A Pocketful of Stardust

by J P Barnaby

  “No. I just figured it was because it used to be a feed store.”

  “Ding ding ding! Excellent response. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

  “What’s Gryffindor?”

  “What? You haven’t read Harry Potter?”

  “Um… no?”

  “Oh, honey,” he said again. “We will need to remedy that. Add it to the list.”

  “What list?”

  Noah ignored him. “Now, coming up on the right is the First National Bank of Aster. This is the bank owned by Fucking Matt Handley’s family. We hates him, yes, my precious.”

  Kyle was giggling now. “I didn’t know you were so silly.”

  “Oh, not silly, precious. We hates orcses like Fucking Matt Handley.” In a normal voice, Noah said, “And up on the left is Aster Elementary, where I went to grammar school. There were fourteen kids in my graduating class. That’s because there’s another school on the far side of town where most of the farm kids went. We all went to Aster High because there was only one of those. Here we are passing Aster High. Note the fine crenellations on the roof—excellent for grappling hooks in the case of siege warfare. Though why anyone would want to break in there, I don’t know.”

  He turned down Maple. “Here is Tyler’s Tailors—yes, that’s its real name—where all the haut ton of Aster acquire their tuxedoes for special events at the country club.”

  “What’s hot tone?”

  “Haut ton means upper class. The snooty rich. Also on Maple we find a couple of boutiques and a computer store. This is where those same snooty rich shop when they’re not slumming it down on Sycamore. And”—he turned left onto a tree-lined residential street—“this is Mulberry Street.”

  “Is that important?”

  “Very. Rumor has it that Dr. Seuss references this very street in his classic novel, And To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street. First editions are going for upwards of seven hundred dollars.”

  “Is that true?”

  “What, the seven hundred dollars?”

  “No, that this doctor wrote a book about this street?”

  “Not a bit of it. I made it up. The seven hundred dollars is true, though.”

  They drove on through the town, Noah making stuff up the whole way, until Kyle was bent over clutching his belly from laughing. Eventually they made it to Noah’s destination, the high point over the town called Mitchell’s Hill by adults and Make-out Hill by teenagers. The peak was bare of parked cars, since it was a Tuesday and a school night, but the view of the town below was as lovely as Noah remembered. He backed up so that the bed of the truck faced the town, then got out and dropped the tailgate, pulling the cushions and quilt he’d put in there earlier onto the gate.

  Kyle got out and wandered over, jumping up onto the tailgate when Noah did. “This is nice,” he said. “I didn’t know this was up here. You can see the whole town.”

  “Yep. I used to ride my bike up here and sit and look. See, there’s the high school, and there’s the Methodist church and cemetery, and there’s First Baptist and the cemetery, and the bank. And under those trees is Sycamore Street and the store and Leroy’s, and under those trees is Oak Street where we live.”

  “It looks like a picture.”

  “You can see more during the day. Mostly at night it’s just lights, but they light up enough that you can figure out where things are.”

  “You really love this place,” Kyle said softly.

  “Yeah, I guess. I really loved New York too. They were different enough that they didn’t compete or something.” He pulled the cooler from behind himself. “You ate dinner, right?”

  “Yeah, you told me to.”

  “Good. I brought dessert.”

  It was Miss Edna’s orange cake with peach frosting, and two bottles of sweet tea. They shared the cake, eating with their fingers as they sat on the edge of the tailgate, their feet swinging. When they’d finished, Noah said, “Okay, interrogation time.”

  Kyle went very quiet. Noah glanced at him and said reassuringly, “Nothing bad, Kyle. Just—I want to get to know you better.”

  “Okay.” His voice was uncertain.

  “Favorite color?”

  “Purple?”

  “Good choice. Favorite movie.”

  “Um… I don’t know a lot of movies.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Which one do you like best of the ones you’ve seen?”

  “Do cartoons count?”

  “Yep.”

  “Um… Moana.”

  “Oh, good choice. That movie rocks.”

  “My aunt Mary said it was heretical and that I was going to go to hell, but I thought it was beautiful.”

  “You’re right. Okay. Favorite book?”

  “You know I don’t read a lot. The Bible, I guess.”

  “Pfft. Okay, the Bible can be a good book—lots of adventure and romance and sex in there—”

  “In the Bible?”

  “You haven’t read a lot of it, have you?”

  “No, not really. Just the parts that were authorized.”

  “By your religion, right?”

  Kyle was quiet a moment, then said, “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Okay, we won’t, then. Do you like living in Aster?”

  Another moment of quiet, then: “Yes. It’s not what I expected. I thought all the South was, I don’t know, kind of like how it was where I lived before. Miss Sarah uses the word conservative, and I guess that’s how I imagined everywhere in Georgia.”

  “There are a lot of conservative places in Georgia. But Aster’s different. It was founded by former slaves and had a hard time getting started. You should talk to Henry about that—he knows all about it.”

  “He’s….” Kyle sighed. “I’m a little scared of him. He’s so… stern.”

  “Henry? Nah. He doesn’t know you. He’s a good guy. Get him talking about something he’s interested in—and believe me, he’s interested in everything—and he’ll like you just fine.”

  “Is he okay with you being gay?”

  “He doesn’t talk much about it. That’s okay, though. Most people don’t. But most of them know.” Noah cocked his head. “They don’t know about you back where you come from, do they?”

  Kyle shivered. “God, no. I think maybe that’s why—why I ended up here.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Noah put his arm around Kyle. “I’m really glad you did.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “YEAH, BEEN sittin’ there all night.” Fred picked up his toast and took a huge bite. Peach preserves oozed onto the side of his lip, and he wiped it away with a rueful grin to Miss Jessie. She rolled her eyes and turned to Noah.

  “Hey there, what can I get for you?” She smiled and it felt genuine to him. He’d been afraid that after the bookstore started serving coffee, folks at the Aster Café might take exception.

  “Could I get two country breakfasts to go?” he asked, flipping a sugar packet between his fingers.

  “No coffee?” she asked, and the smirk in her expression made his face go hot.

  “Uhm… no, thank you.”

  “You wanna get Mama on your side?” she asked, leaning low. “You should start sellin’ her pies and such. That’s where our coffee business is. People might like a slice of blackberry cobbler with their fancy coffee and books.”

  Noah stared at her.

  “What?”

  “I was going to talk to you about that,” he whispered a little too loudly. “Let me talk to—” He was about to say Henry, but then he caught himself. “Let me think about how that would work with the space, and I’ll be back to talk to y’all.”

  “Good man,” she said and patted his arm. Then, more loudly, she asked, “Fred, what were you talkin’ about with that truck?”

  She turned and handed his order to the line cook.

  “Out on 92, there’s a truck just sittin’ in that old parking lot where Jack’s used to be.”

  “I know where you mean.” She s
tarted wiping down the already clean counter. “You didn’t see nobody?”

  “No, but the back was open and you could see the ends of sleeping bags. Someone’s livin’ in it. Or they’re camping in early November.”

  “You tell Cooper?” she asked, referring to the town’s sheriff, who had been the only police Aster’d had in years.

  “Yeah, but they ain’t doin nothin’ wrong. People camp around here all the time.” He shoveled another bite of eggs into his mouth.

  “Not in parking lots,” she said.

  “We’re about to find out,” he said, his eyes wide as he glanced to his left. “It just pulled up outside.”

  Out of sheer curiosity, Noah turned full in his seat and watched a man and a very young woman climb out of a beat-up Chevy pickup. The camper on the bed looked even older than the truck and appeared crusted with mud and muck.

  The bell above the door rang, and Noah avoided eye contact by playing with the sugar packet. They didn’t get strangers much in Aster. Kyle was probably the first one in forever.

  The young man had a flannel shirt on, keeping him warm against the chill of a fifty-degree morning, and clean but unkempt brown hair and a scraggly beard across his thin face. He was tall and just this side of gaunt. The woman had auburn hair pulled back from her face with a rubber band. She was half a head shorter than the man and was wearing a calico print dress. She held the man’s hand tightly. They scanned the room like they wanted to escape. Instead they sat at the very end of the counter closest to the door.

  Miss Jessie raised her eyebrows at Fred, who sat up a little higher on his stool.

  “Hello. Is there something I can get for you folks today?” she asked, shuffling toward that end of the counter but staying close to Fred, who sat in the middle.

  “Yes, ma’am. Do you have oatmeal?” the man asked quietly. His voice was quiet, almost strained.

  “Sure, honey. Do you want anything in it? Brown sugar or—”

  “No, ma’am, just oatmeal and some water, please.” He pushed the unused menu aside.

  “And you?” she asked the young woman, who glanced at the man beside her.

  “She’ll have the same.” His eyes didn’t leave Jessie’s. Though they didn’t say anything menacing, Noah’s gut churned as he waited for his order to come up.

  They spoke to each other in low, quiet tones, and the redhead pulled out a map. They studied it together, pointing and dragging a finger down one road or another. Maybe they were lost. They’d stopped for the night to get their bearings and some breakfast. It wasn’t like Aster was a booming metropolis. They were prolly just a couple of ’Bama folks headed east.

  “Noah, here’s your order,” Miss Jessie said, handing him a bag and his check. He paid with a twenty and left her the change.

  The couple watched him leave.

  The bell jingled as he exited, and instead of turning immediately left for the two-block walk back to the bookstore, he crossed the main street, but as he did, he turned to study the truck. Rust held it together in places, especially over the wheel wells. He couldn’t tell what color it had originally been because of the thick overlaying splatters of mud and something darker, tar maybe. The license plate, which Cooper would no doubt run when he saw it, came from Montana. These folks were a long way from home.

  He hurried past the feed store and crossed back over toward Stardust. Some things, like small-town skepticism, must not go away completely. He’d met hundreds of strangers when he’d lived in New York. None had unsettled him like those two.

  The wind chimes announced his arrival, and Kyle glanced up from his equipment with a shy smile. It turned to a full grin when he saw the food.

  “That for me?” Kyle pulled down two mugs from the shelf behind him.

  “Well, it ain’t for Henry.”

  “I’d love a big ol’ steak and eggs with grits,” Henry lamented as he glided in through the wall. “Summa Miss Betsy’s fluffy biscuits and gravy.”

  “You seemed to be a pretty thin guy in life. Where did you put all that food?” Noah set the Styrofoam containers on one of the tables and pulled up a couple of chairs. Henry lounged on a couch nearby.

  Kyle brought over the mugs of coffee, cream, and a little sugar.

  “I had a hollow leg.” Henry pulled Persephone onto his legs and stroked her translucent fur.

  “Well, now you have two,” Kyle murmured, and Noah laughed.

  “Damn, I forgot to get silverware.” Noah searched through the bag and found nothing but napkins.

  “I’m surprised she didn’t put it in. Miss Jessie’s always real good about that.” Kyle opened his container and grabbed a piece of bacon.

  “These two folks came into the diner—a man and a woman. Plates on the truck said they were from Montana, which is weird. I think they made her nervous. Made me nervous.” Noah shrugged and turned, headed for the kitchenette in the back. “I got some stuff in the back.”

  “Wait—” Kyle started but stopped himself.

  “I’ll be right back.” Noah jogged out of the coffee bar, through the main shelves, and back to the small kitchenette his dad had always used as an office. The plastic utensils were in a baggie in the desk drawer. He pulled out two forks and searched fruitlessly for knives.

  “Bleh,” he said, closing the drawer and retracing his steps back to Kyle and Henry.

  Only Kyle wasn’t there.

  “Kyle?” Noah called and set the silverware between the two Styrofoam containers.

  “He just ran out. I told you he was a strange boy,” Henry said, propping his insubstantial feet on the table in front of him.

  “I should…,” Noah said with a general wave at the door as he walked.

  “Boy, aren’t you gonna take this food?” Henry called after him as he made his way to the front door. “Why do you torture me with food I can’t eat?”

  Noah checked around, but Kyle had already left the main street. He hadn’t mentioned having to be anywhere, so Noah closed up the store again and headed home. He’d check with Miss Sarah first and then look in on Jake. The big guy hadn’t been feeling well that morning, so Noah had given him a little pumpkin in his food and set him up with a nice cooking show.

  The drive home seemed longer than normal. He saw Fred’s kids playing baseball with the Mallory boys as he crossed Forest Road. They paid him no mind because the older Mallory boy had just knocked a small dent into a little Ford Escort that seemed to have more rust than paint. They were scampering as one block turned into the next. They ticked away, one by one, until he reached the street he’d lived on his entire childhood. It seemed different now, quieter than in his youth. He could remember playing that same game of ball right there under the tall oaks.

  About halfway up the block, he noticed the truck sitting in front of Miss Sarah’s house, parked neatly against the curb on the far side of the street. The couple he’d seen at the diner were talking to her on the porch. They didn’t appear to be menacing her, just having a conversation. Noah kept walking to his father’s yard and then around the drive to the back.

  He opened the gate and went into the yard. Kyle sat on the padded bench inside the screened porch. Jake lay sprawled across the bench with his head in Kyle’s lap. As he approached, Noah watched Kyle stroking the big dog absently behind the ears.

  “Hey.” Noah opened the screen door and stepped up into the porch. Jake’s tail started to wag, but he didn’t get up. He’d found his happy place.

  “Sorry.”

  “Those folks are here looking for you, aren’t they?” Noah asked, dropping into the wicker chair next to the bench. Jake’s head popped up, but he didn’t make the effort to get up. At first Kyle’s only response was a sigh. Noah sat back in the chair and waited.

  Soft pillowy clouds raced across the sky on the back of an autumn breeze, chased by the storm close on their heels. The sun played peekaboo across the morning, but not enough to be warm. Noah pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and waited. The tension
in Kyle’s shoulders made his tight as the man’s gaze focused hundreds of miles away. The sorrow in his face twisted Noah’s chest, and he took a deep breath to try to loosen it.

  “I saw them talking to Miss Sarah. It’s my sister. I think the guy is her husband. I’m not sure.”

  “What do they want?”

  “It’s a long story,” Kyle hedged, but Noah simply put his feet up on the flimsy plastic table and his hands behind his head like he had all the time in the world.

  “Fine. I guess it started when Mama took Joseph and me and little Abigail out to find donations. Papa and my sister Hope went to sell some of the stuff the womenfolk had made, blankets and stuff. It was summer, so they weren’t hopeful, but the camp was almost out of food.” His eyes stayed on the horizon. Noah wanted to interrupt and ask a thousand questions, but he bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want Kyle to stop talking, stop showing him something real.

  “We went up to this big house. It had these flowers out front like nothing I’d ever seen—every color you could think of. There were these stones going up to the porch rather than a walk. I remember little Abigail hopping from stone to stone. She was about four, I think. We didn’t celebrate birthdays or anything. I didn’t even know when mine was until Aunt Mary told me.” Kyle paused then. He glanced over at Noah with a question, like he was waiting for a rebuke or to be mocked. Noah simply put a hand on his where it rested on the swing between them.

  “Mama knocked on the door and this lady answered. We was all wearin’ our fancy clothes, the ones we only wore when we went to town for donations. Abigail had little ribbons in her hair, which Mama had curled. She wasn’t my sister. I don’t have any other sisters, just Hope, but we were raised that everyone was a brother or sister, aunt or uncle. We were a family, they said. Anyway, Joseph was younger than me, maybe ten. He had fair skin like me, and we was all red from the sun, so the lady asked us in for some sweet tea. That half hour we spent in her kitchen was life-altering.” He squeezed Noah’s hand.

  “What do you mean?” Noah asked and squeezed back, mostly to stop Kyle’s hand from shaking.