She and Star had laughed until they’d both wet their pants. “No. I don’t remember.”

“Sure you do. Star was always angling for a way to get the two of you on a float.”

She’d always managed it, too. They’d ridden on floats for Dogs ’N’ Malts, Maggie’s Fudge Shop, the Knights of Columbus, and the old barbecue joint that had burned down. Once Star had even gotten them onto the Boy Scouts’ float.

Toby piped up from the rear. “Gram said my mom was worthless.” He delivered this statement so matter-of-factly that Bree was taken aback, but Mr. Salesman had an answer for everything.

“Your gram said that out of sadness. Your mom was restless, and sometimes she could be a little immature, but she wasn’t worthless.”

Toby kicked the back of the seat with no particular venom. “I hate her.”

Toby’s antipathy for his mother was disturbing, even though Bree felt the same. Although lately her resentment toward Star had begun to seem more like the dregs of an old head cold than a full-blown attack of the flu.

Once again, Mike stepped into the breach. “You didn’t know your mother, Toby. Sure she had her faults—we all do—but there were a lot more good things about her.”

“Like running out on me and Gram and my dad?”

“She had this thing called postpartum depression. Sometime women get it after they have babies. I’m sure she didn’t mean to stay away for long.”

Myra had never said anything to Bree about postpartum depression. She’d said Star couldn’t stand being stuck with a baby and had run away so she could “cat around.”

As they reached town, Bree hoped the subject of Star was closed, but bigmouthed Mike couldn’t leave it alone. “Your mom and Bree were best friends. I bet Bree can tell you lots of good things about your mom.”

Bree stiffened.

“I bet she can’t,” Toby said.

She had to say something. Anything. She forced her jaw to move. “Your mother was … very beautiful. We … all wanted to look like her.”

“That’s true.” The glance Mike darted at her held unmistakable reproof. Mike Moody, the master of misdeeds, was judging her for not coming up with something more meaningful, but Toby didn’t seem to notice.

They’d reached the church. The Episcopal church. The largest and most respectable congregation on Charity Island.

Bree looked at Mike. “Serpents and speaking in tongues?”

He grinned. “It could happen.”

A joke at her expense. Still, some of her tension began to fade.

BREE HAD ATTENDED THE METHODIST church as a child, but organized religion with all its unanswered questions had eventually felt too burdensome, and she’d stopped not long after she got married. Mike found seats for them off to the side beneath a stained-glass window of Jesus blessing the multitudes.