by J P Barnaby
There wasn’t a room on the first floor of the house that wasn’t full of people, all dressed in their Sunday best. Noah moved through the knots of conversationalists, feeling like a ghost—when people spoke to him, he responded, though afterward he couldn’t quite remember what he’d said. And though the knots parted as he moved through them, when he turned around again, they had closed up, like water flowing in to fill an empty space. He felt like that—like an empty space in the world.
His phone vibrated against his leg, and he slid it out of his pocket. It took just a second for his practiced fingers to pop open the text from his roommate, Yeira.
You doing okay?
Noah dropped onto a stair halfway up and thought about that for a very long moment.
I’m hanging in there, he replied because that was the best he had.
I tossed your leftover Chinese. It was starting to reek.
He snorted. It was just like Yeira to be practical when he wanted to be anything but.
I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’ll pay my half of the rent for next month right now so I don’t forget. With everything going on, he would forget, and it was due next week. It took no time at all to bring up his banking app and send the payment, though he felt weird paying his rent at his father’s memorial. He had an idea that he’d feel weird for a while.
Thanks, but I really just wanted to see how you were.
I brought one of your Xanax. Right now I wish it were a whole bottle.
I’d have given it to you. Sorry I wasn’t here. He closed his eyes against the tears welling there. They’d become good friends since he’d moved in, and it always floored him how much she cared about people.
You couldn’t have known. You were at work too. The show must go on.
I’m a junior reporter. It could go on without me.
I couldn’t, he told her honestly.
You’re going to be okay, honey. You’d be surprised what you could live through. I’m headed to the studio. Let me know if you need anything.
I will.
He drifted back into the kitchen, where Miss Edna was directing ladies on putting out cakes and lemonade and sweet tea on silver trays that must belong to her, because he couldn’t remember his dad ever owning such things. Miss Norma, who played the piano at church, if Noah remembered correctly, handed him a sweet tea. “You look like you need it, sweet chile,” she murmured.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He took the glass, noting absently that her brown hand was thinner and the veins more prominent than he remembered. Surprised, he looked up at her face and realized she had gotten older. He glanced around the kitchen, recognizing almost all the ladies puttering around, and felt shocked and uncertain to see how old they had all gotten. Had it been that long since he’d gone to New York? He’d seen some of them on his visits home. Why had they all gotten so old so quickly? Or was it just that he was feeling his own mortality? His dad hadn’t been that old when he’d died.
Noah wished suddenly that he hadn’t gone to New York—that he’d stayed in Aster and worked with his dad in the store. He’d known that was what his dad had wanted, but he’d never said so. Never tried to change Noah’s mind or pressure him into staying. He found his eyes suddenly full of tears and set the glass of tea down, unable to breathe.
Miss Edna took the glass and said, “Jake needs to go out.”
He blinked at her. “Ma’am?”
“Take Jake for a walk. You’ve done your duty here. I’ll see to the rest of it.”
His eyes blurred again, and he said, “Thank you. You’ve done so much for us. I can’t—”
“Hush, child—I know.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Now go on. Jake’s legs are crossin’.”
With a sodden laugh, he went to get the leash.
Noah found Jake hiding out in the pantry, away from the crowds, but he leaped to his feet as Noah opened the door, and stood wagging his tail so hard he looked like he was going to take off like a helicopter. Noah slapped his thigh and the big dog followed him to the door. He found his dad’s key ring on the hook by the door where he’d always kept it. It had an “I Heart NY” keychain Noah had sent him right after he’d moved there, though the tag had gotten worn and chipped over the years from unlocking the store.
Jake stopped in the back doorway, and Noah nearly tripped over him. The red-haired guy he had seen earlier sat alone on the back porch, gazing up into the night sky. Unlike in New York with its constant glow, you could actually see the stars in Aster. Noah looked up too. It was a clear night, and he wondered if his dad could see him through the absence of clouds.
The guy had a slim profile, with a shock of red hair that seemed black in the semidarkness. The hunch of his shoulders bothered Noah. It seemed he and the stranger both had the weight of the world on them. He wanted to sit down next to the guy and introduce himself, but Jake decided to lick the back of the guy’s neck, just under his ear. It startled him so hard, he fell sideways off the steps and onto the unruly grass below.
“Jake! I’m so sorry,” Noah called as he jumped from the stairs as he’d done a thousand times in his youth. Jake beat him to the punch and sat licking the guy’s face with big slobbering kisses. To his surprise, the guy laughed, and the sound lifted him in a way Noah hadn’t thought possible right then.
“S’okay,” he said. “I love dogs.” He continued to scratch Jake’s ears until the big ol’ guy gave up the ghost and threw himself onto his back in an obvious invitation. A smile lit up the guy’s face, making it impossible for Noah to look away. He watched them for a long moment, smiling, until it started to feel awkward.
“I’m Noah.” He gave a little half wave rather than trying to shake the guy’s hand around Jake’s assault.
“Kyle.”
“Did you know my dad?” Noah sat on the edge of the porch.
“No, I’m here with my… Sarah from across the street.”
Noah finally broke his gaze and found Jake wiggling back and forth in the grass under Kyle’s pets.
“You’re such a whore, Jake,” Noah laughed, but the guy looked at him with strange intensity, almost anger. Then it was gone. He stood abruptly, a troubled expression still on his handsome face. Noah wanted to take it back, whatever he’d done wrong, so the guy would stay. For just a while, he hadn’t felt alone.
“I should get back. Aunt Sarah’s probably looking for me.” He jogged around the back corner of the house and was gone before Noah could reply—before he could even get more than a name. Noah watched him go and the weight of the day crashed back onto him.
“What was that?” Noah asked Jake, but he simply lay in the grass waiting for someone, anyone, to rub that massive belly. Noah laughed and scratched his way from the neck down, making sure to miss the dog’s frank and beans.
“Come on, buddy, let’s go for a walk.”
They wandered out of the yard and down streets gone unusually quiet. Noah wondered about that, then realized that half the town was in his house, eating cake and drinking tea. He turned down the side street that led to the business district, stopping on every block so Jake could claim another tree.
The keys rattled as he pulled them out of his pocket and used them on the front door of Stardust Books, Aster’s only bookstore. The familiar sound of wind chimes tinkled cheerfully as it opened, but the shop was dark and smelled faintly dusty. Like old books. In the ambient light, Noah typed his birthday into the alarm keypad to stop the incessant beeping. It took him a minute to remember where the light switch was, but when he found it and flicked the lights on, he saw that the place was just as he remembered. Books had been piled everywhere in his dad’s notion of organization: science fiction dumped on one table in weird stacks, with alien figurines and Star Wars characters climbing on them; the mystery books shelved backward, hiding their spines; the romance novels on a lace-covered table with a bouquet of silk flowers; a Stetson sitting on top of the shelf of Westerns. The “serious books” nook, floor-to-ceiling shelves fille
d with classics, held an oriental carpet and an electric fireplace next to the ancient leather chair and ottoman. A cabinet with an empty decanter set rounded out his dad’s vision of a British men’s club. Noah had spent a lot of time curled up in that chair, reading, while his dad tended the shop. Often—not just at Christmas—his dad would sit in that chair while Noah perched on the ottoman, both of them absorbed in whatever book they were into at the time.
He wondered what kind of books the red-haired guy liked to read. His dad always used that as a guide by which to measure people—the books they read. Noah would have been about twelve in his eyes, then, because he’d become a huge YA fan.
Toward the back was the kids’ section. A model train track ran along the top of the shelves, and brightly colored books faced out so the kids could read the titles easily. Noah’d spent a lot of time there too. The shelf with the Harry Potter books had a set of wands in the display case, along with a bunch of other fantasy titles and a stuffed unicorn. That was new. There were kids’ books on the shelves in front of the counter too, and a selection of greeting cards and stationery. The cash register was an antique, brass and tarnished, with keys that you had to really smack to get to work, and it didn’t track your inventory the way new ones did. Noah supposed he’d probably have to replace it at some point—if he kept the store.
But that was crazy.
He stopped walking. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment—the bookstore was his.
But keep it? He didn’t know anything about running a business. The idea of closing it, giving up on the store, kind of made him sick to his stomach. It was his dad’s dream, not his, but saying goodbye to the store would be kind of like saying goodbye to his dad—again.
And he just couldn’t imagine old Jake in his tiny apartment, on that tiny elevator, or padding through the crowded streets of Manhattan. What would a country dog do in the city?
He went and sat down in the leather club chair, and Jake came and lay at his feet, relaxing with a heavy dog sigh. “I dunno, Jake,” he said, and Jake sighed again and rested his chin on Noah’s foot. “I feel like I’ve been flapping in the breeze and just got cut loose. I don’t know what to do. Do I want to stay here? My life’s in New York. Yeah, I’m not exactly setting the world on fire, but I have friends and a job, and New York is so interesting. And busy. And so much is happening all the time. Nothing ever happens here. When someone talks about a sleepy little town, they’re talking about here.” He glanced around the tiny store, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. “How did he even stay in business?”
Jake lifted his head and looked at him. “You miss him too, don’t you, Jake?”
The thick tail thumped once and Jake put his head down again. “Yeah, I know. Well, I guess I can’t do anything right now, not till I talk to the lawyer and see what’s going on. For all I know Dad left the store to Miss Edna.” But he couldn’t imagine the old woman faring any better at it than he would. He wouldn’t know what was going on until he got access to his records. Dad always said there was no use borrowing trouble.
“But Jesus, Jake. I miss him.”
Dogs weren’t mind readers, but Jake seemed to know what Noah was thinking. Probably just responding to his tone of voice. But he whined in agreement.
A cold wet nose bumped up against his hand. Noah went down onto one knee and wrapped his arms around the big dog. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Jake. They held on tight, buffeted by the swirling, storming seas of where life had taken them.
The door jingled, and Noah glanced up to see Fred, the mailman, standing there. “Hey, Noah. Been holdin’ your mail. I was gonna drop it by the house, but saw the light on here, so I took a chance.” He set a stack of envelopes and a thick package on the counter. “Looks like another book or three. Guess you need some, huh?” It was the same joke Fred had made with Charlie a thousand times over the years.
“Can’t ever have too many books, Fred,” Noah replied, just as his father used to.
Fred grinned but then sobered. “Sorry I couldn’t get to the wake—I hadda get back to work after the funeral. He was a good man, Noah. He’s gonna be missed. You gonna take over the store?”
“I don’t know yet, Fred. I was pondering that very question.”
“Think about it. Wouldn’t be Aster without the Stardust.”
“I will, Fred. Thanks.”
The mailman nodded and, after greeting Jake, who’d padded over to get his usual pat on the head, wandered out the door. Noah got up and went to the counter, looking over the stack of envelopes. He’d have to go through them sooner or later, but for now he carried them and the package of books back to the office at the rear of the store.
It was really more of a kitchenette than an office; there was an apartment-sized fridge and a small bistro table with two chairs, and a bunch of cabinets. A counter-height stool sat in front of a computer setup on the counter; a green light blinked steadily on it. Still online, Noah supposed. He’d have to ask if the lawyer had the password so he could see if Charlie had fulfilled his promise to get the inventory uploaded. He added the pile of letters and the books to others on the counter and looked in the fridge, the way he automatically did when he’d come into the office before.
There they sat, the bottles of commercial sweet tea that Charlie had been addicted to. Miss Edna had always decried Charlie’s habit, averring that the only good tea was homemade, but Charlie never had the patience for it. Other than those, the fridge was empty except for a black banana, which Noah plucked out of there and took out to the garbage.
When he came back in, Jake was growling at the door to the upstairs, the door Charlie never opened. He’d always told Noah there wasn’t anything up there worth seeing, and even though Noah usually questioned everything, something about Charlie’s voice when he said that had made him listen. He’d have to take a look up there, he supposed, but not now. He glanced down and saw Jake still staring at the door. “What is it, boy? There a mouse or something there?”
Jake looked up at him, then at the door, then shook his head, tags jingling, and went out into the store.
“Huh,” Noah said. He looked at the door, then reached for the knob. It didn’t turn, and none of the keys on the ring seemed to fit. But for some strange reason, he was okay with that. He didn’t want to go up there. His spine tingled from Jake’s growl, and a shiver raced over him like someone stepped on his grave.
He shook his head. He’d always had an imagination. Too bad he couldn’t seem to harness it enough to get his great American novel written. Maybe he did need to stay here in sleepy Aster, running the bookstore and writing in the slow moments. Maybe a dull life was what he needed to focus on his writing. Hell, wasn’t it Nathaniel Hawthorne who worked as a customs agent? Or was that Melville? He shrugged and thought about googling it; then he heard Jake’s friendly bark and went back out into the shop.
“Miss Edna.”
“I thought I’d find you here, sweetheart. Everyone’s gone and it’s safe to come home now. Doin’ some remembering?”
“Yeah. It’s a good place.” He bent and rubbed Jake’s ears. The tail was going two-forty again.
“It is. But remember, honey, your dad didn’t want you to feel obliged to stay here. He knew you had dreams too. If you decide you don’t want to carry on, he wouldn’t be offended.”
“Thanks, Miss Edna. I’ll take that under advisement.”
She laughed. “Fancy way of sayin’ you’ll think about it. Just remember, for all its faults, there are worse places to live than Aster.”
He sobered and put a hand on her arm. “Did you know the bookstore was in trouble?”
She sighed and rested a small, wrinkled hand on Jake’s head. He looked up at her expectantly and she rubbed his ears. “I knew something was wrong. He never told me specifically that it was the bookstore, but he’d been anxious these last few months.”
“Why didn’t he tell me? I could have come back. I could have helped out.” Noah stepp
ed back to let Miss Edna leave first, Jake at her side. He turned to set the alarm and lock up, and she waited for him to face her again.
“Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell you, Noah. He wanted you to live your life, not his. He said you’d found yourself in New York.”
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have come.”
As he was walking home beside her, Jake gamboling like the puppy he used to be, Noah thought about it. Yeah, there were worse places. Aster was small and friendly, and there didn’t seem to be a lot of crime. It had a charmed history—the town had been founded by former slaves, so it had been solidly integrated for generations. The worst that had happened to Noah, being gay, was Matt Handley and his cohorts, and they hadn’t even been that violent, just harassing. The big oaks and elms that shaded the streets—even the main commercial streets—gave the town a relaxed, sleepy air, and the Victorian-styled streetlamps—new since last year—and the window boxes and plantings made it feel warm and welcoming.
Yeah. He could do worse than stay here.
But there was his job. And New York itself—busy, exciting, full of new things and new faces. Museums, libraries, Central Park, clubs, restaurants serving all kinds of weird, exotic ethnic food—the very rhythm of the traffic was like blood pumping through a living heart.
He could do worse than go back there too.
As they turned down the street they lived on, Miss Edna said softly, “Birds gotta fly, Noah. But sometimes—sometimes the nest calls them home. Take it under advisement.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you, ma’am. I will.”
Chapter Four
SATURDAY MORNING Noah worked at the counter on his father’s computer, which, to Noah’s horror, had no password. Bless his daddy’s heart. They were coming up on the end of October in about a week and half. He needed to figure out what bills were due. Noah had flipped the sign to Closed, but the lights were on and the door unlocked. When he heard a tentative knock, Noah glanced up to see the young auburn-haired man standing there. He smiled and waved him in.
