And Brenna was right. I felt so much lighter as I watched my daughter as she gathered steam and then ran through the waves, laughing, her hair damp from swimming and the spray. I would never have asked for any of this, obviously. And missing Bill was a beating pulse that ran through my every thought, my every breath. But, with the help of these women, I had pulled myself up by my bootstraps. We were getting through.

“So, how’re you doing, Charlotte?” Julie asked.

I scrunched my nose and looked out at a line of birds gliding through the sky. “Maybe you could be more specific?”

She laughed. “Well, how is your life? And how are you settling into the mommune?”

“My life is a swirling pile of garbage. But the mommune is perfect,” I said.

“And Bill?” Grace asked.

My stomach turned. “He is being incredibly stoic, but this is so hard. I mean, the man who has been perfectly paleo for five years is living on white carbs from the cafeteria because he’s saving the generous forty cents an hour he makes mopping so he can have internet time instead of spending it on the vaguely healthy tuna packets from the commissary.” I shook my head. “He didn’t even do anything and he’s allotted three hundred minutes a month to talk to his family. This is just so unfair and I—” I realized their wide-eyed attention was set on me. “I’m sorry. I’m ranting.”

Grace put her hand on my shoulder solidly, to calm me, to hold me in my place. It helped. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “This is unimaginable.”

“Right?” I said. “It’s unimaginable! In true Bill fashion, he has himself on this strict reading and workout schedule to keep from going insane, but, y’all, this is bad, and what if they can’t prove that he’s innocent?” I took a deep breath.

“What day is his hearing again?”

“Discovery should arrive to Oliver in a couple of weeks, and we’ll know after that. But soon.” I paused. “You guys, what if he has to serve a sentence for a crime he didn’t commit?”

Julie shook her head. “We won’t let that happen.”

I rolled my eyes and immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t about you. I’m just scared. People are unjustly incarcerated all the time.”

“Not Bill,” Julie said firmly. Something in her eyes made me know that she was plotting for me. And, well, if nothing else, the woman was a Grade A plotter.

Grace bit her lip just the tiniest bit. It was so small, almost nothing. Even so, it sent a chill down my spine.

“What?” I asked.

“Me?” she asked. “Nothing.”

“Come on, Grace,” Julie said. “That lip bite of yours is never nothing.”