The Same Stuff as Stars

He plunked himself on a chair. She left off trying to roll up the metal strip with the phony little key and got him a bowl, filled it with the hated cereal, sprinkled sugar on top, and slopped in milk. “You want a banana with that? We got bananas today.”

She knew he wanted a banana, but he kept his mouth in a line and shook his head.

“Okay. You had your chance.” She handed him a spoon and went back to winding the key around the can.

“Where’s my banana? You said I could have a banana.”

The key broke off in her hand, leaving the wretched metal strip less than half pulled off. “Dammit, Bernie, look what you made me do!” Her hands were gucky with the juice seeping out of the partially opened can. “Get your own stupid banana.”

“You said a bad word,” he muttered, but he got up from his chair and fetched himself a banana.

Now what was she supposed to do? If she tried to take the broken metal strip off the key, she was sure to cut herself to ribbons. There probably wasn’t a doctor for miles.

“You could get the pliers out of that bottom drawer and pull it off,” Grandma said. “It’s a pain, but it’ll work if you’re careful.”

She washed her hands under the faucet. Bernie getting his own banana, Grandma making a smart suggestion—speak of minor miracles. “Thanks,” she said to them both, though neither of them acknowledged it.

It was a pain, but she finally unwound the strip from the key, pulled it out of the slot, and started winding up the strip still left on the can as slowly and carefully as possible. No one spoke. They all seemed to be holding their breath. “There!” she cried. “I got it.”

Grandma clapped her hands. Bernie looked up from his banana, which he was eating monkeylike between bites of cereal. “What’s the big deal?” he asked, but he was having to try hard to keep from grinning.

Angel lifted the slimy pink meat out of the can. She had to wash her hands again before she could slice it.

Grandma was well into her second large slice of ham before she said, “Nothing like fried ham for breakfast.” She was talking with her mouth full, but Angel wasn’t about to correct her manners. The ham was the best thing she’d had to eat since the hamburger on the way here.

“Ever make gravy?” Grandma asked.

“No.” In fact, the only time she could remember having gravy was in a Kentucky Fried place once.

“I think you should learn to make gravy. Me and Bernie would like that.”

“You got a cookbook?”

“Aw, you don’t learn to cook from a book, girl. You just do it.”

Angel sighed. Then you do it, she wanted to say. She waited until she’d carefully swallowed her next bite. “I’m just eleven years old, Grandma. Nobody’s taught me much about cooking from scratch. I usually just make stuff from boxes. Maybe you could make us some gravy.”

“Aw, I ain’t really cooked in so long I can’t hardly remember how to do it.”

“Maybe,” Angel said slowly, “maybe the library has cookbooks. There is a library around here somewhere, isn’t there?”

“Used to be. That little house next to the store. That used to be a liberry. Maybe still is, if that goody-goody Liza Irwin ain’t dead as some might hope.” She took a large bite of ham and chomped down on it as if it were the despised Liza. “I ain’t been in there myself since I was in grade school. Ain’t what you’d call a book lover.”

“Me, neither,” said Bernie, his mouth so stuffed with banana that Angel could hardly understand what he was saying.

“Why don’t me and Bernie go down and see? I know you don’t approve of cooking from a book, but I don’t know any other way to learn, and if I’m supposed to give you and Bernie a well-balanced diet, I got to get some help somewhere.”

***

Bernie whined all the way, but she half cajoled, half dragged him the two miles to the village center. This time she remembered the taxi money, but she didn’t tell him. Better to surprise him with a treat than make a promise that in the end she couldn’t keep.

On the green between the store and the church, there was a tiny house. It was set well back from the other buildings, in line with the graveyard, and she hadn’t even noticed it the last time they had walked down for groceries. “Come on, Bernie. We got to see if it’s open.”

“I want to go to the store.”

“Maybe, if you’re good, we can go after.”

“Now.”