Strings Attached (25 page)

Wine?

Or blood.

Suddenly, I heard the whirr of the elevator. I looked over at it, my heartbeat thudding. It was between me and the stairs. Any minute the small round window would reveal a face.

I bolted backward, turning and running silently back toward the storage room. I heard the thunk of the elevator settling, then the sound of the heavy door opening.

I’d have to hide. There was no telling who it could be — a zealous reporter, or something worse… Nate. Footsteps headed toward me.

I carefully opened the door to Nate’s unit. The gate squeaked.

The footsteps stopped.

I reversed direction and glided across the concrete floor.

Maybe there was another exit toward the back. I slipped down the corridor, but it ended at a bare wall. I doubled back. There was a side room with a washing machine and dryer, and another where carriages and bicycles were stored. I took a cautious step forward when the lights went out.

It was like someone knocked me to the ground. I couldn’t see, and I was afraid to move. I tried to orient myself. How close was I to the first storage unit? How many steps to the door? I inched over, holding out a hand. When my fingers met cold metal I kept a hand there lightly as I moved forward. As frightened as I was, I was more frightened of standing still.

Inch by inch, I went forward. I heard a slithering noise, a footstep, but it was impossible to tell where it came from. I was breathing hard, I realized, and I tried to slow down.

As my eyes adjusted, the blackness dissolved into grays. I could make out shapes. Faint light from the barred window in the laundry room illuminated part of the basement. At last I could make out the shape of the door to the stairs.

The air and the darkness made panic surge. I ran. As fast as I could, eyes on the stairs. I collided with another body and went down. I screamed and tried to roll away.

“Kit!”

It was Hank. He was on his hands and knees, staring at me through the gloom, his eyes wild.

“What are you doing?”
We both screamed the question at the same time.

I rolled on my back on the hard cement floor, gasping. “You scared the living daylights out of me!”

“Me, too. Why were you hiding?”

“Why did you turn out the lights?”

“I thought —” He got up and put out his hand to me, pulling me upright.

“You thought what?” I asked, dusting off my pants.

“Never mind. Mom sent me down for the Christmas box,” he said, gesturing to a box by the elevator. “She puts the Christmas stuff up the day after Thanksgiving. Everything has to be done the same way, every year, even this one. She’s crazy.”

Hank wasn’t meeting my eyes. He’d seen the headlines, too, of course.

“Well,” he said, “I guess I’ll see you around. Happy Thanksgiving.”

I could see that he could hardly wait to get away. He must have hated me. And of course he was afraid of Nate.

Afraid of Nate…
With everything I’d been thinking, I’d forgotten about that meeting with Hank. What had that been about? Nate’s hand on Hank’s shoulder, whispering…

“It’s not true,” I said.

He half turned. I could only see the side of his face. “What’s not true?”

“I’m not Nate’s girlfriend. I already told you he’s Billy’s father. That’s why he gave me the apartment.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“You’ve got to believe me!” I insisted. “I was mixed up with him, but not that way. And Hank — I think he might have killed somebody.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Hank said. “Just one?”

I closed my eyes for a second. “Please don’t joke right now. Please.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

“I just wanted you to know that I’m not… what they say I am. I’m not the best person, but I’m not… that.

Look, out of everyone in New York, your family should understand. Sometimes what they say about you? It just isn’t true. No matter how true it looks.”

He frowned. “Please don’t cry. It’s really hard to talk to you when you cry. Here.” He offered me his shirttail, and it made me laugh.

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand. “The reason I’m down here — I’m looking for evidence. I think my aunt was Bridget Warwick. I think she took that name — and she lived in my apartment with Nate.” I spilled out the story as fast as I could, afraid he’d walk away. But I could tell that he wouldn’t, that he was believing me, every word.

“You thought she was in the trunk?” he asked, his eyes wide. “And you opened it?”

“I had to know. Hank, what happened that day with Nate? Did he threaten you about something?” Hank hesitated. The air down here was chilly and damp, and I felt goose bumps on my arms. “I didn’t send that message to come to my apartment. You saw how surprised I was to see you. Please tell me. I might be able to help you. Did he threaten you that day? About what?”

“I was there that night,” Hank blurted.

Slowly, I realized what he meant. “You’re the witness.”

“I just wanted to walk you home. I didn’t know if your boyfriend would come. I waited and you didn’t come out. Everybody else came out, and I just kept waiting around the corner. I wanted to talk to you, I guess. Make sure you were okay or something.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“Finally I decided to go in and look. I used that door you told me about —”

“— the door to the lounge —”

“It was dumb, I know. I peeked in the dressing room but it was empty. I was just going out when I heard a noise. So I opened the door and saw — I saw it happen. I saw it, the whole thing.” Hank’s face twisted. “It happened fast— he got shot in the head. I don’t think he knew it was coming, because he didn’t try to get up. Or maybe he did know it. I don’t want to think about that part.”

“Was Nate there?”

“I don’t know! I couldn’t see anything, no faces or anything. All I saw were men in suits. Except for the killer. The big guy they caught? He did it.”

“So just tell the cops you didn’t see anything but that.”

Hank looked at me as though I were a transfer student from the dumb class. “It doesn’t matter if I didn’t see anything. They think I did. So that day Nate was just telling me that he couldn’t protect me. He could only get me out of town. He has contacts in Cuba.”

“Cuba!”

“I’d just have to go for a year or so, he said. And my parents… they were just… well, you can imagine. And they don’t trust the government, either. Trust the FBI? They think if we go to the FBI, they won’t protect the son of two Commies.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. They went to go talk to my uncle. They’re trying to figure it out. We thought we had it bad before. Now I got us into a worse mess.”

“I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. But, Hank, if I could prove that Nate killed Delia, you’d have something on him. And maybe you could make a deal.”

He looked puzzled. “Make a deal? But I have to tell what I know eventually.”

“Why? Then they’ll really be after you!”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. My parents are just trying to figure out how to do it. So that I’m protected. If I go to the wrong cop, he could inform, and then… it’s curtains.” Hank pulled a funny face and drew a finger across his throat, but I knew how scared he was.

“And you’re in a mess, too, I guess,” he said. “Billy saw the headline?”

I nodded, biting my lip.

“Those reporters… I think they’ve given up.”

“They’ll be back tomorrow.”

“But it’s Thanksgiving!”

I snorted. “You think those guys have families?”

Hank looked down at the box. “Want to help me decorate for Christmas?”

“No, thanks.” I didn’t think I could bear ribbons and bells. “I’m just going to go to bed.”

He walked me to my door. Without my asking, he went inside and looked around, in closets, under beds. He put a chair under the handle of the front door. Then he hesitated at the kitchen door.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “It’s all my fault.”

“It’s not. It’s nobody’s. You couldn’t know I’d be there that night. Even you wouldn’t think I’d be such a drip.”

“Not a drip,” I said, touching his arm. “Just a good guy, that’s all.”

I closed the door behind him and locked it.

I climbed into bed that night, praying for sleep. I had one more night to feel safe. One more night.

 

But I didn’t sleep, of course. I tossed and turned, trying to escape my dreams. I woke up when it was still dark, not even seven a.m., which was the middle of the night for me. I knew I wouldn’t sleep anymore.

I rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen. I reached automatically for the radio, but stopped. I didn’t want to hear the news.

I heard it now, the soft insistent knocking from the door to the street. Would reporters be out this early? I tiptoed to the door and leaned over the chair under the knob to get closer.

“Kit? Kit, are you there? Let me in.”

My heart lifted, and I felt giddy as I grabbed the chair and pushed it aside. I flung open the door.

I didn’t know why he was there, it was just a miracle that he was. I put my hands on his lapels and pulled him inside. Then I fell forward until my forehead hit against his chest.

“Jamie. You have no idea how good it is to see you.” My laughter bubbled out, fast and nervous. “Oh, I just remembered — it’s Thanksgiving! Did they send you down to make sure I’d come?”

Laughing, I pulled back from him, but he only hugged me harder. Suddenly, I realized that he wasn’t holding me in an embrace. He was holding me up, or preparing to, and the first alarm began to clang inside me.

His mouth was close to my ear and his voice was so much softer than the blow.

“Billy was killed last night.”

Thirty-one

 

New York City
November 1950

The agony of the minutes. To go from one to the next. To hold on to Jamie as I started to fall. And Jamie’s eyes were wet, crying again as he saw me absorb what he was saying, trying to tell me though a curtain had slammed down in my brain —
No, it must be a mistake, no, I don’t understand you, no, this is not happening
— that Billy was on a train going to Long Island, did I hear about the big train wreck? He was on that train, and something had gone wrong, a signal or something, they didn’t know, and his train slammed into the other, and seventy people were dead, and one of them was him.

Jamie had heard the news from Da. Da had borrowed a car so Jamie could drive down to tell me in person. I tried to ask details, and could only manage one word at a time.
How. But.
And finally got out the sentence that was roaring in my head.

“Are they sure?”

At the look on Jamie’s face something tore inside me, and I screamed.

It was later that he coaxed me into the bathroom. He put the seat down on the toilet and bathed my face with a
washcloth. I looked at him as he did it, as he concentrated on the movement of the cloth on my skin.

He was thinner, and he needed a shave, reddish stubble on his cheeks. There was a muscle I’d never noticed in his jaw that jumped.

We went back to the couch and he sat, his hands clasped between his knees. For some reason I held the washcloth now, and I felt water soak my robe as I squeezed it, over and over. I felt my hands and my legs shake. I couldn’t stop. Even my teeth chattered. Jamie put a blanket over me and took the washcloth away.

“But why was he on a train to Long Island?” I asked. “He was staying in Brooklyn. And he was going home for Thanksgiving, he said.”

Jamie shrugged. “I guess he got on the wrong train.”

“Maybe it’s not him,” I whispered.

“Nate identified the body last night. It’s all over Providence. Nate drove up to tell Angela. Someone called Da to let us all know. I’ll make us some tea. Do you have tea?”

I nodded numbly. I sat waiting, listening to the normal noises in the kitchen of running water in a kettle, the clatter of cups. It seemed impossible that tea could be drunk on such a day.

When he came back in, holding the cups, I noticed what he was wearing for the first time.

“Why aren’t you in uniform?” I asked.

“Da wrote to my commanding officer and told them how old I was. It took awhile — everything takes awhile in the army — but I got sprung. Muddie wanted to surprise you at Thanksgiving.”

“The last time I saw Billy… he was here. We had a terrible fight. There’s a story in the papers —”

“I know. I saw it in the
Journal.
“

I couldn’t look at him. “Do you believe it?”

“Of course not.”

“Billy believed it.” I gasped, feeling it again — the deep, sharp pain.

He leaned forward, hands clasped. “I know from Fox Point, from school, from the army…. There are some guys who are always spoiling for a fight. Billy… he was always ready to be betrayed. He was always
waiting
for it. It made it hard on the people who loved him. That summer you were down at the beach, that summer… we saw each other every day….”

I saw the muscle in his jaw jump again, and his face suddenly changed, went transparent. I could see the muscles under his skin, and I saw how thin and stretched the skin was, how hard he was working to keep his expression. And then in the next second his mouth opened. His sob was deep and breathless, just one, full of agony.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and a series of sobs tore out of him.

I didn’t know where to look or what to do. I wanted to comfort him, but wasn’t he here to comfort me? Wasn’t it my place to grieve? Inside I felt myself shrink from this rawness. I didn’t want to see Jamie’s pain. I didn’t want to think about what it meant.

“Stop it.” My voice was harsh. “Just stop it!”

He stopped. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, swiftly, and then on his pants. He got up, clearing his throat, and went to the bathroom. I waited, hating him.

When he came out, he was composed, but his face had gone back to looking like a mask.

“Do you want to pack a few things? The car is outside. The funeral is tomorrow.”

“I can’t go to the funeral,” I said, and laughed. “I’m his father’s mistress. Don’t you read the papers?”

 

Jamie left.

There had never been such a silence between us. Never such a distance. I was afraid I didn’t understand him, and how could we still be close if I didn’t? I thought of Delia and Da, facing each other across the room, saying things that should never have been said. Did I just lose him the way Da had lost Delia? Had we gotten to a place where we didn’t know each other anymore?

 

Outside this apartment, people all over New York were cooking. Cream and butter were set on counters. Crystal was examined against the light. Pumpkin pies were baking, and card tables were set up for the kids. Cars were packed with grandmothers and casseroles. All of it, all of that stirring, laughing life… and Billy was dead. I couldn’t hold that thought next to the idea of the world still spinning.

Later that morning I was lying facedown on the bed when I heard Hank softly call my name. He was at the kitchen door.

I turned over and tucked my knees under my chin. He would go away. I couldn’t talk to anyone now. I didn’t think I could walk out into the world, see people, open my mouth and have words come out instead of screams.

But he wouldn’t go away. The knocking would stop and start again. He knew I was in here.

I dragged myself to the door and opened it.

“I think I know where she is,” Hank said.

I blinked at him. I felt as though I were swimming through a murky sea. I had to push the words out. “Who?”

“Your aunt.” Hank walked past me into the kitchen. He held up an envelope. “I found this in the Christmas box. Remember I told you that my mother was a Christmas maniac? She saves cards for
years.
She keeps a list. She exchanged cards with Bridget Warwick in 1946 and 1947. So if Bridget Warwick is your aunt, she could be still alive.”

I sat down heavily at the table. He pushed the card in front of me.
“This friendly card is sent your way, to wish you peace on Christmas Day.
Hank…”

“Is it her handwriting?”

I looked at the card, the slash of the B in “Bridget,” the way the t was crossed. The commanding W. “It could be… I don’t know.”

“She lives out on Long Island,” Hank said.

I turned slowly. “Long Island? Where?”

“Babylon. Which is strange, because —”

“
On my forehead, the words are written in ash, and I am wearing scarlet and purple
…”

“What?”

“It’s something Delia wrote. I remember now. It’s from the Book of Revelation… the whore of Babylon. That’s just the kind of thing Delia would do, pick a town for its name. She
is
alive.” And then I remembered. The two thoughts, side by side, clanged inside my head. “Hank, did you read the paper today? Did you hear about the crash? The train, where was it going?”

“That’s what I was about to say. It’s a strange coincidence. One of them was going to Babylon,” Hank said. “It’s awful, isn’t it? Hey, are you all right?”

I had started to cry again. It wasn’t a conscious thing, the tears just fell. “Billy —” I had to stop and take a breath. “He was on that train. He was killed. Last night.”

Hank stared at me. “Last night? He… I’m sorry, Kit. I’m so sorry. Shouldn’t you be… with family or something? Is there anything I can do?”

I pressed my hands against my forehead. It was so hard to think, so hard to reason around the grief. Billy didn’t get lost. He always knew where he was going. He knew his way to Brooklyn on the subway. Why would he be on a train to Long Island?

I looked up. “I have to see her. I have to see her today.”

“There’s no train service out there today. But I’ve been thinking about it. I knew you’d want to go. I have a car. My uncle loaned it to my parents — he talked them into driving to Boston tonight. He’s got a friend who’s a lawyer, the only one they’ll trust. He’s a federal prosecutor. They don’t trust anyone in New York. Anyway, I have the car. I can drive you to Babylon this morning. There’s time.”

I shook my head. “Thanks for the offer, but no. You don’t know how dangerous it could be. Nate’s got nothing to lose now that Billy is gone. He could be after me, too. I passed information about Ray Mirto to him. I could link him to the guy.”

“Well, what do you know?” Hank said. “We finally have something in common.”