A few minutes before eight o'clock, after darkness had fallen, Mrs. Fitzgibbons spotted the Sugrue boy walking under the maples on Nonotuck Street, with his red nylon bookbag slung over his shoulder, his pale hair glowing under the streetlamp, and she pulled up next to him in the Honda. Her heart was thumping when he came over to the car window. She had signaled to him. As so often in the days to come, Mrs. Fitzgibbons hadn't a notion in mind what she was going to say before she actually spoke.
"I'm having motor trouble," she said. "It's skipping."
Obeying her instincts, she took an even franker approach. "You're the boy in the band! I know who you are."
She sat behind the wheel, with her elbow on the window, smiling at him.
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