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in the vicinity of his chest. She shoved a loose strand of hair back from her cheek and shaped another shy smile.
    He recalled that she was in mourning. Shattered, his mother had said. She didn’t seem shattered, though. Only distracted and a bit skittish.
    “Would you like to sit down?” she asked, indicating the wicker chairs with a wave of her hand. He nodded, then waited until she’d sat in one before lowering himself into the other. It was stiff, the seat cushion thin and hard. Just as well; no point in getting too comfortable.
    “I’m surprised you knew who I was,” he said, then grimaced inwardly. Not a good start.
    Her smile grew warmer. “We were classmates, Aaron. It wasn’t such a large class.”
    “I didn’t know most of the kids in it.”
    “But you knew who I was?” she asked.
    God, yes, he thought. “Everyone knew who you were,” he said. “You were at the center of things.”
    She shook her head. “I’m not so sure about that. But I’ll concede that you and I traveled in different circles.”
    “I didn’t travel in any circle at all,” he said, then let out a long breath. He wasn’t managing this encounter well at all. If he’d believed reminiscing about the good old days was the way to get money out of her, the conversation would be fine. But for some reason, with absolutely no evidence to go by, he suspected that Lily was the sort of person who appreciated a direct approach.
    “I’m running a summer basketball program at the high school,” he told her. “Originally it was supposed to be for the high-school team to stay in shape and keep sharp over the summer. But younger kids wanted to participate, and they wanted teams and skills training, and there are a lot of kids whose parents can’t afford summer camp. So I thought it would be a good idea to offer a low-cost program of basketball and swimming at the high school.” He took a deep breath. He was talking too fast.
    She shook her head. He hadn’t asked her for money yet, so he knew she couldn’t be saying no to that. “Charlie Callahan told me you were the basketball coach at the high school,” she said. An amazed laugh escaped her.
    Granted, the notion of him working at RiverbendHigh School would have seemed pretty funny to him, too, if he hadn’t lived it. “Wally Drummer—remember him? The old coach? He was ready to retire and he recommended me for the job. I guess someone must have misplaced my school records, because they hired me.”
    “I’m sure they hired you because you’re a good coach.”
    “They hired me because Wally told them to.”
    “Well, Coach Drummer always seemed to know what he was doing.” She drew her feet up onto the seat, hugged her knees and rested her chin on them. She looked almost girlish, not like a woman who’d been married and widowed, who owned this enormous house. He could more easily see her as a four-year-old getting her first set of watercolor paints than as a bereft widow.
    “I shouldn’t have laughed,” she said contritely.
    “I bet you’re an excellent coach. Better than Coach Drummer.”
    “No one was better than him,” Aaron said, meaning it. “It’s out of respect to him that I’m working so hard trying to get this summer program off the ground.”
    A breeze wafted across the porch. She glanced toward the bridge table to make sure nothing had been disturbed. Following her gaze, he studied the painting. Pears ought to be eaten, not painted, he thought.
    “Did you come here to talk to me about basketball?” she asked.
    “Yes, in a way.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He’d worn khakis and a tailored cotton shirt. He’d figured he couldn’t show upin his usual Sunday garb—old T-shirt, denim cutoffs and ratty sandals—and hope to make a good impression on her. “The program needs funding. I’ve gotten some money from the Rotary Club, a little from the school board and some from private donations. The kids pay thirty dollars a week