“You got to. See that gun?” The figure had something in his hands, something huge, like the biggest gun Angel had ever seen outside a war movie on TV. A bazooka—that’s what they called them.
“Angel. What if he’s coming to kill us dead?”
She tightened her grip around his shoulders. “Of course he’s not, silly.” She couldn’t stand to see him so afraid. “It’s nothing, I’m sure. But if you like, I’ll just go down and tell Mama, okay?”
“Don’t leave me up here by myself!”
“Okay, but you got to be quiet. Let me do the talking. Promise?”
“Yeah, I promise.” He didn’t object when she took his hand.
As they sidled down the narrow staircase, the voices from the kitchen grew louder. Verna’s voice came through clearly. “Just for a few days, I swear,” she was saying. “No more than a week.”
Angel froze on the next-to-bottom step. She strained to make out the words of the reply, but they were muffled and impossible to understand.
“I got a little cash,” Verna said next. “Enough to cover food for the week.”
What does Verna mean about a week? She told us this was our new home.
Mumble. Mumble.
“Well, I can’t be responsible for Wayne. You raised him. I didn’t.” Verna’s voice was shrill as a crow squawk.
Bernie punched Angel in the ribs. “Go on, Angel. You got to tell her.”
“I can’t, Bernie. I think they’re having a fi—important discussion.”
“Then I’ll tell her.”
She tried to stop him, but he was too quick for her. He jerked loose, darted around her, and raced into the kitchen, waving his arms. “Mama! Mama!” he cried. “There’s a man out there with a big gun and he’s going to kill us all dead!”
Verna spun around, her mouth still open for whatever she had planned to say next, obviously furious at being interrupted. “What’s the matter with you, Bernie? What are you doing down here?” She looked over his head to Angel, still standing in the doorway. “What do you mean coming down here when I told you to stay upstairs?”
“I told you already, Mama,” Bernie cried. “There’s a man out there with a big gun!”
“I never heard such fool talk in my life. Get back up those stairs this minute!”
Bernie made a dash for the rocker. “She won’t never believe me,” he said to the old woman. “I did see him. I did. I did.”
Grandma stuck a hand out of the blankets and put it on Bernie’s head. “Calm down, boy. That was probably just Santy Claus out there with some big old toy.”
“Santa Claus? Really?” Bernie turned to look at Angel, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. For a minute he was caught up in the idea, but then he turned back to the rocker. “How could it be Santa Claus? It ain’t even Christmas.”
“You never know about old Santy Claus. Maybe he’s just scouting you out—seeing where you got yourself off to. He’s got to keep track of all the kiddies, you know.”
“Yeah. He’s got to know where I moved to, right?”
“You got it, boy.”
“I guess he’d be mad if he knew we was spying on him.”
“You got that right. Santy Claus is like some of the rest of us.” She turned to look at Verna. “He don’t want nobody poking into his private business.”
Angel didn’t know what to do. The old woman was as crazy as Bernie. “He really did see someone, Mama,” she said.
“I don’t care what he thinks he saw. I want you kids to stop your nonsense and get up those stairs before I take a belt—”
“I’m hungry.” Bernie was leaning against the rocker, looking into the old face, his voice sweet as pure maple syrup.
“Don’t you ever feed these children, Verna?”
“’Course I feed them.”
“Not supper,” Bernie said. “And I still ain’t had my milk shake.”
The old woman slowly unwrapped her blankets and began to hoist herself out of the chair, looking as though she might just snap into pieces from the effort. “I don’t know what I got. I wasn’t expecting—”
Verna gave another of her fake laughs. “Oh, Grandma, forget it. He always says he’s hungry. It don’t mean nothing. He’s just trying to get attention.” She glared at Bernie, daring him to contradict her. But Bernie wasn’t paying any attention. He was staring at the old woman, who was lifting her body bone by bone from the rocker.
“Angel and me can help, can’t we, Angel?” he said anxiously.
Angel’s eyes darted back and forth between Verna and Grandma. She didn’t know how to answer. Bernie, meantime, had taken Grandma’s hand and was leading her over to the refrigerator. It was small and square and had coils on the top, as ancient as its owner. The old woman opened the door. No light came on. She stuck in her head. Bernie shoved his small one in beside hers.
“Not much in there,” he said. “But you wasn’t expecting us, was you?”
“If someone would have give me a call, I could have sent to the store,” Grandma said.
“Oh, I’ll go to the store,” Verna said impatiently.
“No, you won’t.”
Verna opened her mouth to argue.
“It’s closed.” Grandma took a dish out of the fridge and shut the door. “Angel, whyn’t you look in that cabinet over there? See if they’s beans or anything.”
“I don’t like beans,” Bernie said.
“I thought you said you was hungry. If you ain’t hungry, no sense bothering.”
Angel shook her head toward Bernie before going to the cabinet and opening the door. There were two shelves packed with cans. Cans of pork and beans crowding each other like people pushing to be first in a store sale. Toward the end of the top shelf, the beans turned into peaches. She took out a can of beans. “Want me to heat this up?” she asked, keeping an eye on Verna, who was still puffy with anger.
“That’d be nice. The hot plate is down this ways.” She waved a hand at it. “I don’t want to light the stove for a can of beans. Waste of good firewood.”
“You still cooking on the woodstove, Grandma? I can’t believe it.”
“Some of us ain’t got the money to go out and buy us a fancy propane range.”
Angel stood by the counter with the can in her hand. Should she rummage around in the drawers and cabinets to find a can opener and a saucepan, or should she ask?
“The drawer by the sink, girl, if you’re looking for the opener. Bernie, get down on your knees and find your sister a pan. No, not that door—the next one. That’s it. Yeah, that one will do.”
The can opener was not like the one on the wall at the apartment. While she was still trying to figure it out, Verna came over and took the can and the opener out of her hands. “I’ll do it.” She sighed. “Can you believe this woman?” she muttered. “Here.” She handed Angel the opened can, the jagged lid still hanging on by a narrow spit of metal.
Angel poured the beans into the pot and switched on the hot plate. “Spoon?” she asked the old woman quietly, trying not to get Verna more upset.
“That drawer in front of your belly has the spoons,” Grandma said.
Angel nodded and tried to smile a thank-you before she turned her full attention to heating the beans, stirring them constantly with the old pitted metal spoon. She was terrified she might let them burn and cause even more unhappiness.
Neither Verna nor Grandma ate any beans. At first, Bernie just ate the dish of peaches Grandma had gotten out of the fridge, but after Angel kicked him, he took a bite of beans, squirreling them in his cheeks as he always did with food he didn’t like.
“Chew,” Angel commanded under her breath.
“They’ll probably poison me,” he muttered back. “Chew, Bernie, or else!” She repeated, keeping her voice too low for the women to hear. Grandma had eased her body back down in the rocker, wrapped herself in the blankets, and was rocking away with her eyes half shut. Verna was pacing around, opening cabinet doors and drawers and hum
phing and grunting.
“Okay,” she said suddenly. “Bedtime! Up you go!”
“Bernie hasn’t eaten his beans yet.”
“Well, he’s had plenty of time to. I don’t think Mr. Bernie was as hungry as he let on to be.”
“I wanted a milk shake.”
“Well, I wanted to win the Tri-State Lottery. Go on. I’ll get the bags. I said go on. Angel, take your brother upstairs. Now!”
Angel jumped to her feet. “C’mon, Bernie. You heard Mama.”
His eyes were hard as little BB gun pellets, but he got up and followed Angel up the stairs, stamping his feet on every step to let Verna know what he was thinking of her.
“Stop it, Bernie. You’ll upset your great-grandma. We promised to be nice so she’d let us live here.”
“Was that really Santa Claus out there?” he asked.
“Of course not. Don’t be silly.”
“Then I don’t want to live here.”
“I don’t think we get to choose, Bernie. I think it’s all decided.”
Before long, Verna appeared at the door with sheets in her arms. “Angel, help Bernie get on his PJs. The bathroom is off the kitchen, so you better go now and get it over with for the night.” Bernie was sitting on the side of his bed with his back to her. “What’s the matter, Bernie?”
He didn’t answer. She walked around and sat down beside him. “I said...” Her voice was suddenly gentle. “I said, What’s the matter?” She brushed the hair out of his face.
“I don’t like it here,” he said. “There ain’t no Santa Claus and I hate beans. I want to go home.”
“You’re just going to have to be brave, okay? You’ll get used to it. You’ll like the country. There’s lots to do in the country.”
“What?”
“Well...” she paused as though trying hard to think of something. “Well, you can play outside all you want. There’s no traffic or strangers or—”
“There is, too, strangers. We saw him out the window.”
She made a high-pitched sound like a TV laugh track. “You got the best imagination. I swear.”
“That Grandma woman lied. She said it was Santa Claus.”
“Well, maybe it was Santa Claus. I been wrong before, God knows.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “You be a big brave man for Mama, hear? And stay out of trouble, okay?” She stood up abruptly, her I-mean-business self again. “All right now, Bernie, hop off the bed. Here, Angel, give me a hand with these sheets.”
Bernie dragged Grizzle off the bed by one ear and stood against the wall, sucking his thumb and fingering the bear’s ear while Angel and Mama made both beds.
“Okay,” Verna said, straightening up. “Pajamas, bathroom, bed. And make it quick!” By the time she finished the order they could hear her heels clicking on the stairs.
Angel’s clothes were folded neatly in her suitcase, so she found her pajamas at once. She was ready to go down while Bernie was still churning stuff around in the big brown case. “Stop that, Bernie! You’ll mess everything up.”
“No, I won’t,” Bernie said. “It’s my stuff and I can mess it up all I want to. Here they are. See? You didn’t think I could find them and I did. So there.”
They crept down the stairs.
Verna was sitting in a kitchen chair, smoking a cigarette. Grandma was still rocking. Didn’t she ever do anything else? “We got to go to the bathroom,” Angel said.
“Well, hurry,” Verna said.
“Mama, I forgot me and Bernie’s toothbrushes.”
“Didn’t I tell you to check the bathroom? Sheesh. Can’t you remember nothing? You’re eleven years old, Angel. You got to be responsible.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, go on. Get through in the bathroom. We’ll worry about toothbrushes later.”
***
Something woke her up. It was pitch dark with no streetlight to shine through the window. There was the sound of a car. No—the sound of a balky pickup engine starting. Angel sat up in bed. Suddenly, she realized that the clothes in the big suitcase were all Bernie’s. Verna hadn’t brought any of her own clothes. She listened until the noise of the motor died away in the distance.
SEVEN
Star Man
Angel tried to tell herself that Verna had just gone to run an errand. That was it. She’d gone to get some Sugar Pops. Bernie loved Sugar Pops. Wouldn’t Verna want him to have something special, since he never got his milk shake and supper was only canned peaches and beans, which he hated? It would take her a long time to find a store that was still open. She might have to go all the way to a big town like the one where they had all the fast-food places. Little towns wouldn’t have supermarkets that stayed open all night. Angel ought to get some sleep. It would be an hour or so before Verna could get back. No reason to just lie here and worry.
She didn’t bring any clothes. Of course Verna had brought clothes. They were just in another suitcase, not mixed up with Bernie’s. Why would she pack her things with Bernie’s? She’d want to keep them neat and—Well, Angel hadn’t actually seen another suitcase, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. There’d been plenty of time for Verna to pack one and put it in the back of the pickup when Angel was busy packing or seeing to Bernie. How come she left the pots and pans behind? How come she didn’t bring the almost-new TV?
Angel flung herself over and yanked the quilt up to her neck. Even though it was summer and the room was hot, she felt cold. It was one thing to leave your kids in an all-night diner by mistake. It was something else to leave them in the country on purpose. That would be too much like Hansel and Gretel. She’s gone back to pack everything up and clear out of the apartment. She couldn’t do that with Bernie hanging on to her and whining. That’s what it was. Why, she’ll be back by nighttime tomorrow; or by the next day at the very latest. Yeah, and what was that about “one week at the most”? Okay, maybe a week. It takes a while to really move out of a place you’ve been in for nearly a year.
Angel turned to the other side. It was no use. She wouldn’t be able to sleep. Well, at least Bernie was still asleep. He didn’t know Mama was gone. Oh Lord, what would happen when he found out? She wouldn’t tell him. When he woke up tomorrow, she’d just say that Verna had to go to Burlington to clean out the apartment and that she’d be back soon. Meanwhile, she wanted them to be good and help their great-grandma.
Maybe they should just call the old lady Grandma. She was really Wayne’s grandma, not hers and Bernie’s, but Great-grandma took so long to say and sounded funny anyhow. Bernie seemed to like her—well, as much as Bernie liked any stranger. At least he wasn’t scared of her. Angel had thought at first he might be. Good thing she’d remembered in time and hadn’t told him the rest of the story of Hansel and Gretel. She wished she hadn’t remembered it herself. This house wasn’t made of gingerbread, that was for sure. Somehow she had to persuade Grandma to buy something besides canned peaches and pork and beans. She didn’t seem to care a mosquito bite about proper nutrition, and since Bernie wasn’t going to eat the beans, he’d only be eating one of the five major food groups. A little boy was likely to get sickly and die eating only canned peaches.
Shoot, Verna would be back long before that. She’d come with huge grocery bags full of good, nutritious things to eat. You’re nothing but a worrywart, Angel That’s what Verna always said, and Angel did worry too much. She knew that. But she couldn’t help it.
Maybe she should check Verna’s bed. How could she be sure that was Verna’s pickup she’d heard, anyway? It might belong to the guy she and Bernie had seen in the yard. Grandma must have known who he was. She wasn’t worried a bit about someone prowling around. That was it. The truck she heard belonged to Grandma’s Santy Claus. What was the matter with the old woman that she couldn’t just say right out who it was? You had to admit she was a little weird—not scary weird, but old-lady weird.
Angel turned over in bed again. She really couldn’t sleep. Maybe she sh
ould check Verna’s bed and, if it was empty, go downstairs just to make sure Verna wasn’t down there or outside smoking a cigarette or something. It was stupid to get all upset over nothing. And it would be nothing. Even if she had forgotten them in the diner that time, Verna wasn’t going to run off and leave them like some silly teenage mother who didn’t care. She loved Angel and Bernie, even if she did get mad at them sometimes.
You couldn’t blame Verna for getting mad. She had a hard life. Wayne was in jail, so she had to earn enough money to take care of all three of them, and it wasn’t easy getting a good job when you were a high school dropout with two kids and your husband was in jail. She was bound to get tired and worn down and lose her temper. Anybody would.
Angel slipped out from under the quilt and tiptoed around Bernie’s bed. He had thrown his covers off and was sleeping on his back with his mouth open, making little squeaky noises. Angel pulled the quilt up and patted his shoulder. He grabbed the quilt and turned over with a big sigh.
At the door across the hall she peered in. The bedclothes were flat on the double bed. No Verna there. She patted around for the stair rail and felt her way carefully down the almost black staircase. The kitchen was dark and empty. Grandma had gotten out of her rocker and gone to bed. Maybe Verna had gone outside. Lots of times she went outdoors to smoke, especially when Angel reminded her of the dangers of secondhand smoke.
She crept over to the door. The floor creaked. She stopped, but there was no noise from behind the closed door to what must be Grandma’s bedroom. She turned the knob of the kitchen door and pulled. See? It wasn’t locked. If Grandma wasn’t expecting Verna back soon, she would have locked the door, wouldn’t she?
Verna was nowhere to be seen. There was no sign of the pickup, either. Angel walked farther out into the yard, just to make sure. And then for no reason at all she looked up and gasped.
She had never seen such a sight in her life. The sky was alive with stars. Some places were just great splotches of brilliant light. There wasn’t just one star to wish on, there was a whole sky full. They blinked and gleamed as though they were inviting her to send a million wishes up to them.