It was a muffin, all right, and for a wonder the bread looked somewhat moist. A fat blueberry peaked enticingly from the bottom of the bite, but Javier stopped himself from eating it. Instead, he held the bite to the light and saw, from its bottom, a long strand of gray hair snaking out. The light caught the hair and turned it silver.
Javier felt a moment of revulsion and chucked the bite into the bushes beside the road. It was no big deal, a hair. Hell, he’d found plenty of stray hairs in his food before, some of them his own. But this…He couldn’t say why, but the thought of picking it out and eating the muffin caused an involuntary hiccup in him. No thanks. Javier looked behind him, saw that Rosie’s house, along with Rosie, was firmly out of sight, and then threw the rest of the muffin off to the side of the road, where it landed with a soft thud in a rain ditch.
2
There was a knock at the door. Star rolled over and looked at the blaring alarm clock by her bed. Six A.M. Not even late enough for the birds to be awake. She pulled the pillow over her head, trying to shut out the sound.
The knock came again. “Star, you up?”
It was Mabel, of course. Star’d barely said a word to her friend last night before collapsing into the guest bed and passing into a deep and, thankfully, dreamless sleep.
Despite all her brave plans, in the end, she hadn’t been able to face her father. Had run here instead, to Mabel and safety.
Now she removed the pillow and sat up.
“Come on in,” she said. “It’s open.”
The door to the bedroom swung inward and Mabel Joyce stepped into the room. She was carrying a large tray.
“Hey,” she said, setting the tray on the floor in front of the bed. The room was a cozy one, its wooden floors covered in a bright blue oriental rug. Star had always loved sleeping here. The tea tray looked right at home on the floor, like a setting for an Indian princess. Mabel positioned herself cross-legged on the rug. “How are you doing?”
“I’m all right,” said Star, slipping the sheet off her legs and moving from the bed to join Mabel on the floor. “What’s all this?”
“I brought you some tea.” Mabel shrugged. “I was up early to help my mom get her stuff packed up for the Festival.”
“What is it this year?” Star asked.
“Cupcakes,” said Mabel. “It took us an hour to get them all into her van. She left just a few minutes ago with them.” Mrs. Joyce was a librarian by profession, but her side hobby was making scented candles shaped like various foods. Each June she set up a booth at the Festival with her current attempt. Last year it had been candles in the shape of a cup of coffee, the wick resting neatly in the center of the cup.
“Think she’ll sell any?” Star asked.
“Doubtful,” Mabel said. “But at least they’re out of the house. Anyway, I’m glad I got up early. I heard you rustling around in here, so I thought you might want to…” Here she paused, ducking her head. “To talk,” she finished. “Not that I’m pressuring you.”
Dear Mabel, Star thought. Her oldest and best friend. Star watched as Mabel took a steaming silver teapot from the tray and poured from it. “Here you go,” she said, handing a cup to Star.
Star took it, breathing in its fragrance. “Thank you,” she said. “It smells wonderful.” She lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled again, not drinking any, just enjoying the lemony scent. Above her, the steady whir of the ceiling fan drummed on, a heartbeat in this small cocoon of friendship that was the two of them. “You’re right,” she said. “I do want to talk.”
“Tell me,” said Mabel, leaning forward and placing her hand on Star’s bare leg. “Tell me everything.”
And there it was, the invitation. Star couldn’t believe she’d kept all of this from Mabel. These past few weeks of hell, Star had hardly talked to Mabel at all. When her friend had called her, Star simply hadn’t called her back. She’d been embarrassed. She couldn’t stand to have Mabel know how bad it was, but that was over. Things were way past that point, and if she’d ever needed an ear, it was now.
“It’s my dad,” Star said, taking a deep breath. The words stuck in her throat. “He’s been acting…strange. Not himself.”
On her leg, Mabel’s hand squeezed tighter. She nodded.
“I had to get out of there.”
Mabel nodded again. “What do you mean, acting strange?”
“He’s been cheating on my mom.”
“Star, your mom is dead,” Mabel said, gently.
“I know.” It hadn’t been what she’d meant to say. “I know that, but I mean, she just died, and he’s bringing these women home. He impresses them by driving around in his work car, even though he quit, and then he brings them home, and Mabel, I think they’re…”
A sudden, brief pain flared on Star’s thigh, and she pulled back quickly from what had gone from a reassuring squeeze to a distinct pinch from Mabel’s hand. “Ouch!”
“Sorry,” said Mabel. She moved her hand back to her own side of the tray. “Go on.”
Star started to, but stopped. She hadn’t really paid Mabel any mind since the girl had come into the room; she’d been so focused on her own worries that she had hardly looked at her friend at all. She did now.
Mabel was wearing short black shorts, and the smallest, tightest T-shirt Star had ever seen. The shirt stopped at the usually overly modest Mabel’s midriff.
“What are you wearing?” Star asked. And was there a smell, too? A smell like bad perfume, coming from her?
Mabel looked down, a smile creeping onto her face. “Oh, this. I was planning on going for a run after we talked. I didn’t want to be hot.”
“Too late,” said Star, grinning. “Is there a guy?”
“Star!”
“There is, isn’t there? You’re going running past some boy’s house.”
“I most certainly am not,” said Mabel, sounding so prim that Star laughed again. But even as she did, the weight of all the previous weeks’ horrors landed full upon her, and she stopped, abruptly.
Mabel studied her with concern. “Are you okay?”
Star took a deep breath. “No,” she said. “I don’t think I am.”
“Tell me,” Mabel said, and this time she leaned so far over the tea tray that the end of her frayed shirt brushed Star’s forgotten cup, dipping into the tea. “Tell me everything.”
The light from the sun was beginning to leak in through the open windows, and it framed Mabel’s face in a perfect square, almost like a photo. Star pulled away. Mabel’s eyes, usually a pretty sea green, were so bright that they looked like they were glowing. The edges were inflamed, the skin around them a bright, unflattering red.
“What’s the matter?” asked Mabel, blinking. Above them, the fan beat louder, its blades no longer humming, but thrump, thrump, thrumping in Star’s ears, like a giant bird about to descend.
Star squeezed her eyes shut. The smell of perfume, of perfume and something else, something darker, like bad cheese, wafted across to her. It was so strong, suddenly, that Star clapped a hand to her mouth, gagging. But just as quickly it was gone.
Star shook her head to clear it, then opened her eyes again to look at Mabel. Nope. Nothing wrong with Mabel’s eyes. Nothing at all. Just Star’s own poor, tired imagination playing tricks on her. All the same, she didn’t feel much like talking anymore. “I think maybe I’m still tired,” Star said. “I should get some more sleep. We can talk later.”
“But you were going to tell me your story,” Mabel said.
“I will, I promise. Let me just close my eyes for a second, and—”
“I made all this tea, Star,” said Mabel. Her tone was cool. Icy, even. “I got up early just for you so that we could talk.”
“You said you got up early to help your mom.”
“I got up early for you.” Across the table, Mabel began to breathe heavily. “For you, Star,” she said again.
“Okay,” Star said. “Relax.”
“Tell me, Star,” said Ma
bel. “Tell me the story.” That smell again, the sweet perfume blew across the room.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Star said. “My dad was acting weird, that’s all.”
“God, Star,” said Mabel, rocking back to sit fully upright again. And all of a sudden she was Mabel again, her tone sweet and concerned. “Of course he was. It’s only been a few months. He’s still grieving for your mom.”
“It’s more than that. More than the women. He’s gone all the time, too. He isn’t working, but he’s always gone.”
“He’s lonely.”
“And there was the ring…” But she did not go on.
“What?”
“Nothing,” said Star.
“What about the ring, Star? I want to know.” The words came out in a croon, in a singsong lilt that sounded almost like a plea. “Tell me, Star. Tell me all about the ring.”
She sounded desperate for the story, Star thought. Hungry for it.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Her leg bumped against her teacup, sloshing some of it onto her bare leg. The liquid was hot, and it scorched her skin. “Fuck!” Star said, wiping at the mess with the end of the sheet on the floor. The tea spread in an ugly brown stain across the rug, its edges sitting in large bubbles on the pretty blue flowers and then sinking into them.
Star blotted at the liquid with the sheet, moving the teacup out of the way. As she did, Star saw that the cup was not a real teacup at all, but one from Mabel’s doll set, the one the girls had played with together when they were little. “What the fuck is all this, anyway? Why are you bringing all this little kid shit out?”
Star looked up and saw that Mabel had pulled back, sinking into herself. Star reached out and grabbed her friend’s hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Mabel yanked her hand away, and her head snapped up.
“You know, your mother liked tea.”
“What?” But for a minute she forgot the girl’s words as she looked at her eyes. Now they were so bright they looked fevered. Was Mabel sick?
“Your mother,” Mabel said again. “She liked tea. She made some for me, that last time I was there. Didn’t she tell you?” Mabel leaned over to shakily pour more tea into Star’s tiny cup, slopping some over the edges as her arm trembled.
What the hell was Mabel mumbling about? “You feel okay?” Star asked, reaching across and meaning to lay a hand on her friend’s head, but Mabel yanked away again.
“I’m fine. I just thought you’d like to know. About your mother. I saw her, you know. The day she died, I saw her.” Mabel giggled. A small drop of saliva rolled from the side of her mouth, and Mabel didn’t wipe it away.
Star felt her chest seize up. “Why were you at my house that day?”
“I went to see you, Star Bear,” said Mabel, picking up her own cup and taking a long, loud sip. “We had a day off at school, and I went to see you, but you weren’t home. Stupid of me. I should have realized you were probably out with that boy, doing things.”
“Seth?”
Mabel shrugged and lowered her head. “Whoever,” she said, and now she sounded like Mabel again. “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I thought it’d upset you. But I saw your mother that day. She made me tea, and then I left. On the way out I went to see the new puppies out under the house. Your mom…she didn’t like them.”
“Of course she did,” said Star. “My mom loved Styx and her puppies. It’s how she died, trying to get those damned puppies out of the well when they fell in.”
Mabel shrugged again. “When I was leaving, I saw her kick one of them.” The drop of drool that had been hanging on her chin fell, finally, with a slow drip and splash into Mabel’s teacup.
“Mabel!” Star stood up, shakily. “That’s enough, dammit!”
Mabel lowered her head. Her shoulders began to shake, and Star felt immediately terrible. Her friend was quite obviously not herself, probably had a fever or—
Mabel’s head snapped up. “DRINK THE FUCKING TEA, BITCH!”
A terrible, pregnant silence fell between them as Star pulled her knees to her chest, shocked.
Mabel set her cup down and reached across the rug to Star, meeting her friend’s eyes. Now, not just Mabel’s shoulders were shaking, but her entire body was trembling. Like waves, the shudders wracked the girl’s thin, cross-country-honed body. Her breath was coming heavily again; almost, she was panting. “I’m sorry,” Mabel said. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I…I guess I don’t feel that hot.”
“You don’t look so great,” Star said. She felt pissed. How dare Mabel make those accusations against her mother? How dare she not tell Star about the visit? But at the same time…it was Star who hadn’t returned the phone calls, wasn’t it? Star who’d ignored Mabel these past few weeks. She didn’t have many people left in her life, not ones she could count on, and she couldn’t afford to lose Mabel through some ill-chosen bickering. Mabel didn’t feel well, that was all. It was obvious. She didn’t feel well, and on top of all that, Star had hurt her feelings by not drinking the tea Mabel had gone to such an effort to bring her and, worse, refusing to fully share her problems with her. It was the worst sort of betrayal, this secret keeping. There had been a time when even the idea of a secret between them would have been laughable.
“Let’s just forget this conversation for now, okay?” Mabel said. “We can try again later. I think maybe I’ll go for a run right now. Clear my head.”
“You should lie down,” Star said, starting to stand as she saw Mabel tremblingly get to her feet, but Mabel waved her away.
“No. A run’s what I need. Really. It always makes me feel better.” Mabel walked unsteadily to the door and then paused, turning back to Star. “Listen, what I really wanted to say was that I’m sorry. For everything. I saw your mom that day and I should have told you sooner. It was nice to see her. She was nice.”
Star felt tears beginning behind her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Mabel said. She paused, hand on the doorknob, and then, in a rush, crossed the room to where Star still sat on the rug. Leaning over, she pulled Star into a fierce hug.
Mabel’s breath was terrible. It wasn’t something that Star wanted to be paying attention to, not at that moment, but there it was. This time, there was no accompanying scent of perfume to cover it. “It’s all right,” Star said, trying to hide her disgust. “Go ahead and go on your run. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Mabel pulled away, her face brightening. “When I get back, we can go to the Festival.”
“Sure, Mabel.”
The Festival. Every year since they’d moved to Montana, Star’s parents had taken her to the Festival. She’d ridden the baby train, petted the goats that one or the other farmer brought in, and ate cotton candy with her parents. At night they’d always gone to the Church Service, and after that, the Feast. It didn’t matter that they were Catholic and not Lutheran. Everyone went to the Service. It was a social activity, not an actual act of worship.
“Sure, we’ll go to the Festival,” said Star.
And maybe they would, Star thought, watching Mabel close the door as she exited. Maybe she and Mabel would go to the Festival together, and for a few, brief moments things could be as they had always been.
The fan above began to rattle with the intensity of its speed, and Star reached up to pull the cord, slowing its rotations to a steady hum. She crawled back under the covers and pulled them over her head.
Star hardly noticed as, turning over, her foot snaked loose and jarred the forgotten doll’s teapot, spilling the rest of its liquid into a puddle on the floor.
Chapter 8
1
Erma and John sat at Bunny’s breakfast table, still picking the sleep out of their eyes. They watched as the older woman cheerfully bustled around the kitchen.
“I hope you slept well,” Bunny said, positioning a carafe of orange juice on the table. Beside the j
uice was a spread out of a magazine, with scrambled eggs, freshly baked bread, cinnamon rolls, and bacon.
“Like champs,” John said. “You must have gotten up before dawn to make all of this.”
“Oh,” said Bunny, waving the comment away, “today’s Festival Day, so I want to get an early start, make sure I beat the crowds over there.”
“Yes, we keep hearing something about a festival. What is it?”
Bunny set a steaming mug of coffee in front of Erma. “The Black Squirrel Festival. It’s Cavus’s biggest happening.”
“Do I dare ask?” John looked to be in an especially good mood this morning, and Erma noticed the question came not with his usual sarcasm, but with a cheer behind it. He even seemed to be enjoying the food, shoveling it in in great bites.
“Have you seen any of our squirrels, Mr. Scott?”
“Can’t say that I have, although I wasn’t looking in the dark.”
Bunny nodded. “They’re very special, our squirrels. We’re one of the few places in the United States to have such a large population of black squirrels.”
“Black?” asked Erma.
“Completely.” Bunny nodded. “Cute little devils, actually.”
“I’ve never even heard of a black squirrel.” Erma turned to her husband. “It’d be fun to see one, huh?”
“Shouldn’t be hard,” said Bunny. “Those squirrels just about seem to know when Festival time rolls around. They’re all over the place, picking goodies right out of people’s hands.”
“Sounds exciting,” said John. Erma couldn’t tell if the comment was genuine.
“You’re welcome to stay,” said Bunny, and her voice rose. “Oh, yes! Wouldn’t that be fun? We so rarely have visitors here, and the Black Squirrel Festival really is something to see. It would be no trouble at all to put you up for an extra night.”
John met Erma’s eyes over the table, and gave her a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. No.
“We need to get the moving truck back,” Erma said. “It costs extra to keep it longer.”
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