Felicity had been baking most of the day but, knowing Felicity, she’d flit from booth to booth helping out.
Grams was the lucky one. She’d complained of a stiff knee and gotten off easy—sitting at Jack’s bedside.
Charity was supposed to man the fishing booth. It was a thrilling activity. Each fishing rod had a magnet attached. If you got lucky, you’d catch a duck with a number on its belly and win a prize. News flash, all the ducks had numbers—so the odds were definitely in the fisherman’s or fisherwoman’s favor.
The festivities had kicked off when the fire truck showed up to drive around the neighborhood, sirens blaring. The kids loved it. The dogs of the neighborhood? Not so much.
“You ready?” Felicity asked, her trusty wagon piled high with baked goods for the cake walk.
“Am I ever.” She finished off her tea and stood. “I can’t believe they’re still doing this.”
“Small towns love their traditions.” Felicity smiled. “How’s your stomach?”
Charity nodded. “Fine. Much better. I think it’s allergies or something. All the pollen or ragweed, you know?”
Felicity was staring at her in open disbelief.
“Well, something,” she went on. There were really only two ways to successfully lie. Option A, keep it as close to the truth as possible. Which, in her situation, was pretty impossible. Or Option B, keep it minimal. The more details, the easier to slip up. Ragweed? Allergies? Really? “Fine, I snuck in and ate a bunch of cookies.”
Felicity grinned. “You always were a cookie monster.”
Charity helped her lift the wagon down the steps to the sidewalk. They walked, arm in arm, down the street to the designated cake-walk area. Numbered sheets of bright cardstock paper had been laminated and duct taped to the street in a circle. The table was covered with plastic bunting, the same bright colors as the numbers on the ground. An iPod docking station sat on the table, to start and stop the music each turn.
Easy, timeless, and familiar… It had been years since she’d been to Summer Nights, years since she’d been home, but these were the times when her memories came rushing back, vivid and strong.
“This was Zach’s favorite.” Charity smiled, helping her sister arrange the yummy-looking treats on the table. “Mom would get so mad at him for winning everything.”
“Because she made most of it.” Her sister laughed. “To her, she was taking treats from other kids. To him, he won it fair and square.”
They both adored their brother, from his quick laughter and warm smile, to his love of mischief and hypercompetitive nature. No matter how much they might drive each other crazy—and they did—they would always, always have each other’s backs.
Charity stared up into the wide summer sky. The sun was halfway down, casting enough shadows for the crickets to start their evening serenade. In so many ways, everything was the same. In others, it was completely different.
“I miss him,” Felicity said, sliding an arm around her waist. “Sometimes, I wake up needing to know where he is, right then and there. It eats away
at me until I can’t think straight.”
Charity nodded. It was easier for her. It wasn’t that she tried to forget her brother, but travel, away from the places full of memories of him, made it easier to hold that sort of panic at bay. Most of the time. “I know. But we know Zach. He’s tough. He’ll be fine.” He had to be. Their family had been through enough, dammit.
“What are we staring at?” Diana asked, breathless. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Charity smiled. “The pretty sky.”
“Oh.” Diana glanced up, but she didn’t look impressed.
“You and your dad here?” Felicity turned, glancing in the direction Diana had come from.
“Yeah. We are totally crashing your neighborhood party,” Diana whispered. “We’re not supposed to be here, since, you know, we don’t actually live in this neighborhood.”
“Who knew Graham was such a rebel?” she teased, nudging Filly.
“My dad?” Diana shook her head and laughed. “Please. What can I do to help?”
The next fifteen minutes were a blur. Honor and another girl were across the way, their face-painting booth strung with lights, a couple of mirrors, and pictures of past years’ face-painting handiwork. They were excited; she could see it from here. Hadn’t she been when she was their age?
Once Nick had the karaoke machine set up and the speakers tuned, he and Diana offered to fill the pool she’d use for the rubber-ducky fishing. Which would have been fine if the two of them hadn’t gotten a little too carried away and ended up spraying each other—and her. Soaking wet. Considering the Texas heat, she didn’t mind too much. Until she got blasted in the face.
“Nickie,” she groaned.