shoulders. “Maybe you should get checked out at the hospital. You might be in shock or something. I can watch Molly.”
“No, I’m okay. Thanks.”
Men shouted back and forth, and we looked across the street. The men in parkas stumbled out Charlie’s door carrying the stretcher. They moved slowly, as if straining under its weight.
“What’s that?” Karen asked. “His garbage?”
“Oh my God,” I breathed. Karen looked bewildered. Across the street, Jake and his men stood at the curb among pedestrians, staring. Phillip Woods stepped over to the yellow ribbon edging his railing and watched. Victor’s blinds lifted; he actually pressed his forehead against the windowpane, straining to see. The ambulance crew yelled for police to help them carry the stretcher down the steps. It was apparently very heavy, loaded with lumpy green bags of trash.
FORTY
SUSAN ARRIVED AS THE PHONE RANG. I ANSWERED THE DOOR with the phone in my hand, greeting Susan’s person and Nick’s voice simultaneously, hearing fragments of their conversations through ears still ringing with silence. “I’ll be there as soon as I can—”
“What’s with the ambulance? Did someone else get shot?” “—developments I have to look into—” “We heard sirens on the way—” “—we have to talk when I get there—” “Coach Gene was so pale—he was ice cold and couldn’t stop shaking—”
Susan stopped talking midsentence and gaped at me. Karen called down the steps, “Are you okay, Zoe?” Nick harmonized the question in baritone.
By their reactions, I understood that I’d done something inappropriate. Had I screamed EVERYBODY JUST SHUT UP or only thought it? I couldn’t remember, wasn’t sure, but I apologized, and they seemed appeased. My ears were ringing, head throbbing, and Nick began talking again.
“Zoe, I don’t want you there alone after what’s happened . . .” The words buzzed like mosquitoes. I wanted to slap them away.
As Emily ran off to join the other children, Susan rifled through my cabinets, searching for something edible to relieve her stress. She found a bag of Cheese Doodles, frowned at them, gobbled a few, and sucked cheese scum off her fingers. Red nails disappeared inside moist lips, slid out and returned to the open bag. As she stuffed her mouth, it occurred to me that Molly hadn’t had dinner. Were the children hungry?
“. . . somewhere for a few days,” Nick buzzed on.
Out the kitchen window, another ambulance pulled away Only one remained now, being loaded with the last of the garbage bags. Police cars still blocked off the street, and a bunch of uniformed men hovered on Charlie’s front porch.
“Dammit—they’re calling me, but I’ll be over as soon as I can. Who’s there with you?”
“A couple of people.” Gretchen had taken Hannah home a while ago, and Davinder had just left with Hari. “Susan, Karen—”
“Can I talk to somebody? Susan?”
I pressed my tongue against the spot where my lips had cracked, felt the thin, sharp pain. Susan chewed an oatmeal cookie. I handed her the phone without wondering why he wanted to talk to her. Upstairs a child—Nicholas?—was angry, yelling that something wasn’t fair; Karen’s gentle voice hushed him.
Susan’s head bobbed up and down as she listened. Mouth full of cookie, she made sounds of agreement, one syllable each. When she hung up, she said that Nick wanted me to stay at his place for the weekend. “It’s in Chester County. Go—it’ll be good for you.”
Good for me? Chester County? What was she talking about? Nick and I weren’t a couple. Were we? We’d called it off, hadn’t we? And what about his “deal” with Beverly Gardener? Still, I remembered his protective embrace, how naturally he’d gathered me up and cleaned me off. How safe it felt to be beside him as he’d taken us home. But Chester County? I’d had no idea where Nick lived. What kind of place was it? A condo? A farm? Was it clean? Child friendly?
“Zoe, you look—well, I love you dearly, but frankly I’ve seen murder victims who look better. Go with him. You need R and R.” I was too tired to discuss it, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t have the energy, didn’t want to bother, even if I were sure about me and Nick. And what about Molly? How would she feel, suddenly whisked away to Nick’s? She needed normal structure and familiar settings—stability after the traumatic events of the night.
“Go. Molly’ll be fine.” Had Susan read my mind? Or had I said my thoughts out loud again? I didn’t know. Did it matter? Did I