Guilt and fear wove through her thoughts as well; the explosion was intended for her. Kathy died for her.
She sat on a bench close to the shore of the Murex River's small lake and watched the ducks battle for scraps of bread tossed by a family near the banks. Across the water, where the shores were protected by heavy undergrowth, she saw two herons. They stood like living statues, silent, watching the water for the flash of a fish.
In the distance, the cries and laughter of children as they rode the swings and slides of the playground came to her. A baseball game sent the crack of a bat hitting the ball across the water to her. A gentle breeze touched her hair and lifted a strand across her face. She thrust it behind her ear and began to walk.
She passed a gazebo, a delicate bit of architecture reminiscent of Victorian times, and stared across the river at the University campus. In the three years she had been attending the Academy for the Visual Arts, she'd seen every inch of the park. She knew the small indoor zoo as well as her own home, the paths, the trees and changing flowers, the bushes and wildlife living within and alongside of them, the ice and snow of winter. Much of the park had been captured in her paintings.
Everything seemed the same, and yet, different. The world without Kathy's laughter, her impish jokes, her simple joy in living, would never seem as warm. The solace she expected stayed away.
Kathy's parents waited for her at her apartment. Tanya left the park and entered her condo.
Kathy's mother sat on the sofa and stared at the broken windows. Glass still glittered on the carpet, still lay in scattered clumps across the floor. Her husband paced the room, his hands clasped behind his back. Several empty cartons lay on the floor near two suitcases.
"Mrs. Alcin," Tanya said. Her voice choked, filled with tears. "And Mr. Alcin. I don't know what to say." Her face twisted and she sobbed out her pain for the first time since Kathy died. Mrs. Alcin gathered Tanya in her arms and cried with her while Mr. Alcin patted her back. Pride made his face turn red with held-back tears for a moment, then he joined the women and cried as well.
Tanya hugged the smaller woman, held her close. "I don't know what I'll do without her," she said. "She was my alter-ego, my critic, the laughter in my life."
"My Kathy…" Mr. Alcin said, his voice muffled in sobs.