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Katie nodded. “And I love the kids, too.”
“I’m so glad.” Jo clasped her hands together, prayer-style.
Katie paused. “Did you know his wife?”
“Yes,” Jo said.
Katie stared down the road. “What was she like? I mean, Alex’s
talked about her and I can sort of picture in my mind what she
was like—”
Jo didn’t let her finish. “Based on what I’ve seen, she was a lot like
you. And I mean that in a good way. She loved Alex and she
loved the kids. They were the most important things in her life.
That’s really all you have to know about her.”
“Do you think she would have liked me?”
“Yes,” Jo said. “I’m sure she would have loved you.”
30
August, and Boston was sweltering.
Kevin vaguely remembered seeing the ambulance outside the
Feldmans’ home, but he hadn’t thought much about it because the
Feldmans were bad neighbors and he didn’t care about them.
Only now did he realize that Gladys Feldman had died and cars
were parked along both sides of the street. Kevin had been
suspended for two weeks and he didn’t like cars parked in front of
his house, but people were in town for the funeral and he lacked
the energy to ask any of them to move.
He’d showered infrequently since he’d been suspended, and he
sat on the porch, drinking straight from the bottle, watching
people walk in and out of the Feldmans’ house. He knew the