Strings Attached

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.”