Nessa

Nessa heard her sister moving through the house, the creak of floorboards overhead, toilet flush, sink running, the front door clicking shut. Beside her Ronan slept, his lips parted, a soft snore on the breath in. Later she told the detectives she heard the car start on the street. The last sound that connected Deena to the world. Something could have happened right there outside as Nessa rolled back toward Ronan’s warm body, burrowed deeper under the comforter and slept.

Maybe an hour after she heard the car, Nessa walked down toward the museum for the papers. She hadn’t worn a scarf or hat and the wind blowing from the river was sharp, stinging her face. Afterward, every detail of that morning became crystallized, refined through repetitions into a series of stills. The naked trees. Her breath making small quick clouds in the air. The patch of ice at the corner of Aspen. The empty sidewalk. The blank grey of it all, everything bare, giving away nothing.

Back at the house she woke him. They drank coffee and read the papers. She repeated something Howard Dean had said about the war in Iraq. Ronan agreed.The Da Vinci Code was still number 1 on the bestseller list. Ronan handed her an article from theNew York Times and tapped the headline. It was about the death of Kitty Genovese in Queens. Next month marked the fortieth anniversary. Nessa vaguely remembered the story from a college class. The bystander effect. Thirty-eight people had heard the woman being attacked and no one had done anything.

She watched Ronan dress and pack his bag. One of his socks was black, the other navy blue, his hair sleep-matted at the back. She wished he wasn’t leaving. She listened to the sound of running water in the bathr