The Same Stuff as Stars (8 page)

 

 

EIGHT

When she woke, the sun was streaming through the small window. For a minute Angel couldn't remember where she was. Stars. There was something about stars, a dream of stars and a strange man who knew them all by name. A little thrill went through her body, and then she looked down at the patchwork cover, and the crazy quilt of a day that had brought her to this house and to this bed came rushing to mind. She sat up and craned her neck, trying to see into the room across the hall, but she couldn't see well enough to tell for sure whether someone was in the bed or not.

She made her way around Bernie, gently snoring in his bed, and crossed to the room that was meant to be Verna's. The door hung slightly open. Was that the way Angel had left it last night? She was sure she had shut it, which would mean...She pushed it gently with her fingertips. It creaked. She held her breath. There was no one in the bed. It had not been slept in. She lifted the quilt. Verna hadn't even put sheets on the bed. No use trying to fool herself. Verna had not returned last night.

She went back into her bedroom—she would have to get used to thinking of it as hers, hers and Bernie's—and pulled on her clothes, all the while keeping an eye on Bernie's curled-up hump. Grizzle had fallen onto the floor and was staring up at her with his big button eyes, as though asking what in the world had happened that he should suffer so. She picked him up, dusted him with her hand, and then tucked him under the cover beside Bernie. The boy shifted slightly, as though making room.

From down in the kitchen came the sound of heavy footsteps. Grandma was up and about. Good. She hated to think that the old woman spent her entire life in that rocker. With her sneakers in her hand, she crept down the stairs. At the bottom she paused long enough to shove her sockless feet into the loosely tied sneakers. She wiped her hands on the back of her jeans.

Grandma turned from the stove as Angel came into the room. “You're up, eh?”

She nodded.

“Well, make yourself useful.”

She wanted to, she really did, but she had no idea what the old woman would want her to do. She was scared to ask questions like “Where is the cereal?” There probably wasn't any.

“You know where the spoons are, don't you?”

“Yes,” she answered and hurried over to get three out and put them on the table.

“Looks like Santy Claus brung you some breakfast things,” Grandma said, waving at a brown bag sitting on the counter. “See what you can find in there.” She plopped herself into the rocker. “I'm wore out already and I ain't even made my coffee.”

“I can make coffee.” Angel said it before she realized that making coffee at Grandma's might be different from making it in the apartment.

“It's just the powder kind,” Grandma said, waving at the hot plate. “The water's probably hot enough.”

There was a jar of instant coffee open on the counter, and beside it a stained saucerless cup. Angel got another spoon and carefully put a heaping spoonful into the cup. An old wooden-handled kettle was noisily gurgling on the hot plate. She took it off and carefully poured the water into the cup. She could tell at once that the water hadn't really boiled; the coffee was a funny cloudy color. Verna would have poured it down the sink. “Do you want milk or sugar?” she asked timidly.

“Three spoons of sugar and a splash of milk, if there's some in that bag over there.”

Angel found the sugar pretty quickly. It was near the stove in a big canister with a handmade label that said
SUGAR.
She looked into the grocery bag, and sure enough, there was a half gallon of 2 percent milk and a box of sugared cereal—not Sugar Pops, but maybe Bernie wouldn't mind too much. At least it would be a change from beans and canned peaches.

Angel handed Grandma the cup, trying to figure out how to ask about Verna. She could have asked right out, but anxious as to what the answer might be, she put off asking, busying herself by putting the milk into the fridge.

“That brother of yours always sleep this late?”

“I guess he was pretty tired.”

“I heard you scurrying around like a little mouse last night. What was you up to?”

“I heard the pickup. It woke me up.”

“So you went chasing after that woman, eh?”

How was Angel to answer that? “I guess she left some things behind that she had to go get.”

Grandma made a funny sound with her lips that sounded like “Pagh!”

“Bernie'll be worried when he wakes up and she's not here.”

“I know just how Bernie might feel. I was somewhat agitated myself,” she said, rocking so hard Angel feared the coffee would come sloshing out of the cup onto her lap.

“Didn't she tell you she was leaving?” Angel couldn't keep the worry out of her voice.

“Not in so many words. I guess I shoulda known, but I ain't as sharp”—Grandma tapped her temple—“as I once was. That Verna pulled a fast one, all right.”

“I'm sure she'll be back soon,” Angel said, her stomach plunging.

“Yeah?” Grandma leaned forward, bracing her feet on the floor. “Then what was all that about how she had to get on with the rest of her life? I think that worthless girl just deserted her husband in jail
and
dumped her two kids on an old woman hardly got the strength to take care of herself anymore. Oh Lordy, like they say, history repeats itself. Just like that useless daughter-in-law of mine, running off and leaving me with Wayne, and him hardly more than a baby.”

“Verna wouldn't leave us! I swear she wouldn't. She loves Bernie and me!”

“Not near as much as she loves Verna Morgan.”

“What you yelling about?” Bernie was standing in the doorway, one arm clutching the blue bear, the other fist rubbing his nose.

“You're up, Bernie.”

“Where's Mama?” He was looking around the kitchen. When his gaze got to Grandma, she humphed and looked down at her cup. He turned back to Angel. “I said, Where's Mama?”

“She just had to run back to the apartment and clean it out and stuff,” Angel said, daring Grandma to contradict her. “She'll be back as soon as she can.” To her relief, he seemed content with her answer, at least for now. “Want some cereal? It's not Sugar Pops, but it's just as good.”

He sat down where she indicated he should and let the bear slide to the floor beside him. Angel picked it up, started to dust it off, and, thinking better of that, arranged the bear in the chair next to Bernie. She opened the box and shook out a bowlful of cereal, poured milk on it, and handed him the bowl and a spoon. “Here.”

“I need sugar.”

“It's already got sugar, Bernie. It's coated with sugar. You don't need any more. It's bad for your teeth.”

“I
do
need some more.” She couldn't afford to have him upset, so she put on a scant teaspoonful from the sugar jar.

“Spoiled as last year's apples, that boy,” the old woman muttered. Angel ignored her.

If Bernie was spoiled, it was probably all her fault. She wanted him to be happy, that was all. He got unhappy so quickly. She poured herself a bowl of the pink sugared balls, remembering to put the milk away in the fridge before sitting down across from Bernie. He wasn't eating.

“Yuck,” he said. “It tastes terrible.”

“Do you want
beans,
then?” She kept her tone low but fierce.

He shook his head and bent over the bowl.

Whatever was she going to do with him? With herself, for that matter? It wasn't fair. What could Verna be thinking of, leaving her and Bernie here? She forced herself to chew the too-sweet soggy blobs. The cereal smelled like perfume. She wanted to stop eating it, but whenever she started to put down the spoon, she could feel Bernie watching her. Finally, she whispered across the table to him, “It's all there is right now, Bernie. I know Mama will bring you some Sugar Pops when she comes back.”

He squinched his face into a hard little knot.

“Try to be good,” she pleaded softly. “Ple-e-eeze.”

He didn't say anything, but to her relief, he took another bite of the terrible cereal.

When they finished, or almost finished, they'd both left a half-dozen sodden lumps swimming in the now pink milk at the bottom of the bowl. Angel stood up and said loudly, “I'll just rinse these out, all right, Bernie? Then you and me can go outside and play for a while.”

He looked at her in a puzzled way but didn't speak. Instead, he reached over and dragged the bear to himself. The right thumb went into his mouth. She gave her head a little shake, but he was not to be denied this comfort.

“How old are you, boy?” Grandma's sharp voice exclaimed. “I never saw such a big boy with his thumb jammed down his throat.”

Angel moved more quickly to the sink. She poured the rest of the pink milk into it without bothering to strain out the lumps. Quickly rinsing the bowls, she put them face-down on the counter beside the sink. “Okay, Bernie. Ready to go out?”

“I'm still in my jammies.”

She started to say that in the country it didn't matter if he was in his birthday suit, but she thought better of it. “Okay. Upstairs, then.”

He was no help as she tried to get his pajamas off and urge him into his clothes. He insisted on holding on to the bear, and she had to yank it from his grasp before she could get his pajama sleeve off. Putting on his T-shirt was impossible.

“Want a new T-shirt?” she asked.

“No.”

“Okay. I was going to give you my genuine Disney World Goofy T-shirt, but since you don't...”

“Okay. Okay. Okay. I'll take it.”

She got the shirt out of her suitcase. “You don't get it unless you put Grizzle down long enough for me to put it on you.”

“Okay,”
he said, as though angry that he had to do this huge favor for her. He threw the bear on the floor.

“You keep dropping Grizzle on the floor and he might just run away from home.” It was out of her mouth before she thought. She could see his face cloud up, and then he began to cry. Not loud, like a tantrum, but little sucking, sobbing sounds as though his heart would break.

“I told you, Bernie,” Angel said, kneeling beside him, putting her arms around him and pulling him close. “I told you, she's just gone for a little while. She'll be back soon.”

“No, she won't,” he blubbered into the T-shirt. “She's run away and she's never coming back. Never. Never. Never.” He gulped and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “And it's all my fault, 'cause I was bad.”

“She is coming back, Bernie. I promise. And you weren't bad.”

“I was. I was. I was. I wanted a milk shake. She promised me a milk shake. That's why I was so bad. She
promised.
”

“I know, Bernie. I know. But people can't always keep their promises. Even when they want to.” She remembered too late that
she
had just promised that Mama would come home soon. “But Mama
will
come home soon. That's a really true promise. I promise you.”

He looked up at her suspiciously. “How do you know it's true?”

“I just know it, okay? Here.” She looked around for a tissue box and, seeing none, dug into her jeans pocket and found a tissue mostly in shreds. She wiped his runny nose with it the best she could. He didn't resist as she finished dressing him.

***

“Now what?” asked Bernie as they stood outside in the bright sunshine of the yard, looking over at piles of junk and the old broken-down shed. It was a good question.

“Bernie, we are on a make-your-own adventure.”

“What's that?”

“Well, I read about it in this book at school. You find yourself someplace weird and you, well, you just look around and decide what to do next. Then what you decide leads you into a big adventure.”

“I don't want to play that,” he said, sticking his thumb back into his mouth.

“Okay. Then I'll just go off and play by myself.” Angel started toward the pasture. In the daylight she could see that it lay beyond what had been once a rail fence. Most of the rails lay rotting on the ground. In daytime there would be nothing to see in the pasture, no stars, no planets, but it was safer to walk around in than this junk-filled yard.

“Wait!” he said. She turned.

Bernie was running toward her in a zigzag pattern around the junk, dragging poor Grizzle in the dirt behind him.

“Why don't we leave Grizzle here while we go on our adventure?”

“No!” he said. “Grizzle would hate that. He'd be scared.”

“Okay, but don't drag him around, okay? He's getting filthy.”

Bernie looked down at the bear. “He's too heavy to carry.”

“Well, let me carry him, then.”

Reluctantly, he handed over the bear. “You won't ever leave him, will you?”

“No, I promise.” That word again. Luckily, he let it pass.

The pasture was much smaller than it had seemed to her last night. There were no cows or sheep in it, as there had been in the pastures they passed yesterday. The grass was stubby, and the occasional prickle bush dotted the hilly ground. There was no sign that the farm on Morgan Farm Road existed anymore. There wasn't even a barn. Just the old house, the junk-filled yard, the broken-down trailer, and the small, empty field, which was beautiful at night but poor and scrabbly in daylight. On the far side of the field there was a wood, but she didn't feel adventurous enough to lead Bernie and Grizzle into the woods. What if they got lost? They'd never be able to find their way back.

“I don't like it here,” Bernie said, reaching for Grizzle. “There's nothing to do and nothing to eat and nobody to play with. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.” He rubbed his cheek against the blue plush.

“Sure there is, Bernie. I choose the adventure of going into the yard and trying to discover hidden treasure.”