"Why did they have to move?" he asked in a small voice.

Mr. Connor got a new job in Columbus, honey. We talked about this."

"But why did they have to go?" The boy let the binoculars dangle from the cord around his neck and glared at his mother, his face contorted with the effort not to cry. "We're never going to see them again, are we?"

"Maybe we can visit someday."

"We won't. Ever."

Charlotte watched her ten-year-old stalk off across the yard and her heart ached for him. Another loss, another change, was the last thing their little* family needed, and they all knew it.

As Matt slammed the front door with finality, a pudgy, sticky hand wheedled its way into her palm.

"So who's gonna toss with me now, Mom?" Hank looked up at Charlotte with a pair of deep blue, forlorn eyes, set in a chubby, freckled face.

Before she could answer, Bonnie's husband swooped down and lifted the little girl into the air; "I'll toss with you, Henrietta, but you gotta go easy on your fastball. I'm getting to be an old man."

Ned Preston threw Hank over his wide shoulder and marched away.

"Call me Henrietta again and I'll knock your block off!" she yelled through her giggles.

Ned looked back at Bonnie and Charlotte and grinned. "Hey, ladies, whaddya say I throw some veggie burgers on the grill, whip us up some killer fruit smoothies, and we meet next door in a few minutes? We got any wheat germ, babe?"

Bonnie chuckled and shook her head. "Not since about 1974."

"I'll improvise," Ned said with a wink.

The women stood quietly in the driveway for a long moment, Charlotte feeling Bonnie close to her side. She reached out for her friend's hand, found it, and pressed it tight. "He's a good man, Bonnie, even if he can't stop abusing me for my food choices."

She laughed at that "He certainly is. And I guess after thirty-five years I'd better start thinking of this as a permanent arrangement."