A Pocketful of Stardust

by J P Barnaby

  “I’m sorry, I thought I saw a rat,” she said, emphasizing the last word.

  Handley looked from Noah to Miss Jessie and back.

  “Now, Mr. Noah, why don’t you take a seat at the other end of the counter. Let me finish him off and then you and I can talk business. That’s why you’re here, right? To talk about my offer?” she asked, and Noah loved that she’d been deliberately vague because it would drive Handley crazy. First, he would hate that Miss Jessie liked Noah more than him. Second, he’d be dying to know what business they could have together.

  “Matt, here’s your check,” she said, slapping a bill down in front of his plate.

  “But I wasn’t done—” he started, but she cut him off with a curt explanation that he was, indeed, done here. Then she came down to the other end of the counter where Noah sat.

  “He’s disgusting,” Miss Jessie said, and Noah felt that was the perfect way to start the conversation.

  “Ever since high school,” Noah agreed. “Is he bothering you? I could—”

  “Nah, he’s too afraid of me to give me any grief outside here. Plus he’s scared it will get back to that pretty little fiancée in Atlanta.”

  “You did just threaten to gut him like a pig.”

  “Yep, ’bout once a week or so.”

  “Why don’t you tell Cooper?”

  “So he can issue him a citation?” she asked, drawing out the ci. “Nah, it’s more fun to put the fear of God into him every once in a while. He knows if he ever really messes with me, Uncle Fred will put him under his mail truck.”

  “Good to know.”

  “You want something to eat? Maybe sample some of the pastries you’ll be buyin’ for the bookstore?” She laughed. They both turned as Handley slammed cash down on the table and walked out.

  “I think that’s a fine idea,” Noah said. “Sample with me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I’VE FIGURED out what the boxes in the basement are for,” Kyle announced the following Saturday.

  Noah looked up from his laptop, where he’d been writing up his notes on Henry’s last ramble. “Spill.”

  Kyle tossed a battered file folder into the counter. “Well, not figured out so much as discovered. Your dad was great about organizing stuff, but he had a tendency to put the folders in pretty random places. I found this one in with the warranties for the office equipment.”

  Noah thought a moment. “Yeah, that would be ‘miscellaneous stuff in the building.’ You just have to know how Dad thought.”

  “Okay. So I found this, and it turns out that a bunch of people have been trying to get a library and historical center going, and your dad was collecting books for the library. But I’m confused, Noah. Wouldn’t a library cut into your dad’s business?”

  “Some. But Dad always felt that so many people couldn’t afford to buy books that would like to, and some of them would later become readers, so he wanted to help them as much as he could. He was big on literacy and all that. What’s the matter?”

  “He sounds like such a great guy. I wish I knew him. I only ever saw him to wave at sometimes from the porch.” Kyle wiped his eyes.

  Noah hugged him. “I wish you could have too.”

  They held each other a bit longer, then mopped up damp faces with the tissues Noah kept behind the counter. Kyle fetched them each a coffee.

  “Historical center, huh?” Noah flipped through the contents of the folder.

  “Yeah. I was thinking that maybe you could put all your notes on what Henry told you together for like a Henry’s-eye-view of the town. I mean, he goes way back—over a hundred years. And you said he’s really interesting in a historical way.” Kyle sounded a bit doubtful. Noah didn’t blame him; Kyle knew less than nothing about history, and a lot of what Henry talked about went right over his head. Particularly the civil rights movement; apparently according to the cult it never happened.

  “Yeah, I bet they’d like that. Whoever was in charge. I’ll have to talk to Thad about it. He knows everything that goes on in town.”

  “You need to have him over more often,” Henry said, appearing at Kyle’s shoulder. Kyle jumped but said nothing. Noah suspected Henry kept trying to get a rise out of Kyle, but so far he’d failed. Probably more of the cult’s upbringing. “He’s an interesting fella once you get past the um….”

  “The ‘um’?”

  “The flamboyant gay stuff,” Noah explained.

  “Okay.” Kyle glanced over his shoulder at Henry. “Are you ready to get back to work?”

  “If I must. Miles Davis will keep.”

  Noah fished his phone out of his back pocket and queued up the classic jazz station on Pandora. “Here. This will keep you entertained.” He handed the phone to Kyle. The two of them had been working on inputting the older paper catalog into Charlie’s computer, Henry reading the information from the ledgers and Kyle typing it into the program.

  AROUND LUNCHTIME he had Kyle take over the counter while he ran to the diner for carryout. His timing was good—the only person there was Thad, who greeted him effusively as usual. While they waited for Jessie to put together their orders, Noah mentioned Kyle’s discovery.

  “Oh, yes! We’ve been working on that for a while. The old Methodist church next to the village hall is for sale, and the Merchants Council has put a motion before the town to buy it for the library. It just blows my mind that there isn’t one since the old one closed back in the seventies. That building had dry rot and black mold, and they ended up tearing it down. The BP station took that corner. But the Methodist church will be perfect—it even has a parking lot, and the church itself is lovely. But”—he lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper—“some people have alternate plans for the site. In one word: Costco.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. Three guesses who’s behind that one.”

  “Uncle James.”

  “Got it in one. Only thing holding him up is zoning issues.”

  “That would suck. That building is beautiful. Historic.”

  “Yes. Perfect for an historical society.” Thad cocked his head. “You’re interested in history, aren’t you?”

  “I never was, but Aster is different. I, I actually am sort of working on a little book on the history of the town. Just from some of the people who’ve lived here forever.”

  “Between fighting off murderous cult members and single-handedly saving your dad’s business?” Jessie interjected as she brought over Thad’s lunch and rang him up.

  “Yeah, well, the last ain’t going so well.”

  Thad patted him on the back as he left. “It’ll happen, darling. It’ll happen.”

  “Better be careful or that one will have you running the place,” Jessie advised. “But it’s nice to know some other young people are takin’ an interest in the town. Especially since safe places like Aster were so rare in the history of the South.”

  “I know,” Noah said. “I’ve been reading about Jim Crow laws and sunset laws and everything black travelers used to have to do to be safe not so very long ago. I want to put that up front in the thing I’m writing.”

  “Still a lot of places you have to be careful. Can’t take anything for granted. You know, gays have some of the same issues.” Jessie patted his hand. “Should put an interesting perspective on things.”

  “I hope.” Noah handed her the cash and took the bag. “Thanks, Miss Jessie.”

  HE DIDN’T think much more of the conversation through the rest of the afternoon, but a little after three, the front door chimed. Noah came around the counter to help Miss Berenice and Miss Ellie with the shopping bags they carried. “Wow, these are heavy! You should have come in to get me or Kyle to help you.”

  “Mama’s too impatient,” Ellie said.

  Berenice waved her hand, it must be said, impatiently. “Jessie over at the diner said you were working on a history of Aster.”

  “I, well, yes, I sorta am—” />
  “Did you hear that?” Berenice stopped and asked, turning to look over her shoulder toward the back of the store.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Noah said, when in fact he’d heard Henry talking to Kyle, who whispered something back.

  “That’s odd. Well, you remember I told you my daddy could talk the hind leg off a donkey? Well, he kept journals too. I guess for when there was no one around to listen to him. So I figured if you’re going to write about Aster, you should have the words of someone who lived it.” She took a battered notebook out of one of the bags. “Daddy started keeping one when he was about ten years old, so some of these are about a hundred years old. You use them, write the realities in them, and then they go to the town historical society when you’re done.”

  “Um, technically the town doesn’t have—”

  “It will. You’ll make one.” She took out another book. “This was the last one before he disappeared.” She stroked it lovingly and pressed a kiss to the cover.

  “Noah, did you call me?” Henry wafted into the front of the store, Kyle on his heels.

  Miss Berenice’s eyes went wide and her face went ashy. Noah glanced quickly at Ellie, whose eyes were just as wide. Henry stopped stock-still.

  “Daddy?” Berenice’s voice was plaintive, almost like a little girl’s.

  Wordlessly, Henry opened his arms. Berenice stepped forward, but of course she couldn’t touch him.

  But as Noah watched, a pale, silvery fog settled around Berenice, morphing into a ghost-image of a tall young woman, her lovely face framed in an old-style Afro held back by a beaded headband. She wore a print dashiki tunic over bell-bottom jeans.

  This image reached out and wrapped her arms around Henry. With a sob, Henry pulled her into the tightest of hugs.

  Berenice stood motionless beneath the superimposed image, but her face was that of the young woman, joyful, though wet with tears.

  Persephone appeared out of nowhere and leaped up onto the counter, purring loudly. She rubbed past Noah to jump up on Henry’s shoulder. Henry opened eyes that glittered with happiness and tears. “Thank you,” he said soundlessly.

  Noah could only nod and watch as Henry, the young Berenice, and Persephone all faded. Then it was just the four of them.

  Finally, Ellie broke the silence. “Mama, was that Grandpa?”

  “You saw him too?” Berenice turned and clutched Ellie’s arms. “He was here? He was real?”

  “He was real, Mama!” The two women fell into each other’s arms.

  Kyle said softly to Noah, “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

  Noah nodded and dropped his head to Kyle’s shoulder. “I think so.”

  “You boys knew he was here?” Miss Berenice asked in hoarse whisper. “How long—”

  “Since I found him,” Noah admitted.

  Her hand flew up to her mouth, and she glanced around at the books. She didn’t appear to see any of them. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me? I helped you boys raise money for this place and you kept that from me?” She looked furiously between them, and Ellie put a hand on her arm.

  “Mama,” she said quietly, but Berenice brushed her off.

  “He didn’t want to scare you. Your father was a ghost, ma’am. He thought it….” Noah looked rueful for a moment and then continued. “He thought it might not be good for your heart.”

  “My aunt Fanny!” she said. “He didn’t want to admit he’d been stuffed in the attic for fifty years.”

  “No, ma’am. He really didn’t want to frighten you. Some God-fearin’ folks don’t take well to the idea of ghosts. It flies in the face of God,” Kyle said. “I had a hard time with Mr. Henry for a while.”

  “Well, okay, I can see that. Seeing a ghost does make me wonder about what happens… you know, after. But Daddy, he was right here.”

  “Yes he was.”

  “Thank you, God,” she whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “BLACK FRIDAY. Sounds a little like All Hallows’ Eve or Samhain—a devil’s celebration,” Kyle said as he sat on the counter watching Noah go through their inventory.

  “All Hallows’ Eve and Samhain are the same thing, and you lived through it—it’s also called Halloween,” Noah said and swiped the highlighter across the page twice in rapid succession. “But I guess Black Friday is rather evil, if you find consumerism a work of the devil.”

  “Wait, they are? But it was just a bunch of little kids dressed up like superheroes and stuff, asking for candy.”

  “I’m sure different people celebrate it in different ways, but here in Aster, that’s what it means. Black Friday isn’t a holiday, per se, and while people do it religiously every year, it’s not exactly sacred.” Noah snorted and flipped the page.

  “So what is it?” He took the paper Noah offered with six highlighted books on the inventory list.

  “Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving where people lose their minds and have a marathon shopping day. This frenzy is exacerbated by stores like us, who drop prices drastically on things to get people in the door. Since we’re so tiny, it’ll be like standing in the back of a crowd jumping up and down yelling ‘Pick me! Pick me,’ but it’s tradition, and it may help the store.” Noah swiped the highlighter across another page.

  “So you’re picking books out to put on sale?”

  “Yes, and then I need to put together some signs and flyers we’re going to put in the local businesses here. Thad and Ananda are putting a couple up in ours. Thad is having some great sales, so maybe we’ll get a bit of his overflow,” Noah said.

  “Why so many?” Kyle watched him flip another page.

  “I just wanted to do one or two deep discounts and three moderate discounts in each section. We have lots of sections.”

  “Did your dad do this?” Kyle took another sheet.

  “No, he figured folks would go into Douglasville to the retail stores, that they wouldn’t have time to mess with us. We’ll see. We’re running out of time, and I’ll do anything,” Noah admitted.

  “What can I do?”

  “I’m going to print some sale tags. Could you put them on these books while I work on the flyers?”

  “Sure,” Kyle said and hopped down from the counter.

  “Do you have any ideas on discounting coffee?” Noah asked as he finished highlighting the last page.

  “We just got in a pumpkin spiced syrup. It’s nasty, but people had been asking for it. I’ve been experimenting with different kinds of coffees. We could discount that, especially since it’s something you only do in fall. We could also do hot cocoa, because we have a ton and we get it really cheap,” Kyle offered, and Noah smiled at how knowledgeable Kyle had become since taking over the coffee bar. He really had a sense of what people liked.

  “Okay. I’ll add that we now have pastries from the diner. People love Miz Parker’s pies and strudel.” Noah headed back into the office and used a template his dad had designed to make sale tags. Kyle stood by quietly and then took them as they came off the printer onto mailing label stickers.

  A deep sense of loss hit Noah then. It should have been his dad putting this stuff together. Or Henry should have been there lamenting that businesses were not only open on Thanksgiving, but making people work. Noah should be at his desk in New York, waiting for them to light up the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. He’d lost so much in the past month, it felt like he was on a boat listing from side to side. Sometimes he even had the nausea that accompanied it.

  But then, he’d gained too. He had Kyle. He had Miss Edna. He had the goodwill of a small town that wanted him to succeed. The bookstore made him happy, like he was accomplishing something rather than churning out another manual. Being here made him want to write when the store was quiet. Just sit down by that big fireplace with a notebook and pen, not even a laptop, but simply listen to the quiet and put words to the page.

  “I have the tags out,” Kyle said from the doorway. “Are you okay?”

  “I
t hit me for a minute. Maybe it’s the holidays, but I miss my dad and I miss Henry.”

  “Sometimes I miss my family too. It wasn’t all bad. On Christmas morning Mama would call us in to the living room. It was the one day of the year we ate until we were full and we didn’t have to sit in church. Christmas was for celebrating Jesus in our own ways. Anyway, Mama would call us in and we’d each get one present. It was usually something we could use. Hope got a pretty dress one year that she loved. I usually got crayons or a coloring book. Another year I got a box as big as my head. That one lasted a while, though some of the colors were really strange.” Kyle looked uncomfortable when Noah stared at him. “What?”

  “Christmases growing up for me were just different, that’s all.”

  “Different how?”

  “I’d feel ashamed to tell you now, to be honest. But in a month, I’ll show you,” he said, breaking into a grin for the first time that day.

  “Okay, I can wait. Did you finish the signs?”

  “Yeah, the ones for the store anyway.” He handed a stack of papers to Kyle, who grabbed a roll of packing tape on his way out to load the store with signs. It was nice not to have to do this alone.

  Once he printed out the signs for the other stores, Noah had a sudden inspiration. He went back to the computer and searched for a coupon template. He made a hundred of them and used the paper cutter on the desk to slice them apart. Then he left Kyle putting together his coffee bar for the day and headed out along the street.

  “Hello, dahling!” Thad drawled as Noah entered the store. Upon first inspection, it looked like a junk shop with eclectic pieces in seemingly random clusters all over the showroom floor. There were scenes in more clusters along the wall. An antique bed sat on an oriental-style rug, covered with an ancient quilt. There was a side table arranged next to it with an oil lamp and reading glasses. A bookshelf sat on the other side of the bed, covered in leather-bound books and knickknacks he was sure were older than he was. It felt like a colonial museum, except maybe for the pattern on the rug. Thad had an eye for design. He could have done well in any fancy New York gallery.