The Stars Are Fire(55)

“If that’s what you want,” Ralph says, disgruntled. He probably had part two of his pitch all set to go.

“I’m going to take Route Nine, let it open up,” John says. He seems to be listening to the innards of the car as he drives out of the city. “Radio work?” he asks.

“It certainly does,” says the salesman, inching forward in his seat so that his face is just behind his customer’s ear.

“The heater?”

“You can turn it on with that button there. Honey, why don’t you just press that green button and then turn the dial?”

The doctor chooses that moment to press down hard on the gas pedal, slamming Ralph back. Grace wants to smile, but knows that wouldn’t help the negotiations. Once out of the city, John steadily increases the speed until they are going fifty-five miles per hour along Route 9. The dial reads sixty. He takes it to sixty-five.

“I must remind you about the speed limit!” Ralph squawks from the back.

“Yes, of course,” says John, bringing it down to thirty. The car feels as though it’s barely moving. Even so, according to signs, they are still five miles over the limit. Wisely, the salesman keeps his warnings to himself.

When they pull into the lot and exit the car, the doctor asks the price.

“I can’t let this beauty go for less than eleven hundred.”

Inside, he and Ralph retreat into an inner office, while Grace, tempted by the coffee but remembering that she has promised to buy Dr. Lighthart one after the sale is complete, sits and waits.

It isn’t long before he emerges from the office. He sits next to Grace and speaks in a low tone. “I got him down to nine. He’ll take the seven today, and you can pay the balance in installments of twenty dollars a month for ten months. He agreed to waive the interest.”

“How on earth did you manage that?”

“He’s got his eye on my Packard. Worth his while to keep me happy. The Buick begins to shimmy at sixty-five, so I wouldn’t take it over sixty.”

Grace laughs. “I’ll be amazed if I ever go over thirty-five.”

“After I made the deal, I got him to agree to fill the oil and the radiator and gas her up. As soon as we do the paperwork, we can go get that cup of coffee.”

“I’m buying you lunch,” she says.


They both order meals that will take them twenty minutes to eat. “I told him we’d be back in half an hour.”

Grace nods. Now, alone with the doctor in the luncheonette, an awkwardness settles over her. Her mouth is dry. She isn’t at all certain she can call him John. He sits back in the booth and lights a cigarette and asks her if she wants one. She says yes, mainly to quell her nerves. If they were in the office right now, there wouldn’t be any nerves. It’s the change of venue and possibly the excitement of buying her own car that’s causing her anxiety.


“You’re smiling,” he says.

“I was thinking about Rosie. I told you about her. She almost always makes me smile.”

“Why is that?”

“She’s a little zany, and she wants to have fun. If she were still living next door, and I drove up with the new Buick, she’d shriek with happiness. She’d want to put all our kids in the backseat and go for a ride and let our hair blow in the wind and smoke cigarettes.”

“You must miss her.”

“I do.”

He puts money on the table.

“No, it’s my treat,” she says.

“Okay,” he says, withdrawing the cash.

Grace fetches seventy-five cents from her purse.

He stands. “Let’s go take your new car for a spin. I’ll leave mine here. You’re driving.”


Having adjusted the seat so that it suits her, she maneuvers out of the city. The doctor leans back.

“Where shall I go?” she asks.

“Get us out of the city, and then take Route Nine again,” he says. “We’ll head toward Kennebunkport.”

She follows his directions.

“Now bring it up to thirty-five,” he instructs.

“I don’t want to get a ticket my first time out.”

“You won’t.”

Grace brings it up to speed and lets the Buick go. She’s too nervous to turn on the radio or the heater. Her hands feel as though they’re cemented onto the steering wheel.

“Take it to forty.”

“Speeding tickets are expensive.”

“I know. Trust me. How does it feel?”

“Good.”

He laughs. “You’re supposed to be thrilled.”

“I’m too nervous to be thrilled.”

“I can see that. Here.” He holds out a lit cigarette. Grace reluctantly lets go of the wheel to take it, and then again when she wants a puff. “Now hit fifty-five,” he says, “and roll down your window.”

She holds the steering wheel with her right hand, which has a cigarette in it, and rolls her window down. The cold air blasts into the car and lifts her hair.

“Relax,” he says. “Smoke your cigarette, let your hair blow around, and think of Rosie.”


When they reach the town limits of Kennebunkport, Grace reverses direction and heads back to Biddeford.

“Wait a sec,” John says, reaching into his coat pocket. “I wrote down two addresses from this morning’s paper for apartments that sounded promising. How about you come with me? I could use your opinion.”