The Stars Are Fire(20)

And what will Gene say when he hears? Will he blame Grace, castigate her? She would prefer that to what she guesses will be his reaction. Silence. Perhaps a word. Maybe two words.


She imagines that Gene made his way back to Hunts Beach, to the cinders that cover the village acreage. Were any houses saved? Is there no one to tell Gene where his wife is? Will he have somehow found his children?

An icy thought slices through her. It’s not that he might be dead; no, it’s that he might have walked away from his family. He might have seen the fire as an excellent portal to another life. A life in which he would never have to talk to his wife, in which he would never again have to go home.


Grace’s shoulders, back, and arms hurt. Her pelvis is heavy and sore. Her legs have needles in them. Having rolled into a fetal position, she thinks she might have to stay that way for days. Curving into herself is bearable. Sitting up is not.

When did she give birth? This morning? Last night? When was she lying on the beach, her legs in the ocean? Has she lost a day? Maybe, as she burrowed into the sand, the fetus wanted to go back to the sea, to squiggle through her legs and swim away, knowing it could never be born.


She will not have another baby. She will not make love again. Her womb will never heal from the injury she has done it.


When Grace thinks about her children, she feels calm: A kind woman said she would take care of them. Grace must send someone to the address that awaits her at the front desk to make sure the children are all right. Perhaps the woman will bring Claire and Tom to the window so that Grace can look down at them and wave.

How easy it is in this white cubicle, the lights dimmed. Has the fire burned itself out yet?

She sleeps a deep sleep with no dreams.


Grace is wakened by a nurse who wants to check the bleeding, take her temperature, listen to her heart. The nurse is abrupt in her commands, a little rough with Grace’s body. Does she blame Grace for her current situation, or is this a mannerism left over from the war? The nurse makes Dr. Franklin, by comparison, seem like a lamb.

A lamb. A lamb on the cover of a children’s book. Gone.

The entire contents of Grace’s house, gone. Even the papers and the children’s clothes. Transformed into ashes.

Will an insurance company honor a policy if the insured has no way to prove he or she was insured? She can’t remember the name of the company or the man who sold the policy to them. Gene will know. But, then again, where’s Gene?


Another, younger, nurse appears with a tray of food. A ham sandwich and a bowl of rice pudding suggests lunch.

“How long have I been here?” Grace asks the younger nurse.

“I don’t know, Mrs. Holland. But I can check. I just came on shift.”

“That’s fine. What’s your name?”

“Julie.”

Julie has short blond hair under a smart cap, a white apron over a light blue dress.

“You’re a volunteer?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?” Grace asks. She slips a spoonful of the rice pudding into her mouth. She might just manage to get this down. She can’t even look at the sandwich.

“Seventeen.”

“You’ve graduated from high school?”

“I’m about to be a senior.”

Julie hovers respectfully at a distance, her hands clasped in front of her.

“This is a good thing that you’re doing,” Grace says.

“I had to help, didn’t I? It’s chaos out there because of the fires.”

“Do you have access to hospital records?” Grace asks.

“I can ask someone who does.”

“I don’t know where my husband is or my mother or my closest friend. I was rescued off the beach with my two children.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Everyone knows.”

Grace is surprised. “I need information about Eugene Holland, Marjorie Tate, Rosie MacFarland, or her husband, Tim. Don’t you need to write this down?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I’d be grateful for any news. Also, there’s an address at the front desk for me. It’s where my children are. Could you bring me that address?”

“Yes. I’m sorry about your baby.”

Grace nods. An awkward silence follows. “You can go now, if you like. I don’t want you to forget those names.”

“I’m to stay here to make sure you finish your lunch.”

Grace examines the tray. “If I eat half the sandwich, will that be all right?”

The girl smiles.


The sandwich half eaten and taken away, the rough nurse reappears to bind Grace’s breasts, a procedure Grace didn’t think would be necessary since the infant died too soon. But she is reminded of how full her breasts are when the nurse wraps her with a nearly sadistic efficiency.

“I can’t breathe,” Grace says.

“You can breathe,” snaps the nurse, as if Grace had been whining.


In her tight white shroud, Grace is drawn down into a pool of grief. Her body mourns as well as her mind. For the lost baby, for her missing husband, for her unmarriage. How can she possibly bring up Claire and Tom without a father? Would Gene have burned to death with unbearable pain, or would he have succumbed to smoke? Is it possible that he somehow survived?