undertone, not wanting anyone to overhear her. “I haven’t been fair to all of you. Or completely honest with you.”
Faith’s dark eyes gave her a lingering once-over.
“You seem so different,” she said. “Good different. Mellow, self-confident…I haven’t seen you like this in so long, Charity. I thought you were hiding from the world out there in the middle of nowhere. But I can’t deny that whatever you’ve been doing over there, has truly worked wonders on the fragile, sad creature who left us three years ago.”
“I’ll tell you about it later, okay? Let’s have fun today.”
Miles couldn’t ever recall being at a children’s party before. The low-key celebrations his mother had given his siblings had been limited by budget. Miles had always been deemed too old for a birthday party.
Vicki’s sixth birthday had been the closest any of them had come to having a proper childhood party. She had demanded princesses, poofy dresses, and lots of pink. She had received an acid pink sheet cake with Happy Birthday, Victorya piped in white icing across the top. Somebody had attempted to fix the spelling mistake, by turning the y into an i, but they had only succeeded in making the error more obvious. Luckily Vicki, who at that point could barely spell her own name, hadn’t noticed.
Their mother, Hugh, and Miles had made a huge fuss over the birthday girl. And she had been ecstatic in her “princess” dress made from one of their mother’s old skirts, the tiara Miles had fabricated with pipe cleaners and foil, and the makeup, Hugh had caked onto her face.
It had been memorable. And nowhere near the scale of this event.
Faith and Stuart Culpepper had rented the entire kids carnival section of the estate. As far as Miles could tell, there were in excess of fifty rug rats, hopped up on sugar and the lukewarm winter sunshine, dashing around the place. There were trampolines, play gyms, a freaking bouncy castle, and a seemingly endless supply of food.
Miles stood apart, watching Charity with the kids. She didn’t seem to care that she was wearing a pretty, feminine dress, she had kicked off her shoes, tucked her skirt into her underwear and was on one of the trampolines, having an absolute blast. He didn’t like that some of the dads present appeared to be enjoying the view as much as he was, but who could blame them?
“Thank you for bringing our Charity back to us.” The words were spoken by the tall, blonde older woman, whom Miles hadn’t noticed standing beside him. He recognized her, of course. She had been the author of many of the Facebook posts on Blaine Davenport’s memorial page.
He didn’t respond to the woman’s words but waited to see what she would do next.
“She’s my daughter-in-law, you know? She was devastated when our Blaine died. Absolutely devastated. She was in a depression for so long, we feared we would lose her too. Feared she would follow him…you know? Because she couldn’t stand to live without him.” Something told Miles that that was what she had expected of Charity. For her to follow Blaine.
Fuck that.
“Charity would never do something so utterly weak and cowardly,” he dismissed caustically. And watched in satisfaction, as the shot scored a direct hit. Blaine the Arsehole may not be with them any longer, but this woman had been complicit in his abuse of Charity, and Miles wasn’t above taking potshots at her.
The woman’s expression went frigid, all pretense of civility evaporating in the face of Miles’s opening salvo.
“My son was a strong, proud, and honorable man. He adored his wife and she adored him.”
“Bullshit, you knew exactly what a monster your son was. You raised him to be that way.”
She gasped, an affronted hand going up to her chest.
“I don’t know what Charity has told you…but I can assure you it’s false. Blaine always loved her so much.”
“Yeah, I like to burn the women I love too,” Miles replied, with a cynical snort. “And cut them and hurt them and humiliate them.”
“You don’t know anything.” Her voice was an angry sibilant whisper, and she bristled with fury. “Charity was always difficult. I warned him not to marry her, warned him she would make a terrible pastor’s wife, but he loved that girl beyond reason. She tested him. Tested his commitment to his faith and his parish. What was he supposed to do?”
“Not fucking hit her! Not mark her with cigarettes, or slice her with razor blades. Not break her