Charlotte had to choke back her sob. One of the hardest lessons she'd learned in the last eighteen months was that the kids had their own way of grieving and it wasn't necessarily her way. It seemed these concrete, simple things let them express their loss the way talking never could.

Neither of them had ever wanted to talk much about their dad's death. Charlotte recalled each long hour she'd ever spent in the worn blue wing chair of Reverend Williams's office in the First Baptist Church of Minton, talking about Kurt. About her fears and hopes and emptiness. It had helped.

But the day the reverend came to the house to chat with the kids, they both ran away, crying.

Matt stepped forward then, causing Charlotte's hand to fall from his shoulder. He let the first yellow balloon fly without comment, waited for it to climb, then released the other two in the same silence.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stood still for a moment, finally turning his head toward his mother. He nodded and said, "Your turn, ladies."

Charlotte was struck by how grown-up he seemed in that moment.

Bonnie stepped up and let her blue balloon take wing. She smiled and said, "Look out for all of us, Kurt."

Then it was Charlotte's turn. Knowing she was under the watchful gaze of her friend and children, she took a steadying breath and raised her hand. A sudden gust of wind snatched the balloon from her grasp, sending it flying before she was ready.

That struck her as somehow appropriate.

"I miss you," was all she could think to say.

When Charlotte turned around, Matt and Hank were already laughing and running toward the playground equipment and their friends.

***

"Have you tried the Internet?"

Charlotte nearly spit out her coffee.

Bonnie laughed a little and continued, leaning back on the park bench. "You know, I've read that Internet dating is the hottest way to meet people these days, and frankly, it sounds like the best thing to happen to male-female relations since the Pill."