Alice piped up from back seat, "Yeah. They're moving. Parker's parents are divorcing. The dad's gonna be five and the mom's gonna be ten."
I was completely stunned. I see the mom or grandma at the bus stop every single school day, and neither had said a word time about a divorce or move.
"Alice, are you sure?"
"Yeah, Parker told me the secret when we were playing on the mud hill in our yard. She said they were moving in two weeks. Her dad will be five and the mom will be ten. Has it been two weeks?"
"I guess so. What do you mean by five and ten?"
"That's how far away they're moving."
Zac and I were devastated. We always commented on how we couldn't believe our good luck that such an easy, nice kid lived right across the street and played so well with Alice. Parker would come over all the time in the evenings after supper and on weekend afternoons. I loved the informality of it--no arranging playdates or driving. I also loved that Alice had someone to imagine with. Kids play together in a way that adults just can't.
A day later, I was cleaning out piles of junk in Alice's room, and came across paper that Parker must have made for Alice a while ago:
It's written by Parker, but Alice must have added the picture labels at the top.
