Sleep came. I woke to the sharp ring of the telephone and an even sharper anxiety. I expected Pete, but a stranger’s voice said my name with a question mark after it and I said, “Yes.”
“This is Doug Bluestein from the Jersey Star,” the voice said.
“Yes?”
“Are you the Cassandra Taylor who tried to save the woman this morning?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask you a few questions?”
“I told everything to the fire chief,” I said.
“That’s where I got your name,” he said. “And from the police radio.”
“The police were talking about me?”
“You and the conductor. They were saying how quickly you both reacted.”
“Well, I’m glad they think so. I feel differently.”
“In situations like that we’re always hard on ourselves,” he said. “I’m sure you did the best thing under the circumstances.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling my fatigue lift.
I sat up and pulled the quilt to my chin. The deep tone of his voice soothed me. It was surely not the correct response to this. He was a reporter after a story, but I was suddenly in need of someone to talk to. I said, “Why don’t you come to the house to talk?”
He accepted immediately. I now had a compelling reason to get out of bed, out of my cold sweaty tee shirt, and go to the sink and press a warm washcloth to my face. I studied my eyes and tried a cold compress when the warm one did not work. I dressed and moved to my front porch to wait for this Doug person. Thirty minutes, he had said, so I went to the kitchen and filled the teakettle and turned the knob to ignite the flame under it. Tick, tick, tick, the igniter attempted to light but failed and the throat-closing scent of gas rose up. The scent from her flesh and hair burning rolled up from memory. I could almost taste the acrid smoke. Off, then a second attempt, tick, tick, tick. Still the fuel did not catch. Off. A wave of my hand to dispel the fumes. On the third try, it caught and a burst of blue flame rose on all sides of the kettle with a whoosh and a surge from the flame burned the skin on my forearm. My backing away was instinctive, my left hand moving to my right arm protectively. Heat, but only tiny hairs singed and shriveled, no damage to the skin but that, right now, was no consolation. I poured a pot of green tea, carried it to the porch, and waited for Doug Bluestein. He never came. He did not call. In the moments before I gave up, I sipped tea in the sunny oasis of calm I found on my porch and listened as sirens pierced the distance and I wondered what other awful thing could be happening.
I needed Pete. I needed to talk to him. To tell him this. I lifted the phone and dialed his mobile number. I heard his voice message. “You’ve reached Pete. I’m on the road in Chicago until Friday evening, but please leave a message and I’ll return your call at a convenient time for both of us.” Beep.
Always able to reach his phone, but never able to reach him. I slammed the phone into the base. “Now is a convenient time for me,” I said to the empty house. His message was always the same. He was on an airplane. Or, he was with a client. Or driving. Or sleeping. At least that’s what he always said when he walked in the door. He was returning home tonight. I could talk to him tonight.
The phone rang again. It was Grace, my sister. “Hi,” I said.
I waited. Grace never called. When she did, she rarely asked questions. This time I expected them, lots of them. Shirley had said she heard about the burning. Doug had said the police gave him my name. Had the TV news gotten it too?
“Are you calling about the news?” I asked.
“My news?” she asked. “How did you know I had news?”
“I didn’t know you had news. I meant the NEWS news. The radio. I thought maybe you heard my name…”
“Why in the world would I hear your name on the news?” she asked.
“The woman at the train…I was there…I was a witness.”
She was silent, so I said, “Don’t you listen to the local radio station?”
“Cassie,” she said. “Why do you always talk so much? I can’t get a word in edgewise.”
“Grace, you didn’t say anything. I was waiting.”
“You’re always talking about yourself.” I heard a pause. Then, she asked, “Okay, what were you on the radio for this time?”
“Did you hear what happened this morning?” I asked.
“No.”
“A woman burst into flame and burned to death at the train station this morning.” I waited for a moment, then I said, “And I saw it right before my eyes. I tried to use the fire extinguisher on her, but it didn’t save her.”
“Cassandra, that is gruesome. Are you okay?”
“I’m not hurt, if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, thank goodness for that. When you said news, I thought you meant Catherine’s news. She’s going to Vassar.”
“Congratulations.”
“You really ought to not take the train. Driving into Newark is so much safer. I think about the crime in that city and how you take a chance.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I was freaked out and the police and fire department asked me a million questions. I’m still a bit freaked out. And Pete’s not here. I thought your call was Pete. It was awful.”
“Well, thank God it wasn’t you,” she said.
“Yes, I thought that too. I was so close…”
“You’re okay? What do you mean she burst into flames?”
“She was there one minute, then the next she was on fire.”
“I heard a lot of sirens this morning,” she said.
“I did, later.”
“I’m going to turn it on when I get off the phone,” she said. “Now can I take a turn and tell you why I called? Do I get a turn now?”
I gave her a long moment of empty air, just like she’d given me.
“I’m calling about Catherine’s graduation.” Grace stated it firmly.
I said. “Yes, great. So exciting for her.”
“Charles and I decided to throw her a party at the club,” Grace said. “A pool party for her and all her friends.”
“Nice,” I said.
“Do you think you would want to come?” she asked. “I know you won’t know a lot of people there. And your girls won’t know anyone either. But, well, it seems odd to not have all the family there.” There was clear reluctance in her tone.
“Are you inviting us?” I said.
“Well, it isn’t an invitation yet,” she said. “I just need to know if you want to come. I’ll send invitations out later. It’s on Mothers’ Day. That’s another thing. It’s a busy family day, but the only date the club was not already booked. The graduation isn’t until mid-June.”
“We’d love to come,” I said. “Gift ideas?”
“Gift