The Stars Are Fire(35)

And then Grace can hear the melody, the notes that will repeat themselves during the piece. With her mother beside her, she’s careful not to betray, except with a smile, the sensations she experiences. She has a nearly overwhelming desire to bend her head, bare her neck, and let the tensions of the day leave her.

She examines Aidan’s fingers—stretching, reaching, confident, fast. She studies his face, a visage of perfect concentration. She doesn’t think she has that ability—to focus so acutely on a task that nothing else matters. To be able to do this any time one wants—what a perfect gift. She has often wished she could sing. How heavenly to be able to entertain herself in that way. But the playing is something different. When the piece comes to a close, she thinks it ridiculous that she even mentioned rent.


“He seems a nice young man,” her mother says as they leave Merle’s driveway. Both children are asleep on the backseat.

“Indeed,” says Grace.

“I thought he was very polite. Good manners.”

“Yes.”

“And very well spoken,” adds her mother.

“He is.”

“And I liked the way he played children’s songs for Claire at the end.”

“Nice.”

“And the music, really. I’m not sure I’ve ever…”

“Nor I.”

“I wonder where he went to school. He must have gone to music school.”

“Mmm.”

“He’s Irish I think. His name.”

“Maybe.”

“The Rooneys are Irish,” her mother points out. “Very nice people.”

“They are.”

“And I have to admit, he’s handsome.”

“Mother.”

“It’s amazing good luck that you found him when you did.”


At Gladys’s house that evening, as her mother attempts, in an awkward way, to explain why it is they will have to leave, all Grace can think about is Aidan’s hands. She imagines them muscular and flexible, the skin soft, the reach long. For how many years has he been playing? Since he was a small child? And how did he come upon such a gift? One doesn’t learn talent. And why is he not playing in New York or Boston, with the orchestras they have there?

Gladys, strangely, has tears in her eyes, which immediately produces a teary Marjorie. “You’ve been so kind to us,” her mother says. “I hope you know how grateful we are.”

“Gladys is softhearted, if you haven’t noticed yet,” says Evelyn, sniffing and giving no sign of sadness at the prospect of their four guests leaving imminently.

“And you’ll come visit us,” Grace adds. “Just as soon as we have the place fixed up. You must come for a meal.”

One meal as payback for dozens? Absurd. Somehow Grace will find a way to recompense them for all the provisions. Or would they mind that? She wonders if her mother will stay close friends with the two women, if she’s unhappy to be going.

In the morning, they pack, making the beds with fresh linen, leaving the room spotless.


To move from one attic room for the four of them to a house more than a dozen times larger is dizzying. Aidan seems to have had no trouble rounding up a crew of out-of-work men who agree to move the piano. Though the thermometer reads only forty-three degrees outside, the upper window has to be taken out while the piano is attached to a crane that has made deep grooves on the front lawn. Grace’s mother can’t bear to look and spends most of the day in the kitchen, rearranging the dishes and pots and pans to her liking. She then makes all the beds, including Aidan’s. For his part, Aidan is meticulous in his instructions, not wanting to harm the piano in any way, and especially not wanting to leave the piano in the cold for a second longer than necessary. Grace and Aidan move all the furniture out of the way and agree that some of it will have to go down to the basement. Grace, with her arms wrapped tight around her chest, hardly dares to watch the piano come back into the house. Aidan is calm, but quick with an instruction if he thinks something about to go awry. He has on the blue sweater and gray pants he wore the day she met him. Grace has on the same thing she wore yesterday. Claire and Tom haven’t been let out of Grace’s mother’s sight, everyone fearful for their safety.

“My God,” Aidan says when the piano finally comes to rest and is correctly positioned. Even the crew seems chuffed at their success. The first-floor window is in place, the lights turned on. Aidan, before he has even paid his men, sits down at the bench, plays some runs, listens, plays them again, listens again, reaches for the bass, repeats that, plays the upper keys and the lower together, produces a small smile, and then launches into “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” which causes the men to laugh and then to sing. Grace’s mother emerges with the children. Claire, having an audience, begins to dance in her herky-jerky way, making sure everyone notices. Grace’s mother produces cider and cookies, which the men accept eagerly. If she didn’t know better, Grace might think there was a party at Merle Holland’s house.

Her house now.


Sometimes Grace imagines Gene coming to the old Victorian, his surprise and unhappiness at seeing the piano in the front room, Grace and their children and her mother installed in various beds upstairs. Her old way of life seems lonely to her now. She fears it the way one might a recurring nightmare. She knows she must hope for Gene’s return, but she’s afraid to open the door to him.