She glanced at Ronny. Without the glasses, her face showed more of what she felt, and he could see the person who inhabited the aging, the frailty, an echo of what she had been, what she carried inside. Sadness somehow made her look younger and more vital, because it was human, maybe; because it meant she remembered. “I don’t like to talk about him too often. It makes me want to cry even twenty years later. I guess it’s twenty years.” She thought for a moment, then shook her head and waved her hand. “That doesn’t matter. I usually start thinking about him pretty steady along about now, when the leaves are coming down. He died about this time of year.”

“Oh, me.”

“Everybody has memories like that,” she said.

Ronny was silent.

“You heard from your mama?” she asked.

“We talked a couple of days ago. She’s doing pretty good, I think.”

“That’s nice. Because, you know. You been mad at her, you told me.”

“I know.” He shook his head. “But things worked out. Her husband is a nice guy, this time. I think she really likes him.”

“When I met her I thought she was a real fine person.” She said this with conviction. But it had to mean she was straying again; she had never met his mother, though he had shown her pictures. They’d become friends, he and Miss Dee, as the summer passed, and she’d been happy when it turned out he would be staying in the house. He looked at her now and figured it was no use correcting her.

“Mom thought you were really great, too. She told me to tell you hello.”

Her smile had such a sweetness. Though maybe that was just the way he saw her; maybe that was just the way people saw older women, full of gentleness, when it was really something altogether different.

“I saw your friend’s picture in the paper again,” she said after a while. “Seems like Carolina is having a good year. I never did like the football, though.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“They ought to be playing a game today. It’s Saturday, isn’t that right?”

“They’re playing at Virginia.”

She had often brought up Ben in the past weeks. He was part of a memory that clung to her; trust him to make that kind of impression. But she had no idea that the friendship was over. She asked, “Are you proud of him?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I was so surprised when I saw that first picture. He was handsome, you know, so I remembered. You never told me he played football.”

“I don’t see much of him anymore.”

“I saw him just last week,” she said. “I never told you that, did I, now that I think about it. He stopped by to say hello. He was walking by and saw me in the yard looking at my pitiful roses.”

Ronny felt hollow all through, but sat there, opening his coat to the cold.