“Don’t apologize.

You did more than anyone knew to do.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to reopen his memorial fund at the trade school.

He used to buy tools for kids whose families couldn’t afford them.

I’d forgotten how much he loved that.”

We talked for a long time about the boy Gerald had been: the teenager taking apart radios in his mother’s kitchen, the young mechanic sleeping in his shop during a busy season, the brother who never let Isabel pay for a car repair.

“He wasn’t a victim his whole life,” she said quietly.