managed to pursue the one career where her looks were not particularly striking—merely commonplace in that world.

      Lately—and he knew this frustrated her—the bookings for her high-fashion modeling had tapered off. He was not going to be the one to ask the reason for this. He didn’t want to hear her say it was because she was old. He didn’t want to hear her say it was because she lived in the world’s smallest backwater, where she had to drive for two hours or more to find even a glimmer of civilization.

      “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

      She glanced at the clock over his office door. “Just a bit. Hair and makeup starts at eleven.

      “Whose pretty clothes will you be wearing today?”

      She hesitated. He could tell she wasn’t happy. “McCall’s,” she said briefly.

      A discount store on the lower end of the spectrum, then. Not exactly Nordstrom. “They’re lucky to get you.”

      She took the proffered cup of coffee and sprinkled it with a dusting of stevia, ever mindful of avoiding extra calories. “Right.”

      He added a generous dollop of cream and real sugar to his cup. After the morning run, he was starving, and he didn’t have a break until third period. While loading up his messenger bag for the day, he debated with himself about whether to bring up this morning’s encounter with Caroline.

      If he didn’t, Sierra would hear about the drama of the “lost, not lost” kid from someone else. She’d hear one of his athletes had found the little girl. She might wonder why he hadn’t said anything about the encounter. If he did—

      “I ran into Caroline Shelby,” he said, threading a belt around his pants. “This morning.”

      She perched one hip on the edge of his desk. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. “Caroline! You’re kidding. She’s been a ghost for the past ten years. Where did you see her? Here in town?”

      He nodded. “During a training run with the team, super early. She was at the Bait & Switch. Seems like she’d just rolled into town, like maybe she’d been driving all night. That’s how it appeared, anyway. Did you know she was coming?”

      “No. Why would I? We haven’t been in touch in years, other than the occasional wave on Facebook. What’s she doing here?”

      “I didn’t ask. Like I said, it was early, and I was out with the cross-country team.” He paused. “She has two kids. Did you know that?”

      Her green eyes opened even wider. “Caroline has kids?”

      “Little boy and little girl.”

      “Wow, I had no idea. I guess I’ll run into her at some point, then. Is she staying at her folks’ place?”

      “Didn’t ask that, either.”

      “Caroline Shelby. Two kids. Wow,” she said again, slowly shaking her head.

      Will had thought he and Sierra would have a kid or two by now. That had always been the plan, anyway. So far no luck. Not for lack of trying, which was admittedly his favorite part of the process. He was ready for kids. He pictured them growing up here, the place where his heart had always belonged. He had been all over the world while serving in the navy. He’d been deployed with his SEAL team to places most people had never heard of. His team had been based in Coronado, and he’d seen places of magic and stunning beauty, but when he thought about where he belonged, his mind always wandered back to Oysterville, where the summers burst over the land like golden blessings, and the winters roared through with torrential abandon.

      Sierra had agreed to the plan. Like Caroline, she had grown up here. Her father was still the senior pastor at Seaside Church, and her mother managed the church’s newsletter and social calendar.

      Sierra glanced at the clock over the office door. “I need to hit the road.” Stepping up on tiptoe, she gave him a peck on the cheek. “Don’t hold dinner for me. I’ll probably be late. I might stay over in the city.”

      That was a compromise they’d made early on. If they were going to live out on the coast, she wouldn’t always make it home after a job. “Okay, let me know. Go be gorgeous.”

      “Right.” Small eye roll.

      “Be safe on the road. Love you.”

      And then she was gone. Love you. Of course he loved her. She was his wife. These days, their love yous were rote and reflexive, a sign they were in a settled phase of their marriage. Which wasn’t a bad thing. Yet sometimes he felt bad about it. He hoped it was his imagination, but more and more lately, his wife was showing signs of discontent. She talked constantly of the city life she’d lived while he was on deployment—L.A., Portland, Seattle. Now there were unsettling signals that their marriage was fraying at the edges. What would make her happy? He made a note to work on the cedar-lined walk-in closet he was building for her at the house. Maybe he’d finish it tonight as a surprise for when she got home.

      He organized his things for the day and made his way from the athletic complex, past the administration center to the high school. Colleagues and students greeted him along the way. Although Sierra called it a fishbowl, Will liked the close-knit feel of the community, the sense of permanence of life here. Growing up a navy brat, he’d never lived in one place long enough to truly fit in, and the only place that had ever felt like home was Water’s Edge.

      When he and Sierra had settled here permanently following his discharge, they were treated like small-town royalty—the preacher’s daughter and the wounded hero, a designation he was happy to shed as time went on. Now he was just Coach Jensen, settling into a job and a life that felt like the right fit for him—most of the time.

      Because of his coaching duties, he didn’t have a homeroom to supervise, so he hit the staff room to check his mailbox, then the math office to log in, view his calendar, and grab some supplies. The school hallway was festooned with notices—an upcoming Tolo dance, college night, club meetings—and after announcements and the Pledge of Allegiance, it was crowded with kids slamming their lockers, talking too loud, hauling their overstuffed backpacks to class.

      Will strode into his classroom just as the first period bell rang. He blinked the lights once to signal his arrival, then stood at the front of the class. “All right, you scholars and ne’er-do-wells,” СКАЧАТЬ