A punching bag. The guy was pounding on a punching bag. That realization took about a nanosecond to register in her brain before the real important information came to the forefront: LoriSue, God bless her slutty little soul, had been absolutely correct. He was male-stripper material, and he'd been thoughtful enough to strip to a pair of athletic shorts on his very first night in the neighborhood.

Charlotte prevented herself from crumpling to the carpet by leaning against the window frame. The binoculars clicked against the glass.

This was so wrong. So illegal. So bad. And so incredibly gratifying!

She chuckled to herself and found a comfortable stance, immediately deciding that LoriSue's term "juicy piece of man" didn't go far enough in describing the image now framed in the binocular lenses. In fact, Charlotte didn't think there was a term for a man like him.

And he just kept punching, his back toward her, the little bag blurring and spinning from the impact of his boxing gloves. His longish hair was wet with perspiration and black against the nape of his neck. His cut shoulders, back, and arms rippled, glistening with sweat, an image made all the more surreal by the haze of moths drawn to the patio light.

"Moths to a flame," Charlotte said out loud.

She stared, stupefied, watching his feet dance and his thighs and calves bunch up and release, his tight backside bounce and jut, his lungs pump air in and out of his body.

And just then, a thick, slow-moving fog of deja vu began to roll through her. It was like she'd once had a dream about this or that her subconscious was whispering to her that this man reminded her of someone she once knew- or wait; maybe she'd once seen a movie where some pathetic, lonely widow stared at her attractive neighbor with her son's cereal box binoculars!

She groaned and was about to put an end to the whole sorry business when the man stopped. He pulled his hands out of the gloves, tossed them on the pool deck, then shook his sweaty hair. He reached around, grabbed a water bottle, and playfully tossed it up over his head.

That's the moment he turned toward her, snagging the plastic bottle in midair. She saw his face.

Charlotte's legs didn't hold.

Bonnie remembered the last time Charlotte told her to come over and bring a spiral cut ham. It was the night Kurt died. But he'd died at five-thirty on a Tuesday, so the HoneyBaked Ham store at the mall was still open. It was almost ten tonight. And the closest thing she and Ned had to ham was a half-pound of smoked turkey breast from the Kroger deli case.

She poked her head in the family room double doors and was greeted by a snarling Hoover,

"Hey, Hoov." Bonnie tore off a piece of turkey breast and the dog trotted happily away.

It took a moment before she located Charlotte. She was sitting cross-legged on the family room rug, wearing her blue and yellow scout leader uniform, her face pale bid her gray eyes far too bright.

"Did you bring it?" Charlotte swiveled her head and Bonnie watched most of her hair slip out of her ponytail.

Bonnie held up the Baggie and tried to smile. 'Turkey, sweetheart. It's all we had. Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

Bonnie put the Baggie on the table, next to the Triscuits and squirt cheese, and figured it had been a rough evening at the Tasker house. Ever since Kurt died, Charlotte had gone overboard with the health food thing, grabbing onto something she could control in a world that had proven itself unpredictable. Bonnie didn't blame her. But she also knew that ham and squirt cheese were Charlotte's drugs of choice and if she had a craving for both, she'd hit rock bottom. This was going to be a long night

"Want to join me at the grown-up table?"

Charlotte laughed a little, which relieved Bonnie-because she looked like a zombie.

"How long have I known you, Bon?"

"Hmm." Bonnie draped an arm over the kitchen chair. "Twelve years, I guess."

"And we've never really talked about sex, have we?" Charlotte reached behind her and pulled out the ponytail holder, letting her straight reddish-gold hair fall to her shoulders. She glared at Bonnie in challenge.

"Uh, no. Not much."

"Do you know why?"

Bonnie let her eyes dart around the room. She was waiting for the punch line. "Noooo. Why?"

"Because I've got a whopper of a secret."

Bonnie jumped to her feet. "How about I make us some tea?"

"I'll have scotch, neat"

She stopped in midstride. "You don't drink."

"I do tonight, sister." Charlotte pushed herself up from the floor and passed Bonnie on her way to the dining room sideboard. She came back with a bottle of Glenlivet and two shot glasses. "And so do you, if you know what's good for you. Come on."

Bonnie followed her into the rarely used living room, thinking, Charlotte's going to tell me she's a lesbian and she wants to do it in the formal living room.

"Don't worry. I'm not a lesbian." Charlotte plopped down on the sofa cushions, then poured. "I hope this booze is still good. Somebody brought it to the house after the funeral. Here."

Bonnie wasn't sure what toast would be appropriate for the occasion, so she said, "Bottoms up?" then slammed it back.

Charlotte did the same and began thumping her chest, gasping. "That stuff's poison," she choked out. "I'm going to have to pace myself."

Bonnie studied Charlotte as she sank back into the sofa and closed her eyes. She loved this young woman like a daughter. She loved Charlotte's children, and she'd loved Kurt. And over the years the two women had shared everything-childhood traumas, political beliefs, parenting philosophies, thoughts on organized religion, God, death, and the afterlife.

But Charlotte was right. They'd never really talked about sex.

Bonnie learned early on that it was not a topic Charlotte felt comfortable discussing, and she'd assumed it had to do with the difference in their ages. For Charlotte it would have been like talking about sex with her mother. Besides, how many stories had Charlotte told about growing up the daughter of strict Baptists? Bonnie just figured the subject was taboo.

But here was Charlotte tonight, drinking scotch in her scout leader uniform, asking for ham, and apparently getting ready to let it all hang out, as she and Ned used to say.

"Is this about Kurt, honey?" Bonnie asked as gently as possible. "Did you find out he had an affair?"

Charlotte let her head rock back and forth against the couch, not bothering to open her eyes. "No; Extremely unlikely."

"Did you have one?"

Charlotte let loose with a bitter laugh and sat up straight, now fully alert.

"Not technically."

"I'm not sure I follow"

Charlotte poured them each another shot and got herself comfortable. She sipped. "What I'm going to tell you has to stay between just the two of us. I've never told anyone-" She impatiently swiped away a tear. "But if I don't talk to somebody, I'm just going to explode!"

Bonnie grabbed Charlotte's hand. "I won't breathe a word to another soul and I'll help any way I can." She cupped Charlotte's frightened face. "Honey, whatever it is, it's going to be all right."

Charlotte nodded

"And you know you can tell me anything."

Charlotte struggled with a deep breath and set her shoulders straight. "It's the man next door, Bon. The Chippendales guy-Joseph Mills."

Bonnie reared back, staring at her friend, her mouth ajar. "You mean you did the nasty with the new neighbor already-in your scout leader uniform?"

"What? God, no!" Charlotte shot up from the couch and began to pace in front of the fireplace, pulling on hunks of her hair, eyelids squeezed tight

"Then…?"