“Be careful what you wish for.”
“Now you sound like me again.” Jo nodded toward the road. “I’m happy for you and Alex. And the kids. You’re good for them, you know.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I can see the way he looks at you. And the way you look at all of them.”
“We’ve spent a lot of time together,” Katie hedged.
Jo shook her head. “It’s more than that. The two of you look like you’re in love.” She squirmed a bit under Katie’s blushing gaze. “Okay, I’ll admit it. Even if you haven’t seen me, let’s just say that I’ve seen the way the two of you kiss when you say good-bye.”
“You spy on us?” Katie pretended to be outraged.
“Of course.” Jo snorted. “How else am I supposed to occupy myself? It’s not like anything else interesting ever happens around here.” She paused. “You do love him, don’t you?”
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 funeral was later in the afternoon and people were at the Feldmans’ house because they would be going to the funeral as a group. People clustered like flocks of geese whenever there was a funeral.
He hadn’t talked to Bill or Coffey or Ramirez or Todd or Amber or even his parents. There were no pizza boxes on the living room floor and no leftover Chinese in the refrigerator because he hadn’t been hungry. Vodka was enough and he drank until the Feldmans’ house was a blur. Across the street, he saw a woman walk out of their house to smoke a cigarette. She was wearing a black dress and Kevin wondered if she knew the Feldmans yelled at neighborhood kids.
He watched the woman because he didn’t want to watch the home and garden channel on the television. Erin used to watch that channel but she ran away to Philadelphia and called herself Erica and then she disappeared and he’d been suspended from his job but before that he’d been a good detective.
The woman in black finished her cigarette and dropped it in the grass and stepped on it. She scanned the street and noticed him sitting on the porch. She hesitated before crossing the street toward him. He didn’t know her; had never seen her before.
He didn’t know what she wanted but he put the bottle down and climbed down the porch steps. She stopped on the sidewalk out front.
“Are you Kevin Tierney?” the woman asked.
“Yes,” he said, and his voice sounded strange because he hadn’t spoken in days.
“I’m Karen Feldman,” she said. “My parents live across the street. Larry and Gladys Feldman?” She paused but Kevin said nothing and she went on. “I was just wondering if Erin was planning to attend the funeral.”
He stared at her.
“Erin?” he finally said.
“Yes. My mom and dad used to love it when she came by to visit. She used to make them pies and sometimes she helped them clean up, especially once my mom started getting sick. Lung cancer. It was awful.” She shook her head. “Is Erin around? I’ve been hoping to meet her. The funeral starts at two.”
“No, she’s not. She’s helping a sick friend in Manchester,” he said.
“Oh… well, okay then. That’s too bad. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”