The Stars Are Fire

“Well, honey, you just made my day. Don’t have too many customers like you. These your little ones?”

Claire has turned suddenly shy and won’t look at the salesman. Good taste, Grace thinks.

“I’d like to buy a car for my mother,” Grace announces. “I’ve been happy with the one you sold me, and now she wants one of her own. Something small. Not as expensive as mine. A sedan.”

Ralph pretends to think. “I’ve got a ’forty-six Ford that might be just the ticket.”

“How much?”

“For you, seven hundred.”

She can probably talk him down to six. “You can bring it around.”


Eastman steps out of a black Ford and calls Grace a Sweetheart. After a quick test-drive, during which he refers to Grace as Sweetie, Good Girl, and Nice Mommy, Grace buys the car for six hundred dollars. The Ford smells like spilt beer and dirty ashtrays, which Claire and Tom complain about. Good, thinks Grace. If Claire is complaining, she’s back to being herself.


Her right foot throbbing, Grace drives the children home, but parks a block from the green Victorian that Gene Holland owns. When Claire questions her, Grace answers that driveway cleaners are coming in the morning and that they’ve asked her to give them some room to do the job. She prays that Gene is not up and around. Claire, perhaps wanting to distract her father, might blurt out, “Mommy bought a new car!”

But Grace thinks Claire will not blurt out anything to her father. More likely than not, her daughter will walk into another room.


That afternoon, while the children sleep in Merle’s bed, Grace uses the telephone on the dressing table. She speaks softly so that she won’t wake Claire and Tom. She reaches the clinic and asks for Dr. Lighthart.

“Grace,” he says with some surprise.

“Hi. I need to talk to you.”

“Shoot.”

“Could you come to my house?”

“I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Don’t drive up to the house. Go just past the house, and I’ll meet you at the bottom of the driveway.”


The sleek Packard pulls to the curb, and Grace gets in.

“What happened?” John Lighthart asks as he turns toward her, one arm resting on the steering wheel. He is in his white coat, and she notices a tiny bloodstain on his sleeve.

“I need to hire a nurse to take care of Gene, and I can’t go back to the agency. I was hoping you knew of someone.”

“Days? Full-time?”

“Live-in.”

“Well, I’m glad,” he says. “Now you’re being sensible.”

“No, I’m not,” she says, looking directly into his eyes. She trusts him. “I’m leaving Gene.”

“Does he know?” the doctor asks.

“No.” She pauses. “Will you help me?”

“You know I will,” he says, adjusting his position. “But are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“No, but I have to try.”

“You’re taking the children?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He gazes down the street, thinking. “There was a young woman who came to us looking for work. I couldn’t hire her, though I wanted to. I know she’s done live-in care before.”

Grace notes the kindness mixed with strength in his eyes, in his mouth. She has only minutes left until the children wake, if they haven’t already.

“I’ll call her when I get back,” the doctor says.

“I need her tomorrow morning.”

John raises an eyebrow. “That’s awfully soon.”

“I have to leave before I lose my courage.”

“It’s live-in, room and board and so forth?”

“And eighty dollars a week,” Grace adds.

“That’s high,” the doctor says.

“It’s for supplies and groceries, too. I’m also hiring a housekeeper.”

“Well, it’s not an offer she’s likely to refuse. Her name is Sarah Brody.”

“Please tell her to come to the kitchen door at seven o’clock in the morning.”

He studies her face. He touches her hand. “When you worked at the clinic, for a while there, I conveniently forgot that you were married. I thought of you as single.”

“At times, so did I.”

“Just remember how strong you are,” he says.


After Grace has put the children to bed, she walks into the room that used to be her mother’s. The books and the licorice drops are still there. Maybe Sarah will go exploring and find the drops and eat them.

“Mother, I’m about to do a terrible thing,” Grace says, again addressing her absent parent.


Grace has two letters to write.

Dear Gene,

This is to tell you that I’ve gone on a long trip with the children, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. By now you have met Sarah, and I trust you’ll mend more quickly in her care. She’s extremely capable and well recommended. I have also hired a housekeeper named Peggy.

If you think about the last several days, I’m certain you will agree that there’s been an unhealthy atmosphere between us and that it was beginning to affect the children. I will bring them back to you soon for a visit, and I will never deny your right to see them if it can be managed.

I’ve arranged for Sarah’s and Peggy’s salaries and the bills to be paid by my bank, so you needn’t worry about anything.

I think that if the fire hadn’t happened, we’d have continued as the little family that we were. In time, I believe, we would have come to care about each other in a way that was companionable. But the fire did happen, and that changed everything.

I hope you’ll be happier and that your injuries will heal.

Grace.

Dear Mother,

By the time you get this, I’ll be on a journey with the children. I could call this a little vacation, but I won’t. Truth is, I’m leaving Gene and taking the children with me. He’s become intolerable, frightening all of us. I have reason to believe that we all might be in danger. I know you’ll think this melodramatic on my part, but you’ll just have to trust me. I’ve hired an experienced live-in nurse to take care of him. I’m hopeful that without me in the house, and the poisonous relationship that has developed between us, he’ll make more progress and be happier. I’ve hired a housekeeper, too.

As soon as I’ve reached a destination—I don’t know exactly where I’m going right now—I’ll call or write you with a phone number and an address so that we can be in touch. I can never thank you enough for taking such good care of the children while I was trying to find my way. And for taking such good care of me, I might add.

Don’t worry about me, Mother. I’ve discovered, ever since the fire, or maybe more recently, that I have inner resources I can count on.

The check is for you to make a down payment on a house. I can pay for all of it. In my next letter, I’ll explain everything.

With all my love,

Grace


It takes her three tries to get the letter into the envelope.


Grace lies on the nursery cot. In the morning, she’ll change all the linen. She’s already rid Merle’s room of her personal items and photographs.

Ought she drive south to try to find Aidan? If she didn’t have children, she would. She would hunt him down and surprise him and hope that he reciprocated her feelings. A soloist performing with an orchestra, however, might take her weeks to find. And when she did, she and the children would be a burden no matter how fond he was of them. But the urge to drive south is a powerful one.

To drive west is shortly to encounter John Lighthart at the clinic. She would like to work and keep his friendship. But she can’t work and care for her children at the same time, and she doesn’t want to relinquish Claire and Tom to a nanny. She herself must raise them and keep them safe. Of less importance, but still critical, is the fact that the clinic isn’t far enough away from Merle’s house that word of Grace’s whereabouts might not somehow get back to Gene. Might Grace be arrested for kidnapping? It seems absurd to her, but she believes Gene capable of anything.

To drive east is to drive into the ocean.

She will have to leave with no destination then. She won’t focus on a place to settle, but rather on the mechanics of freeing herself.

Anita Shreve's books