He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Yes. Never better. God, I love you so much.” Then he slid his arms around her, and her heart filled with bittersweet emotion—grief and joy, gratitude and regret, pride and melancholy. But most of all, love.

Two years before, she had never imagined a moment like this. Yet here she was, with a man she loved more than the very air she breathed, with her father, who was finally living and loving the way he was meant to, and with her daughter, now poised to take flight on her own adventures.

She looked around at the faces of her extended family. What a beautiful journey they were on, the long, sweet journey that had brought them home.

Acknowledgments

This book began with a journey, and the plot unfolded through sun-drenched rambles amid the hill towns and coastal villages where women like Lisette struggled to survive a war they scarcely understood. When the imagination is lubricated by frequent vineyard luncheons in the company of a kindly husband, all the better.

But the real work of writing a novel isn’t always so idyllic. Most of it involves unending solitary hours getting words on the page, a process fueled not by wine and socca but by Red Bull and microwave burritos, all while being haunted by the feeling of imminent failure.

Fortunately for me, the lonely hours end as publication begins. Thank you to the amazing creative team at William Morrow/HarperCollins—Dan Mallory, Liate Stehlik, Lynn Grady, Pam Jaffee, Lauren Truskowski, Tavia Kowalchuk, and their many talented colleagues. Thanks also to the ever-wise Meg Ruley and Annelise Robey of the Jane Rotrosen Agency, who do it all with humor and panache.

Then there’s the home team—Willa Cline and Cindy Peters, keeping me alive online; and Marilyn Rowe, mother-in-law and booklover with mad proofreading skills. And as ever, the brain trust—fellow writers who regularly confound patrons at the Silverdale Barnes & Noble with lengthy discussions about unlikely fictional topics. Thank you, Elsa Watson, Sheila Roberts, Lois Faye Dyer, Kate Breslin, and Anjali Banerjee. Your generosity knows no bounds.

As ever, thanks to my husband, Jerry, for remaining calm at all times.

An Excerpt from THE OYSTERVILLE SEWING CIRCLE

Prologue

In the darkest hour before the breaking dawn, Caroline Shelby rolled into Oysterville, a town perched at the farthest corner of Washington State. The tiny hamlet hung at the very tip of a narrow peninsula, crooked like a beckoning finger between the placid bay and the raging Pacific.

She was home.

Home to a place she’d left behind forever. To a place that held her heart and memories, but not her future—or so she’d thought, until this moment. The chaotic, unplanned journey that had brought her here had frayed her nerves and blurred her vision, and she nearly missed seeing a vague shadow stir at the side of the road, then dart in front of her.

She swerved just in time to miss the scuttling possum, hoping the lurching motion of the car wouldn’t wake the kids. A glance in the rearview mirror reassured her that they slept on. Keep dreaming, she silently told them. Just a little while longer.