A Vision of Fire

He put his arm around her and they headed north, then west. There was a mild crosstown wind and Caitlin didn’t stop trembling until they reached Grand Central. They went through the main door instead of one of the side entrances. The turquoise vaulted ceiling and pale stars, the brass and opal clock in the center, helped her feel that she was standing on firm ground again.

“Better?” Ben asked.

“Much.” She smiled. There were a great many people here, and shops were still open. It was all very normal, almost cheerful. She straightened; she hadn’t realized that she had been curling into Ben’s side. He pulled his arm away but not completely, leaving his hand on her back as they strolled to the subway entrance.

“Let’s talk about something that has nothing to do with anything,” Ben suggested.

His flustered tone made Caitlin laugh and he chuckled with her. It took about two seconds for Caitlin to snap back to the larger reality.

“Her hair,” she said as they headed toward the subway steps. “That was just impossible. I mean, there’s no other word for it.”

“Cai, let your brain off the hook for a while,” Ben said as he slid his MetroCard from its holder. “I know you want to drive straight at the problem, but we both know that if we don’t give our brains a rest, a real rest, it fogs up the windshield.”

“You are right, O wise one.” She grinned. “Okay. I’ll power down. You’re taking the 6 home?”

“No, I’ll see you home first.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But in case there are eyes on you, I’m taking you home.”

Caitlin felt a rebellious kick against his white knighthood—and ignored it. She knew she had a much better chance of powering down if he was there, staying alert.

As they walked to the Shuttle train platform, Caitlin looked at all the faces around her, allowing herself to just see them, not read them. This kind of passive observation was primarily a right-brain activity, which is why it was so relaxing for her, but it also allowed a simple love of people to come forth, the admiration of human beings that made her so happy to live in one of the world’s largest cities. Standing on the platform, she drank in the faces like fresh, pure water. And then, stepping onto the train and finding a pole to hang on to, she focused on Ben’s face as he held on beside her—that sweet, studious, heartbreaker face, all in one. The face that had been with her through some of the worst events she had ever experienced.

The train intercom chimed and she heard the old, familiar recording, “Stand clear of the closing doors.” Ben was looking down at someone’s tablet over her shoulder, reading whatever she was reading. Caitlin reached up to Ben’s now-stubbled cheek. He gave her a half smile but didn’t look up, intent on finishing the page before the passenger scrolled to the next.

Too bad, Caitlin thought as she gently pulled his head down and kissed him. He did not mind the interruption. To the contrary, it was something he’d been waiting patiently for—not just tonight but since he first laid eyes on her. He gave her his fullest attention and suddenly they were sheltered in complete and quiet privacy. Their lips felt like fire and water and air all in one—until the train jolted and they bumped noses and laughed. But only for a moment, because Ben pulled her in close with one arm and kissed her twenty years deep.

Many long kisses later, they reached the door of Caitlin’s apartment building. Ben hesitated on the sidewalk.

“Well, this is awkward,” he tried to joke.

“You can come up,” she said, turning his face to meet her eyes.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. But—”

“I know.” He grinned. “We have to dial it back.”

“Huh?” she said, before realizing what he had meant. “No. Maanik’s drawing. I want to check it out now.”

They both laughed as she led the way up the brownstone steps, her back burning warmly and steadily under his gaze.

Jacob was asleep and so was the sitter, who departed drowsily. Ben sat at the table and pulled his tablet out of his bag, bringing up Maanik’s scrawl. Caitlin—who was immediately preoccupied again with the puzzle—realized she desperately wanted the drawing to mean something. Because she also knew that what she had told the Pawars was true: she could not justify leaving Maanik at home very much longer.

She and Ben huddled over the glowing screen. The drawing seemed unrelated to either the Viking longship or the symbol of crescents. Its wobbly lines seemed to undulate from upper left to lower right with something like a purpose, yet the lines themselves were as organically shaped as frost or the edges of a stain. Directional… textural… they appeared not to be casual.

But appearances are not necessarily reality, she reminded herself. They could be nothing more than random scrawls on which she was attempting to force pattern recognition.

“Thoughts?” she asked.