The Stars Are Fire(48)

Amy says, “You missed your lunch.”

“I lost track of the time.”

“You could eat now; you seem to have the room in hand.”

“If you’re sure,” Grace says, standing.


She takes her paper bag with her peanut butter sandwich to the kitchen at the back of the building. When she enters, she can see that Dr. Lighthart is asleep at a table in a darkened corner, his head on top of his arms. She steps outside the kitchen to unwrap the waxed paper so that she won’t wake him. She doesn’t dare pour herself a glass of water.

Already the sun is lowering, setting the tall barren trees outside the window alight with an orange color she has loved all her life. She checks her watch. Three-fifteen. She has no idea when she should leave. A six o’clock bus will take her back to the coast road.

Though she has been as silent as possible, Dr. Lighthart slowly lifts his head, stretches, and stands. It’s only then that he notices her by the window. Grace moves toward the sink to pour herself a glass of water.

“Amy says you’re a lifesaver.”

“She exaggerates.”

“Amy? Never. Comes from an old Yankee family.”

“Do you want me to work here on a permanent basis?”

“Yes,” the doctor says.

She doesn’t dare ask about a salary. “My hours would be…?”

“Let’s try for nine to five, though it might go over a bit.”

“My bus leaves at six.”

“Leave in ample time to catch it. I paid Barbara thirty-five dollars a week. Will that suit for now? We can always revisit the subject.”

“That will be just fine,” she says.

His dark eyes fix on hers. “Did your husband return?”

“He hasn’t come back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.


On her way home from her fourth day of work, Grace falls asleep on the bus and has to be woken by the driver. When she drags herself up the hill and into the house, her mother and children are in the kitchen with dinner on the table. They look at her as if they might not recognize her. Claire comes around the table and hugs Grace’s knees.

“What happened?” her mother asks.

“Nothing. The hours have caught up with me. It’s a long day, eight to seven.”

“I gave Claire a snack at four today so that she could hold out for dinner, but I’m keeping Tom on his regular schedule.”

Grace nods and sits in her chair without removing her coat.

“Which means,” says her mother, “that he has to go to bed in half an hour.”

“I’m so grateful,” Grace manages before she starts to cry.

“Now, now. Let’s just get some food into that scrawny body.”


Grace puts the files in the oak cabinet in order. Often she’s interrupted by patients, some of whom understand their symptoms, while others just admit to feeling lousy. Occasionally, a woman will enter with a fairly accurate diagnosis, which she recites in great detail. These are the women who have had experience nursing family members, Grace guesses. She makes notes, sometimes resorting to an agreed-upon shorthand of five phrases that both Amy and Dr. Lighthart understand. Almost always, Grace can locate the proper file. She attaches her notes to the first page inside the file, and hands it to Amy when she comes to the door.

“We’re going to need more files,” Grace tells the nurse.

“There’s a fund for petty cash in Dr. Lighthart’s office. You can get what you need there.”

When Grace first opened the door of the cabinet behind the desk that contained supplies, there was so much disarray she wasn’t even sure what the cabinet was for. After sorting, she makes a list of necessary items: envelopes for sending out bills, a roll of stamps, paper clips, several new pens, a new ream of paper, and a new ribbon for the typewriter. Finishing that task, she sits before her clean desk. She enjoys her little fiefdom, though she has arranged everything so that Dr. Lighthart and Amy can find what they need without trouble. Grace has become, in five days, adept at diagnosing illnesses. She can spot a patient with pneumonia almost as soon as he or she enters the waiting room: a certain hunching forward, as if protecting the lungs, the awful coughing, and the mouth hanging open, making it easier to breathe. She guesses the children with fevers by their glassy eyes and general listlessness. The pregnant women, even if they aren’t showing, are also readily identifiable: they almost always have hands on their abdomens.

At five o’clock, Grace makes her way into Dr. Lighthart’s office before she realizes she has no idea where the petty cash is kept. Nor can she just take the money without asking the doctor, whom she can’t find at the moment. She lingers at his desk, noting photographs at the edge. One of the doctor with a beautiful blond woman, both on skis, each wearing ski pants and a thick sweater, catches her eye. It must be a girlfriend, she guesses, since the two look nothing alike. Their smiles are exhilarating, their faces flushed.

“You’ve come for your paycheck,” Dr. Lighthart announces as he enters the room.

Grace senses a blush rising from her throat to her face.

“Actually, no,” she says. “I came in to ask for money from the petty cash box to buy supplies. Amy mentioned one, but I didn’t want to look without asking you first.”