The Same Stuff as Stars (22 page)

 

“What does it mean?” she asked Miss Liza. “I don't understand.”

“I think you do,” said Miss Liza. “I think you understand better than almost anyone I know how to manage when other people are blaming you or making fun of you or letting you down. I think you know to fix your mind on a star, to be strong and stand tall.”

Angel looked at the bent-over little woman, and the words “stand tall” seemed strange but true, and although she thought Miss Liza was giving her too much credit—Angel could think all too often of the times she had been weak and close to dissolving in despair—it was something to live up to, wasn't it? No matter what other people did or failed to do, you could try yourself to be something like Polaris, shining strong and bright and fixed in a swirling world of darkness.

She asked Miss Liza to let her take the poetry book home. She wanted to read the poem over and over again. She might never understand it, she knew; still she wanted it to be inside her, a part of her star stuff.

***

As soon as Angel turned up the driveway, she saw the car. Not a brand-new one, but almost clean, not like most of the cars out here in the country. Her stomach did a flipflop even before she saw the middle-aged, neatly dressed woman sitting at the wheel. They'd found her. She almost made a dash for it, but it would be hard to get far carrying a book and a bag of groceries. Anyhow, it was already too late. The woman had spotted her and was getting out of the car.

“Hello, Angel,” she said. “I'm Mrs. Morris.”

Angel clutched Robert Frost more tightly in her left hand and propped the bulky bag she held in her right arm on her hip. “Hi,” she said.

“Here”—the woman reached out—“Let me help you with that load.”

“It's okay. I can manage.” She could see out of the corner of her eye that Grandma was standing on the front porch and watching. “Did you want to see my grandma?”

“I've already met her. Actually, you're the person I was waiting to see.” She looked around the junk-filled yard. “Is there somewhere we could talk—just the two of us? The sugar shack, maybe?”

Angel shook her head. Her mouth felt frozen. So this was the way it was going to be. She cleared her throat. “It's...sort of filled with stuff. Storage, you know.”
Does a messy shed count against you? One your daddy hid in?

“Would you mind just sitting in the car, then?”

She did mind. You never knew when you got into a social worker's car, where you would end up, but the woman had already opened the rear door and was reaching for the groceries. “Here,” she said. “Why don't you just set that heavy bag in here and then jump in the front seat with me? The law won't fuss about a minor in the front seat as long as the car isn't moving.” She laughed as though she'd made a joke.

Angel put the groceries in back and went around to the front seat. She left the door open. Not that she was going to make a run for it, but just so she wouldn't feel trapped. She held on to Robert Frost the way Bernie used to hold on to Grizzle.
To stay your mind on and be staid.

“What's your book?” the social worker asked.

“Just some poetry.”

“That's nice.” The woman was quiet for a moment, thrumping a silent rhythm on the steering wheel, looking ahead through the windshield. “We've got a problem here, Angel,” she began.

You've got a problem. I'm fine.

“Did you know your father said he walked away from his work crew because he was hoping to see you?”

Work crew?
She didn't try to answer. She might betray herself.

“Well, that's what he told the police when they finally caught up with him—that he was trying to check up on you. He said that the reason he took off was that you had called him. You were all upset, he said, because your mother had taken your brother away and left you alone here with your great-grandmother.”

So that business about parole had been a lie. Angel bit her lip. She mustn't speak. Not even to ask if they knew where Bernie was.

“We haven't been able to locate your mother or your brother, but we did need to see about you. We had no idea your mother had deserted you.”

“I'm fine here. Grandma and I are getting along real well.”

“Well, your dad didn't have a lot of good things to say about his grandmother. Of course, we know how families are sometimes...” She was still looking straight ahead, holding tightly to the wheel.

“Daddy's mad because of something that happened years ago. That's why he told the police about Mama. He's mad at her for not sticking by him when he was in jail. He's probably mad at me, too.” The words were out of her mouth before she knew it.

The woman gave her a sharp look. “He has no reason to be mad at you, Angel. For all his faults, I think your father cares about you. He wants to make sure you're all right.” She seemed to be searching Angel's profile for lies. “He doesn't believe your great-grandmother is capable—”

Angel looked her straight in the face. “Yes, she is. I swear to God. We do good together. You can ask anybody.”

“But that's just it, Angel. Just who can I ask?”

“Well, you can ask me, or Grandma. We're the ones who know best, aren't we?”

“Angel, a couple of years ago one of our people asked you about your mother. Remember what you said? You said she'd turned herself around and was going to be a great mom for you and Bernie.” She was quiet a minute, staring hard into Angel's eyes. “I'm not sure you're the best judge, sweetie.”

“You can't take me away. Please. You can't.”

“I don't want to, Angel, but it's my job to make sure you're safe, and hopefully”—she gave Angel a crooked smile—“happy.”

Happy. Sappy.
Grandma was holding on to one of the porch pillars, her face shrunk into prune lines. She looked like something might blow her away if she didn't hold on for all she was worth.
Stand up, Grandma. She'll see you over there caving in on yourself like a black hole.
“There is somebody knows us both who can tell you how good we're doing.”

“Someone close by that you see on a regular basis?”

“Yeah. Miss Liza Irwin. Grandma and her have been friends all their lives, and she's been friends with me ever since I came last summer. We—I see her on a very regular basis, and Grandma just saw her last week.”
No need to add it was at a funeral and the first time in about a hundred years.

“Where can I find this friend of yours?”

“She runs the library. She's a librarian. All her family's been librarians. The library's that little house in the village between the store and the church. It's got a big sign with her name painted right on it. You can't miss it.” Angel was already getting out of the car. She gave the door a satisfying bang before retrieving her grocery bag from the backseat. With a swing of her hip, she pushed the rear door shut. “Miss Liza Irwin,” Angel called to the woman through the closed window. “She's a leading citizen.”

The woman rolled down the window partway. “I get your message, Angel. Don't worry. I'll pay Miss Irwin a visit on my way back.” She wound up the window and started the motor.

“And tell Daddy I'm doing great, okay?” Angel was yelling now, smiling crazily, almost jumping up and down to prove how very healthy and happy she was as she ran toward the porch where Grandma still sagged like a whipped dog. She put her free arm around Grandma's shoulder and waved. The woman nodded at them both through the windshield and began to back up.

“She gonna take you away from me, Angel?”

“Nah.” Angel shifted the heavy grocery bag, watching the car turn and head out the driveway. “Nah. I'm siccing Miss Liza on her. She won't know what hit her. Could you open the door, Grandma? I'm 'bout to drop this bag.”

“What are you talking about, girl? You told her to talk to Liza Irwin? No telling what that woman will say about me!”

“Open the door,
please
.”

Grandma opened it, following anxiously behind. “Liza Irwin? I can't believe you. You know what that crooked old thing's liable to say about me?”

Angel put the bag on the table. “She'll say I got a terrific grandma and I'm lucky as heck to get to live with you.”

“She'll say nothing of the sort! Liza Irwin knows good and well I've hated her guts since I was six years old.”

“She won't say nice things because she
likes
you, Grandma. She'll say them because she's Liza Irwin. Liza Irwin is just like George Washington. She cannot tell a lie.”

Grandma sputtered. “See? That's exactly what I mean. How can you
not
hate someone too perfect to tell a lie?”

 

 

TWENTY-ONE

It was nearly Thanksgiving when Bernie finally called, and neither of them was ready. “Angel,” his little voice said. “Come get me. Please.”

“Bernie! Where are you?”

“In the hospital. I'm hurt.”

“What's the matter?”

“Just come get me, Angel. I want to come home with you.”

She cupped her hand over the receiver. “Grandma,” she said. “It's Bernie.”

“I ain't deaf. Where is he?”

“What hospital, Bernie?”

“I don't know.”

“Ask somebody. Is Mama there?”

“She's here somewhere, but I don't know where.”

“Bernie. Call the nurse. I need to talk to the nurse.”

“I want to come to Grandma's house.”

“I know, Bernie. But we can't come get you if we don't know where you are. Call the nurse so I can talk to her. Now. Please.”

She could hear him yelling at the other end of the line. Someone told him roughly to keep his voice down, and what was he doing using the phone without permission, then, in a quite different tone of voice, “Hello. Who am I speaking to?”

“This is Bernie Morgan's sister,” Angel said.

“Is there an adult that I can speak to?”

“Grandma. They want a grownup.”

Grandma heaved herself out of the rocker. “Yeah?” she shouted into the phone.

The call consisted mostly of high-pitched, undecipherable conversation on the other end and “eh-yups” on Grandma's end. Finally, when Angel thought she would bust a gut if it went on another second, Grandma said a final “eh-yup” and hung up the phone.

“Well, where is he? What happened?”

Grandma sighed as she hung up the receiver. “They're over to Barre. Where Ray was.”

“How bad is it?”

“Bernie's bunged up, sounds like. But he's like me, too mean to die.”

“What about Mama?”

Grandma shook her head. “I don't know. The guy had been drinking...”

“What guy?”

“Hell, how should I know? One of her boyfriends, I guess.”

“Did he beat them up?”

“They didn't say that. They was in a car. It was a car wreck.”

“She never fastens her seat belt or Bernie's. I told her and told her!”

“Calm down. Yelling ain't gonna help nothing.” She started for her chair. “I guess you need to sweet-talk little Miss Perfect into getting us a ride.”

***

It was several frantic hours before Miss Liza could locate her nephew. Still more time passed before Eric was able to get off work to drive over and collect them. “Do you want me to come along?” Miss Liza asked.

What should she say? Of course she wanted Miss Liza to come, but Angel was afraid that if she did, Grandma was liable not to go at all. “She's really grateful about the social worker, about you giving her such a great recommendation and all. I don't know. It's just seems hard for her to—”

“Angel?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe I shouldn't. Right?”

“I'm sorry. She really is grateful to you—she just has a hard time showing it.”

“No, no. I understand. You mustn't worry. Eric will be there within a half hour. Give Bernie my love.”

Both Angel and Grandma rode in the backseat of Eric's old Buick as though they were strangers riding in a taxi, not speaking to each other, much less to Eric.
Are they going to be all right? Oh, God, why wouldn't she listen to me? You never ride with someone's been drinking. You always
buckle your seat belt.
When they finally got to the hospital, Eric said, “I'll just park and wait for you in the lobby, okay?”

“Thanks,” Angel said. Grandma had yet to say a word.

She was the one who had to talk to the man volunteering on the Information Desk. He had a gray fringe of hair and a little toothbrush mustache, which kept wiggling as he screwed his mouth to punch information into the computer. He stopped and stared at the screen. “I got two Morgans listed,” the man said, as though that were a real puzzle.

“That's right. Bernie and Verna,” said Angel.

“Are you close relatives?” He eyed them suspiciously.

“I'm Verna's daughter, and Bernie's my brother. This is our grandma.”

He kept staring at the computer as though it might call her a liar.

“You heard the girl,” Grandma snapped. “What rooms they in?”

The man sniffed. “Bernie Morgan is in Children's, but Mrs. Verna Morgan is in the ICU. That's immediate family members only.” Angel's body went cold. The star man had been in the ICU. That's where they put you if you were going to die. Her mouth was too dry to speak.

“Well,” said Grandma. “We're 'bout as 'mediate as you can get. We'll go see the boy first. Where's he at?”

Going up in the elevator Grandma went quiet again, fiddling with the broken clasp of her pocketbook. Angel stuck her index finger in her mouth and chewed on the nail.
Oh, Bernie, Bernie, please be all right.
When they got to the floor, they both hesitated so long that the door began to close before they moved. Angel grabbed the rubber edge and held on to it until they could both get off.