Bernie was watching entirely too much television. Angel knew about the evils of too much TV for kids. It was like getting only sugar in your mental diet—like not eating all the five major food groups. Ms. Hallingford, Angel’s fifth-grade teacher, was big on the major food groups. She’d also said TV could be a really serious hindrance in a child’s mental development, in the same way not eating right could stunt your physical growth. Angel grabbed the remote and punched the red button.
“Hey!”
“Go wash your face before Mama comes in here and beats your bottom shiny!” She shouldn’t threaten him, she knew, but sometimes it was the only way to make him behave.
“I hate you,” he said, stomping out of the room and down the hall. Angel waited until she could hear the water running before she yanked open the closet door.
Under the clothes rod, pushed back against the wall, was a partly purple dresser. Verna had started painting it, but she’d never finished covering up the old green paint. Angel got out her best jeans and a clean T-shirt, the pink one, so Daddy would know she’d tried to please him. He always said he liked to see his angel girl wearing pink.
She was zipping up her pants when Verna appeared in the door. “Ain’t you kids ready yet?”
“Almost.” Angel began hurriedly to fold up the sheets. “Here,” said Verna, grabbing the tab and heaving the couch back into place. “Bernie!” she yelled. Bernie stuck his head in the doorway. His face was as dirty as if it had never seen the back of a washrag. “Just look at you. And you, too, Angel. Take off them jeans. Least you could do was put on a dress.”
“Oh, Mama.”
“Don’t you
start whining. I am seriously not in the mood. C’mere, boy. I’ll show you how to wash a face.”
Angel could hear Bernie howling from the bathroom as she put the sheets in the top drawer and slid a dress off one of the metal hangers. The dress was almost too small, and it didn’t have any pockets, but with Verna in one of her moods there was no point arguing. She slipped off her jeans, took the money out of her pocket, and put it in her sock. She needed to be prepared—ever since that time Verna had forgotten and left her and Bernie at the all-night diner. That meant always wearing the apartment key on a string around her neck and carrying enough cash to get a taxi home. It was too embarrassing otherwise, strangers pawing all over you and clucking and threatening to call the cops on your parents.
“Okay,” yelled Verna, dragging a still whimpering Bernie down the hall. “I’m leaving,” she said on the way down the back steps.
Angel grabbed up her sneakers and ran sock-footed out the door. She could hear Verna grinding the pickup’s balky ignition. Halfway to the truck, she realized that she hadn’t locked up. She ran back, reopened the door, turned the catch, and slammed hard. By the time she had tested the knob to make sure it had locked, Verna was gunning the motor. Angel raced across the small, weedy yard. She was panting when she climbed up into the cab of the pickup and slid in beside Bernie. The truck began backing down the driveway while she was still pulling the door to. She hurried to fasten Bernie’s seat belt and then her own before they turned the corner into traffic.
She sneaked a glance at Verna across Bernie’s head. As usual, Mama had forgotten to buckle up. She wanted to remind Verna to fasten her belt, but she didn’t. Verna was in such a snit. It was better not to say anything.
***
They were late, so the parking lot was already jammed. Angel leaned forward, anxious. If Verna couldn’t find a spot right away, she was apt to just turn around and go home. It was funny. As little as she wanted to come, Angel felt somehow that they had to, that something awful happened those Saturdays they didn’t. There was nothing she could put her finger on, just a feeling that they must come, they had to come or else....The else part was cloudy but seemed very real to her. Like money they owed somebody and had to pay regularly, or every Saturday there’d be some terrible punishment for their failure. Besides, there was Bernie’s awful star wish last night. She’d have to work hard to make up for that.
“I see one!” she cried out.
“Where?” Verna slammed on the brakes, throwing Angel and Bernie forward against their seat belts.
“There—beside the Buick.”
“Huh. That ain’t wide enough for a kiddie car.”
But just then a rusting Pontiac behind them on the other side of the lane began to back out. Verna threw the gears into reverse and screeched back to claim it. “C’mon,” she said, hopping out. “We’re late.”
“I—I gotta put on my sneakers.”
“For crying out loud, Angel. You had all morning. Hurry up.”
She hurried as fast as she could. “Okay, Bernie,” she said, unbuckling his seat belt before opening her door and jumping to the pavement. “Out.”
But Bernie had that stubborn look on his face. “I’ll give you money for a pack of M&M’s if you just come on in.”
She could see him weakening, but he still wasn’t moving. “And a Pepsi,” he said.
“Okay.”
“And potato chips.”
“No.”
He folded his arms across his chest.