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.”
Thirty-two
New York City
November 1950
There were still a few reporters out front, so