The Stars Shine Bright by Sibella Giorello Read Free Book Online

out, making sure Jack noticed her. And I felt a strange sort of gratitude. Painful relief. Because in that last moment his voice reminded me of some slivers of time, when Jack came on the cruise ship and didn’t seem like such a jerk. When he stepped up and revealed some depth. Real depth. I gazed down at my hands again.
    No engagement ring. Nothing but a hospital gown. And a big bunch of lies.
    I listened to them chatting and tried to ignore the goose bumps rising on my arms at the sound of his voice.

Chapter Six
    T he Northwest’s winter, which pulled up its gray flannel blanket of clouds and slumbered through six months of steady drizzle, inoculated Seattle’s population in several significant ways: people here rarely carried umbrellas, they refused to cancel outdoor events due to bad weather, and they seemed only mildly disappointed when the rain once again reared its head and poured during summer.
    But since Raleigh David wasn’t from Seattle, I carried a chic black umbrella. Just before 10:00 a.m. on Wednesday, I hurried through the morning rain and watched a practice run of thoroughbreds alongside the track’s white rail. Thundering hooves shook the ground as I made my way to the grandstands, closed the umbrella, and climbed up the concrete stairs. The rain pattered on the metal roof overhead, sounding like fingers drumming impatiently for the first race. The regulars streamed from the public entrances, slipping into habitual seats. Men, mostly, they ranged from middle-aged to elderly and toted betting sheets and brown bags, their hooded eyes dull, almost dead. But a second glance revealed just how carefully cultivated that morbidity was, how each of them had erected a defensive wall to live with the inextinguishable spark of suspicion.
    When I reached the top of the stairs, a track official in a green blazer smiled and made an extravagant gesture of tapping his watch before pulling open the door where a small sign warned Members Only Beyond This Point.
    â€œYou better hurry,” he said. “She’s up there waiting.”
    I sprinted the flight of stairs, glancing at my watch. But the engagement ring caught my eye. The peridot gems looked murky, a rheumy olivine, and clouds had gathered in the citrine stones, as if the morning sky had settled into the yellow quartz. I was still running up the stairs as I rubbed the stones on Raleigh David’s fine slacks, feeling somewhere between foolish and guilty—foolish because I rubbed the ring while wishing like it was Aladdin’s lamp; guilty because this seemed to be a sign about my decision not to tell my fiancé about the barn fire. The news would only upset him, waiting for me to come home to Virginia, waiting for us to get married and start a family. But the cruise to Alaska had upset those plans. A vacation of solitude and reflection had only strained our relationship further, and two months later we were relying on the U.S. mail. DeMott refused to use computers or cell phones, and I despised talking on the telephone. Once upon a time his old-fashioned attitudes struck me as quaint, ideal for a guy whose family had lived on the same vast estate of land since the 1700s. Now the quill-pen perspective annoyed me. So I rubbed and wished, praying for those once-upon-a-time feelings to come back.
    After giving the ring one final swipe, I stepped into the track’s private dining room. It was 10:01 a.m.
    â€œYou’re late!” Eleanor bellowed.
    The woman’s schedule ticked like a bomb. Every day, at precisely 10:00 a.m., Eleanor ate breakfast in the members-only dining room. Coffee, black. Rye toast, dry. One poached egg, soft yet not fully cooked. A long rectangular space full of white-clothed tables, the dining room had picture windows perched high over the track’s finish line. Sixty feet below, the horses zipped through needles of rain, finishing the final training runs. Somehow the wet weather made the dining