The Same Stuff as Stars

“Said the potato.”

Angel made herself giggle. When Verna made a joke, she liked people to laugh.

“I have a feeling,” Verna said, “there’s a fast-food heaven around here somewhere.”

She turned left, and, sure enough, within a mile or so they came upon the familiar herd of arches, huts, buckets of chicken, and burger joints. Verna pulled into the first one and hopped out, yelling as she did so, “C’mon, kids. Time to eat.”

“Bernie’s still asleep, Mama.”

“Just leave him in the truck, then. We’ll bring something out.”

“You can’t do that!” Honestly, sometimes she felt older than Verna. Everybody knew you couldn’t leave a little kid unattended in a vehicle.

“Well, you wake him up. I’ll be inside.” She slammed the driver-side door and marched into the restaurant, leaving two kids unattended in a vehicle. Verna’s mood changed faster than Vermont weather.

“Wake up, Bernie!” Angel shook his arm. “We’re at McDonald’s.”

Bernie was not about to wake up. Angel shook him harder and yelled and threatened. Finally, he opened his eyes partway. “Shuddup,” he said grumpily.

“You want Mama and me just to leave you out here while we eat?” Unbuckling both their seat belts, she reached across him and opened the door. “Get out, Bernie.”

“Umm,” he muttered.

She climbed over him to the running board and began yanking at his arm. “Get out this minute, Bernie Elvis Morgan, or I’m telling you, you’ll be sorry. Mama’s so mad she might just leave you here forever.” The lie worked. Bernie’s eyes fluttered open. He grunted and climbed out of the pickup. She pushed down the lock, slammed the door, and, with Bernie stumbling after her, went inside.

For a moment, she didn’t see Verna. Maybe she had left them. No, there she was in a booth. Angel dragged Bernie over. “I got you kids Happy Meals,” Verna said. She didn’t seem too happy about it.

When he heard “Happy Meals,” Bernie came wide awake. “I don’t want a Happy Meal.”

“Well, they was clean out of elephants. Sit down and eat.” It was the tone of voice that even Bernie obeyed.

“You get a toy in a Happy Meal,” Angel whispered.

Bernie scowled.

“You can have mine, too.”

“And your fries?”

Angel handed over the toy, then the fries, without watching. She was looking at her mother, who had not ordered a steak. They didn’t have them at McDonald’s, did they? Mama had nothing in front of her worn-out face but a cup of coffee about a foot high. She was barely sipping at it.

“You okay, Mama?”

“Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be? I got a husband in jail and two kids around my neck and I’m heading right back to—Bernie Elvis Morgan! Can’t you do nothing right?” Verna slid to the left and jumped to her feet in one quick motion. Bernie had knocked his soda over, and it was pouring across the tabletop right toward where her lap had been. Angel ran for napkins and came back with a handful. Bernie’s face was scrunched up, ready to bawl.

“Don’t cry, Bernie,” Angel begged as she tried desperately to sop up the sticky liquid. “You can have mine.”

“I’ll see you kids in the truck.” Verna snatched her purse off the table and stomped out.

“Get up, Bernie.” Angel was frantic. “Here, take your Happy Meal. You can eat in the truck.” She dropped the sopping napkins on the table, grabbed what was left of her burger in one hand and her mother’s coffee in the other, and, half pushing Bernie ahead of her, hurried to the truck. It was still there. She went around to the driver’s side. “I brought your coffee, Mama.”

Verna rolled down her window and took the Styrofoam cup, nodding a begrudging thanks. She was furious. “He didn’t mean to, Mama,” Angel said. “He was tired and sleepy. It was my fault. I made him come in.”

“I swear, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you kids.”

“We’ll be good, Mama. Could you—could you please unlock the other door?”

“Oh, for pity sake, Angel.” She stretched over and pulled up the button.