was said about it, each of us suspected that those lives had been, with Charlie’s, blown away.

An ambulance had arrived at the Center to remove Charlie, and someone had given me a clean sweatsuit to change into. I had no idea where my old clothes were, the ones coated with clumps of Charlie. Nick had taken Molly to be with Susan and Emily, minimizing her contact with the frightful sight of her mother. Then he’d taken me to the locker room, where he’d helped me peel off my gore-soaked clothes and wash away the carnage that covered me. Under a steaming shower that had splashed his pant legs and shoes, Nick had washed my face and shampooed my hair. Then he’d stayed while I’d given the officers my statement. I’d begun trembling, shivering so badly that Nick had wanted to take me to the hospital. But I’d declined. I’d wanted to go home. To take Molly inside and lock the door.

Nick had driven us. My ears rang: I had trouble hearing. But I understood that Molly was asking questions and that Nick was answering. I heard him say that Charlie had been very sick. That Charlie had imagined things. That it was very sad, and Charlie was gone, but everyone was safe now. Everything would be okay. I wondered what she’d seen and heard, what she understood, but I didn’t have the energy to talk to her about it yet. Even Molly was beyond my reach.

At home, Nick held me, kissed me, and promised to return in a few hours. I accepted the touches, the kisses, didn’t question the fact that our relationship had somehow instantly resurrected itself. I watched Nick talk to Molly and hug her, then cross the street and talk with police before hurrying to his Volvo and driving off.

Women from gymnastics gathered with their children in my living room. I wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t want company yet couldn’t bear to be alone. I knew I should talk to Molly but had no idea what to say. I stroked her cheek and hugged her, whispering trite reassurances. But I couldn’t sit, couldn’t stay inside, paced from the kitchen to the office, the office to the living room. I couldn’t stay away from the windows where I could look out at Charlie’s house, as if somehow the house would explain things to me, set me straight. Finally, I wandered out the front door and sat on the dark icy steps, watching, waiting, realizing that what I was waiting for would never happen. Charlie would never again appear.

The police milled about. A couple of them protectively urged me to go inside. But I couldn’t budge. Charlie’s blood had spattered all over me. His life had spilled onto my skin, soaked into my pores. And it was my fault. I should have stopped it, should have been more forceful, grabbed his gun, protected him. I’d never believe that he’d intended to shoot anyone, but he’d shot first, and with children around the police had had no choice. What had happened to Charlie? Had there been a turning point, a precise moment when he’d lost it? Did he have some chemical imbalance? A brain tumor? A split personality? In a way, it didn’t matter, now that he was gone. But I’d miss his pipe glowing in the dark, the warm aroma of his tobacco, his watchful concern, even his overprotective warnings. Tears stung my cheeks in the cold. Mourning Charlie, the irreversibility of death.

Suddenly, a policeman ran out of Charlie’s house. Before he reached his van, he dropped to the curb, puking. I went down the steps, but a strong arm restrained me. “Stay back, ma’am.”

Another officer yelled from the doorway, and radios began barking. Uniforms scurried into Charlie’s door as a guy strung more yellow tape around the property. Men in overcoats arrived. An ambulance drove through the blockade, lights flashing. Heavy men in navy parkas carried a stretcher into the house.

“What’s going on?” Karen stood beside me. She looked haggard.

“Dunno.”

“A stretcher? Is somebody else inside?” “He lived alone.”

Karen shrugged. “Hot tea?” She handed me a mug. “Thanks.” My hands were trembling. Tea slopped onto the steps, melting the thin coating of ice.

“You better come inside, Zoe. It’s really cold out here.” “I’ll be in. I just need to see this.”

“Are you all right?” She looked me over. “You’re not, are you?” Her eyes were sad, her voice gentle.

““No,” I said. “Are you? Is anyone?”

She put her arm around my