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 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