his mind and body so he won't dwell on it. You've come to the right placeHe glanced at Bob again, smiling. "Both of you."

"That's what I thought." Aggie gave a sharp sigh and sat up straight. "I'll just write down a few facts here." Stokes picked up the pen again, asked name, address, age, school, and wrote Aggie's answers down on the form pad. Bob sat still, hands folded in his lap, and stared emptily at the sunlight outside, where pigeons fluttered. From the lobby he heard the boys yelling. And he heard also the ringing, reverberating shouts and splashes from the basement, where the swimming pool was. He had seen it once, years ago. The boys swam naked down there.

13.

Mrs. Stokes, white-haired, gentle, followed Harvey out the front screen door to the porch.

"Now, try to have a nice time," she said. "This will be your last chance to enjoy the summer without the Y youngsters."

"I will." He walked to the top of the porch steps and looked up the street. It was empty in the morning sunlight, a little moisture still glistening on the tops of parked cars. He glanced at his watch. "Too early. He's always at least 15 minutes late." He set down his canvas zippered bag.

"Well, then, why not have another cup of coffee?" his mother said. "It'll be no trouble to bring it out here."

"All right. Thanks."

The screen door closed after her and he sat down in the swing. Its striped canvas covering and canopy were new. She liked to sit out here with the cat. Moving in it now, he made the chains squeak comfortably as she did, knitting. His room was upstairs right over the porch. From the time he was three or four he could remember lying up there listening to the quiet squeak-squawk of the swing. Flower boxes stood along the broad, flat porch rail. Everything grew lush and green for his mother. He stood and pushed aside hanging fern baskets to look for the car. No sign. He swore under his breath.

His mother came out with two willow-ware cups of coffee on a silver tray. She set the tray on the small tile-inlaid table in front of the swing. Out of the silver sugar bowl and pitcher she sweetened and whitened his coffee and handed him the cup.

"Oh, goodness, such a scowl, son. Here, drink this. He'll be here before you can finish it, I'm sure. Now, then, a smile for mother?"

She touched his chin with her soft, firm fingers.

He grinned at her half-heartedly, sipped the coffee and turned again to glower up the street. At last, tires squealing, the white Thunderbird rounded the quiet corner under the trees, hurtled along the street and rocked to a halt in front of the house. Its horn blared.

"Here he is." Mrs. Stokes smiled, took up the canvas bag and descended the porch steps. She waved at the open car. "Good morning."

"Morning, Mrs. Stokes. Where's that son of yours?"

"Coming, coming." Harvey jumped the porch steps and trotted down the walk to take the bag from his mother. He swung the car door open and dropped onto the sunwarmed leather seat. "Hi.”

"Hi." Damien Prince wore a green linen shirt, open at the throat, green linen Bermuda shorts.

Harvey slammed the door and his mother bent to kiss his forehead.

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