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.
She hadn’t wanted to take the identification from the Feldmans’ files, hadn’t even considered the possibility until Gladys had pulled out the file to show her Katie’s graduation photo. She’d seen the birth certificate and the social security card next to the photo and recognized the opportunity they presented. The next time she’d gone to the house, she’d excused herself to go to the bathroom and had gone to the file cabinet instead. Later, as she ate blueberry pie with them in the kitchen, the documents felt like they were burning in her pockets. A week later, after making a copy of the birth certificate at the library and folding and wrinkling it to make it appear dated, she put the document in the file. She would have done the same with the social security card, but she couldn’t make a good enough copy and she hoped that if they noticed it was missing, they would believe it had been lost or misplaced.
She reminded herself that Kevin would never know what she’d done. He didn’t like the Feldmans and the feeling was mutual. She suspected that they knew he beat her. She could see it in their eyes as they watched her dart across the road to visit them, in the way they pretended never to notice the bruises on her arms, in the way their faces tightened whenever she mentioned Kevin. She wanted to think that they would have been okay with what she’d done, that they would have wanted her to take the identification, because they knew she needed it and wanted her to escape.
They were the only people she missed from Dorchester and she wondered how Larry was doing. They were her friends when she had no one else, and she wanted to tell Larry that she was sorry for his loss. She wanted to cry with him and talk about Gladys and to tell him that because of them, her life was better now. She wanted to tell him that she’d met a man who loved her, that she was happy for the first time in years.
But she would do none of those things. Instead, she simply stepped out onto the porch and, through eyes that were blurry with tears, watched the storm tear leaves from the trees.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Alex said. “Is everything okay?”
She’d made tuna casserole for dinner and Alex was helping her with the dishes. The kids were in the living room, both of them playing handheld computer games; she could hear the beeps and buzzes over the sound of the faucet.
“A friend of mine passed away,” she said. She handed him a plate to dry. “I knew it was coming, but it’s still sad.”
“It’s always sad,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.” He knew enough not to ask for further details. Instead, he waited on the chance she wanted to say more, but she washed another glass and changed the subject.
“How long do you think the storm is going to last?” she asked.
“Not long. Why?”
“I was just wondering whether the carnival tomorrow is going to be canceled. Or whether the flight is going to be canceled.”
Alex glanced out the window. “It should be fine. It’s already blowing through. I’m pretty sure we’re on the tail end of it now.”
“Just in time,” Katie remarked.
“Of course. The elements wouldn’t dare mess with the well-laid plans of the carnival committee. Or Joyce for that matter.”
She smiled. “How long is it going to take you to pick up Joyce’s daughter?”
“Probably four or five hours. Raleigh’s not exactly convenient to this place.”
“Why didn’t she fly into Wilmington? Or just rent a car?”