The Same Stuff as Stars

Angel switched on the light by the door.

“You thinking of running out on me?”

“No.”

“Then why are you standing by the kitchen door wearing your winter coat?”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that.” Grandma’s gray hair was out of its daytime bun and was streaming down her shoulders, making her look like a witch in a bad movie.

“I—I couldn’t sleep. I just thought—”

“You lying to me?”

“Why should I lie to you?” Angel could hear the lie in her own voice, but maybe Grandma would be fooled.

“I don’t know,” said Grandma, shaking her head. “It happens.” She went toward the rocker, moving as though she were a hundred years old instead of eighty. She eased herself down and then looked up at Angel, still standing by the door, the lie pasted all over her face.

“Make us some tea, won’t you, angel girl?”

“Sure.”

“And take off that dratted jacket. It scares me.” Her voice was almost a whimper.

They sat there, drinking the scalding tea, not speaking, Angel sinking into shame. It was just like the times she had let Bernie down, making him scared that she, too, would desert him, when she never would have. He had to know that. Even now. He wouldn’t think that she had wanted to be left behind, would he? Had Verna told him that Angel was tired of looking after him and that was why...

The tiredness of the last few days had seeped into her bones. She felt almost too hea

vy to climb the stairs and go to bed, but what else was there to do? Wayne left, then Verna, then Bernie, and now the star man—all gone without a word.

“I’m going to bed now, Grandma,” she said.

“Yeah,” the old woman said, but she didn’t make a move out of her chair.

EIGHTEEN

Falling Stars

The next afternoon when she got off the bus, she felt the man’s presence before she saw him. He seemed taller than he did in jail, as he stepped out of the trees beside the road.

“Angel?”

“Daddy?” She squinted her eyes at him, hardly believing what she saw. He was supposed to be in jail, not here. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sort of like on parole,” he said, blinking his eyes and cocking his head like Bernie did when he was set to defy her. “You sounded upset on the telephone, so I thought I better come.”

“Parole?”

“Yeah.” He gave a smirk. “For good behavior.” She stood unmoving in the road, not knowing what to say or think. Was he lying to her?

“Ain’t you going to give your daddy a hug?” he asked, coming toward her. She wanted to run, but how could she run from him, her own daddy? She put her arms loosely around his shirt, which smelled like sweat and tobacco. He seemed not to notice how quickly she stepped back. “I’ll tell Grandma you’re here,” she said, turning away from him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. She don’t like me much. I got a friend going to pick me up later. Maybe I’ll just stay in the trailer till he gets here.”

“You can’t do that.” Her voice was sharper than she’d meant it to be. “Someone else lives there now.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, I guess it’ll have to be the sugar shack, then. You could bring me out something to eat, couldn’t you?” He gave a short laugh. “I’m like to starve.” So he had run away and was expecting her to hide him. She wanted to tell him to go away, to go back to wherever he was supposed to be, before the cops came pounding on the door again, before what little was left of her world got broken into a million pieces. Instead, she walked beside him up the driveway, with his left hand on her right shoulder. She was sure the weight of it would leave a mark, like a handprint, right through her jacket and sweatshirt and onto her skin. “Sooner the better. I’m ready to eat a horse.” He squeezed her shoulder before he let go and headed for the sugar shack.