“It was an accident.” She wandered toward a boulder protruding from the sandy soil. “When you started playing high school football, I realized I finally had a chance to see you without breaking my promise. I started flying into Grand Rapids on Fridays to watch the games. I’d strip off my makeup and wrap this old scarf around my head, put on nondescript clothes so no one would recognize me. Then I’d sit in the visitors’ stands. I had this little pair of opera glasses I’d train on you for the whole game. I lived for the times you’d take off your helmet. You’ll never know how much I grew to hate that thing.”

The day was warm, but she felt chilled, and she rubbed her arms. “Everything went fine until you were a junior. It was the last game of the season, and I knew it would be nearly a year before I could see you again. I convinced myself there wouldn’t be any harm in driving by the house.”

“I was mowing the grass in the front yard.”

She nodded. “It was one of those Indian summer days, and you were sweaty, just like you are now. I was so busy looking at you that I didn’t see your neighbor’s car parked on the street.”

“You scraped the side.”

“And you came running over to help.” She hugged herself. “When you realized who I was, you looked at me like you hated me.”

“I couldn’t believe it was you.”

“Maida never confronted me about it, so I knew you hadn’t told them.” She tried to read his expression, but he wasn’t giving anything away. He nudged aside a fallen branch with the toe of his running shoe.

“She died a year ago. Why did you wait until now to tell me all this?”

She stared at him and shook her head. “How many times did I call and try to talk to you? You refused, Kevin. Every time.”

He gazed at her. “They should have told me they wouldn’t let you see me.”

“Did you ever ask them about it?”

He shrugged, and she knew he hadn’t.

“I think John might have said something, but Maida would never have allowed it. We talked about it over the phone. You have to remember that she was older than all your friends’ mothers, and she knew she wasn’t one of those fun moms every kid wants. It made her insecure. Besides, you were a headstrong kid. Do you really think you’d have shrugged it off and gone about your business if you’d known how much I wanted to see you?”

“I’d have been on the first bus to L.A.,” he said flatly.

“And that would have broken her heart.”