Birthright by Judith Arnold Page B

made her look so grim when Lily had first seen her on the sidewalk was gone now.
    Eleanor was clearly relieved that Lily didn’t mind discussing a young bride’s joy. Lily had been a joyful young bride once, too, full of hope and high spirits. She still had fond memories of her wedding day, even if Tyler’s wealthy relatives had seemed out of place at the modest Riverbend Community Church. She hadn’t cared. She’d fought them on the venue for the wedding—they’d wanted it in Boston, but she’d insisted that it be held in her hometown—and they’d acquiesced. After she and Tyler had returned to Boston from their honeymoon, his parents had hosted a reception for them at a posh hotel, and it had been nowhere near as much fun as the wedding party she’d had here, surrounded by all her friends.
    It was nearly two o’clock by the time she and her mother left the Sunnyside Café. Once Eleanor had finished dissecting Gloria’s niece’s wedding, she’d described her garden-club work, the floats that would be appearing in the July Fourth parade and the efforts of the River Valley Historical Society to repair an old bridge a few miles west of town, rather than tear the bridge down and replace it with something modern and ugly.
    As far as Lily could tell, her mother was too busy to worry about looking old—or getting old. The best way to stay young, as far as Lily was concerned, wasto stay active, not to buy expensive anti-aging creams.
    She and her mother parted ways outside the café. She got into her car, checked her watch and grimaced, wondering whether she would even find Aaron at the high school at two o’clock. She had no idea how late in the day his program ran.
    Donning her sunglasses, she eased out of the parking space and headed down Hickory Street toward the school. Many of the shops hadn’t changed since when she’d been a little girl. The trees were taller, and the benches along the sidewalk were new and spiffy, but the pet shop was just as she’d remembered it, and the Clip-Curl-and-Dye, and Killian’s Department Store. She used to get her bangs trimmed at the Clip-Curl-and-Dye, and all her school clothes had come from Killian’s. It didn’t carry anything like the clothing sold in the high-fashion boutiques of Boston’s Newbury Street, but what would anyone do with a twelve-hundred-dollar dress in Riverbend? Lily had a few twelve-hundred-dollar dresses in her closet right now, and she couldn’t imagine an occasion in town where they’d be suitable.
    She hadn’t been back to the high school since she’d graduated fifteen years ago, but it, too, hadn’t changed. The driveway was the same, the flagpole standing like a mast before the front doors, the rows of windows as straight as a grid. She steered past the football field to the back parking lot. The gym door stood open. An old Pontiac was parked in one of the spaces. Good. Aaron must be there.
    She parked in the adjacent space and turned off the engine. Through the open door she heard the squeak of sneakers on polished wood, the brief shrillof a whistle, the rhythmic thump of a basketball being dribbled. The sounds were so familiar she had to grin. Basketball was practically a living entity in Riverbend, the constant thump of balls its pulse.
    She got out of her car and crossed the asphalt to the open door. In the gym, a gaggle of kids maybe eight or nine years old raced back and forth on a small court. They wore sneakers, shorts and white T-shirts with Riverbend Hot Shots in red lettering across the front. Half of the kids wore red pinnies over their shirts, but Lily could see the lettering through the red mesh.
    Like a tree planted amid a garden of shrubs, Aaron towered over his charges. He, too, wore a white Hot Shots T-shirt, but his was glued to his torso by perspiration. He had on athletic shorts and high-tops, and a whistle hung on a cord around his neck. His purpose seemed to be to present an obstacle as the kids brought the ball down