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Katie Feldman had recently been issued a driver’s license, with an
address listed in Southport, North Carolina.
Kevin hung up the phone without another word, knowing he’d
found her.
Erin.
31
Remnants of a tropical storm blew through Southport, rain falling
most of the afternoon and into the evening. Katie worked the
lunch shift, but the weather kept the restaurant only half full and
Ivan let her leave early. She had borrowed the jeep and after
spending an hour at the library, she’d dropped it off at the store.
When Alex drove her home, she’d invited him to come by later
with the kids for dinner.
She’d been on edge the rest of the afternoon. She wanted to
believe it had something to do with the weather, but as she stood
at her kitchen window, watching the branches bend in the wind
and rain falling in sheets, she knew it had more to do with the
uneasy feeling that everything in her life these days seemed
almost too perfect. Her relationship with Alex and the afternoons
she spent with the kids filled a void she hadn’t known existed, but
she’d learned long ago that nothing wonderful lasted forever. Joy
was as fleeting as a shooting star that crossed the evening sky,
ready to blink out at any moment.
Earlier that day, at the library, she’d perused the Boston Globe
online at one of the computers and had come across Gladys
Feldman’s obituary. She’d known Gladys was ill, had known
about her terminal diagnosis of cancer before she left. Even
though she’d been checking the Boston obituaries regularly, the
sparse description of her life and survivors struck her with
unexpected force.