Austin had packed the little suitcase all over again, and his leather baseball glove sat neatly balanced on top of the zipper like a loyal dog waiting for its walk.

“What are you doing with this suitcase, Austin?” I asked, kneeling on the carpet beside the blue nylon bag.

Austin stared down at his sneakers, nervously twisting his fingers together until his knuckles went white.

“I think it’d be a lot better if I just went up to Aunt Joanie’s house tomorrow morning instead of waiting till Saturday, Mom,” he whispered.

“Why on earth would you want to go tomorrow, honey?” I asked, my heart breaking all over again.