The Stars Are Fire by Anita Shreve

Author:Anita Shreve
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2017-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

Snow

Against the windows, the snow falls in dry sheets. The wind thumps at the front of the house, and from some of the rooms Grace can hear it howl. She prepares a fire, but won’t light it until the power goes out, nearly inevitable in a nor’easter. Her mother collects all the candles she can find and sets them in holders or sticks them to dessert plates by lighting the wicks and letting hot wax drip to the dishes. Grace checks the cupboards and refrigerator for food and supplies and decides that Aidan has done a good job of provisioning the house. They can live on what they have for at least five days.

Aidan. She puts her forehead to the cold glass of the window. She wants to howl like the wind.

She won’t wash Aidan’s sheets until the storm is over. If she did, and the machine stopped mid-wash, the linens would be coated with soap for days. Alone, in a darkened corner, she lifts the bundle to her face. She can smell Aidan on them. Would she be able to smell herself? She is tempted to look for evidence of their time together, but she drops the sheets to the floor.

She pictures the train he was on moving away from the storm as it made its way toward Boston. There, she imagines, he will walk to his audition if he can’t find a taxi. She glances at her watch: 11:20. How many hours since he made love to her? Thirteen?

—

By two o’clock in the afternoon, two feet of snow has fallen. When the sun sets, three feet push against the sides of the house. All day, Grace has been shoveling to keep the steps and a short path clear, though what good it will do them, she can’t imagine. It’s a path to nowhere—not to a car, not to the street. She supposes she ought to have shoveled to the barn, but for what purpose?

She has a wild and desperate urge to put on her coat and hat and gloves and slide down to the street and walk south in hopes of catching a ride to Boston. Can it be done?

The snow is too deep and she wouldn’t be able to tell the road from the beach. She might wander into the sea. She might lose her balance in the blizzard and fall into a snowbank and die there.

She has children.

—

The onset of evening begins well enough—the snow has been steady—but by seven o’clock, the wind picks up again, and shortly after that, the electricity stops. A tree, perhaps weakened by the fire, has fallen onto an electric wire.

“We’re in it now,” her mother says.

—

Grace tucks Claire into a soft armchair and sees apprehension in her daughter’s face. “Mommy, stay next to me.” Grace kneels on the floor to rub her daughter’s back until she falls asleep. Grace has made a nest for Tom and herself with a pile of rugs on the floor in front of the fire screen.

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