A Pocketful of Stardust

by J P Barnaby

  “The car is right outside. I’ll open the back door and you can both slide in. I’ll keep the people back.” Then he turned to Noah. “Fred and Jonas are out front. They’re going to help you with the people.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I sent that box over to the FBI. They raided the camp last night just before the story broke,” Cooper told Kyle. “Your father is in custody.”

  Hope choked back a sob.

  “Thank you, sir,” Kyle said and turned into Noah’s arms.

  “I’m going with her. She needs a lawyer, and I have a friend who might be able to help.” Yeira and Hope followed Cooper to the door. Before he could pull it open, Hope turned on Kyle.

  “I hope you’re proud of yourself, brother. You’ve destroyed us.”

  Cooper opened the door and pushed them both through before she could say another word.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Noah whispered.

  Miss Edna whistled and took Jake out to the front of the store. Jake looked up at Noah and Kyle first and then followed.

  “There’s nothing anyone can say. She’s right. I destroyed them.”

  “But think of all the kids in that place you saved from what happened to you and Hope? Think about—” Noah stopped when Kyle put a finger to his lips.

  “God wasn’t in that place. I understand that now. I don’t regret doing it. My pain is Hope’s pain. I should have done something for her sooner. I should have gone to the police.” Kyle jerked his body out of Noah’s arms and bent over the sink and dry heaved.

  Noah took a breath, trying to not to cry. He needed to be strong for Kyle. He needed to be a grown-up. “You were a teenage boy. There was nothing you could do. Your aunt Mary could have called the police, but she didn’t. Please don’t take this on yourself,” Noah finished in a whisper.

  “Noah, we need to open before they come through the glass,” Miss Edna called from the counter. “It’s getting kind of ugly out there.”

  “We’re not going to open,” Noah told Kyle. “I don’t care what else happens now. I’m not going to let those people near you.” He turned for the main part of the store, but Kyle grabbed his arm.

  “No, let’s just do it. I have to face it. Better to get it out of the way now.” Kyle grabbed a paper towel and wet it down in the sink. He washed his face with it, and then the back of his neck.

  “Better?”

  “A little.”

  Noah leaned forward and kissed him gently. “Whatever happens, we’re in it together.”

  “Together,” Kyle agreed.

  They held hands as they shuffled from the office to the main part of the bookstore, neither excited about opening the doors. But Kyle was right. People would just keep coming back if they didn’t get their train-wreck kind of look. At the junction of the rooms, Kyle turned left and headed for the coffee bar while Noah kept on toward the door. He heard Jake pattering behind him, and he turned to see Miss Edna take her place behind the counter.

  They were ready.

  The chimes rang as he opened the door. They kept ringing over and over as each person came through, letting the door close just enough to hit them in the spaces between. A few decided to be inconspicuous and headed for different sections of the store, but most decided they were going to die without a cup of coffee and made a beeline for Kyle. Noah followed and stationed himself behind the counter, taking money and keeping Kyle stocked with cups and lids.

  “What was it like?” A teenaged boy not much younger than Hope had made his way to the counter. He was the first to break the silence with Kyle. Others were bubbling excitedly at one another in line, but no one wanted to be the first to be intrusive. Southern manners, God forbid.

  “What was what like?” Kyle asked, filling his order of iced coffee. He didn’t look up, just concentrated on loading ice into the cup like he knew what was coming and didn’t want to see it hurled at him.

  “What was it like being in a cult?” the boy asked, like it should have been obvious to anyone with half a brain what he wanted to know, what he presumed he was entitled to ask. A hush fell over the waiting patrons, a blanket of silence thrown over the crackle of embers.

  “I imagine it was like growing up in prison,” he said, pouring coffee into the cup. “People told you what to do, you did it, and you couldn’t leave. What more can I tell you? I have nothing to compare it to. We didn’t play video games or eat junk food. We worked. We prayed.”

  “Next,” Noah called, bringing the next wide-eyed tourist. He didn’t recognize any of these people. Aster folk already knew Kyle—they had more tact.

  At nine o’clock that night, Noah locked the door with a low moan of exhaustion. People had been filing in and out all day. Kyle had run out of coffee at midday, but the flow of humanity didn’t stop. When Noah reminded them that it was a retail establishment, they simply bought magazines instead.

  He’d ushered the last two out after they’d been “browsing” for nearly three hours. However, they did buy nine books between them, so he couldn’t really complain about that.

  Noah had brought down a stool for Miss Edna from Henry’s apartment upstairs. He didn’t really think the old guy would mind—especially not now. She perched on the edge of it, balancing the register.

  When he walked back through the store, he saw Kyle counting out the money from his stand. It wouldn’t be enough, so it didn’t matter. The foreclosure notice had already come. They’d start packing up the inventory tomorrow. Maybe he could sell the stock on Amazon or eBay. There were a lot of antiques throughout the store too, stuff his dad had probably bartered with Thad to get.

  His dad.

  The memory of him sitting there in that big chair by the fire, reading to Noah, came unbidden, along with tears that he didn’t feel worthy to shed. He’d lost his father’s store. Ebenezer would have been appalled at his abject poverty.

  “Noah….”

  Noah turned to see Miss Edna smiling at him. “We brought in six thousand today.”

  He gaped at her. He didn’t think they’d done six thousand in any of the weeks he’d been there. “Are you serious?”

  “Yep. What about you, Kyle?” she called into the room. The sound echoed off the rows of shelves. Noah heard something from the other room, and they waited.

  “Kyle?” she called again.

  “Hold on, please. I’m almost done.” He sounded studious, like he was concentrating hard on the task at hand. It took another full two minutes for him to answer.

  “I have four thousand,” he said, coming into the room and holding up a box. He sidled over to the counter and put it carefully next to the register.

  “That’s ten thousand, Noah. Is that enough?” Miss Edna asked, hope plain in her expression. He hated to snuff it out. He hated it almost more than losing the store.

  “No. They’re going to call the loan soon. The payoff amount was a little over fifty thousand dollars. That money on the counter, plus everything we’ve made over the last six weeks, plus the rare books and first editions we sold, plus what was left over from Dad’s insurance and stuff makes almost thirty-five thousand. We aren’t going to make it.” His voice hitched, and he looked away. “Kyle and I will start packing up the stock tomorrow. We can store it at the house until I can sell it. The notice said we have fourteen days to pay in full, plus penalties and interest, or vacate. That’s not a lot of time.”

  “I’m sorry, Noah,” Miss Edna said, her eyes sparkling with tears. “What will you do?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “HOW ABOUT this, Noah?” Kyle asked, holding up some Christmas decorations he’d found in one of the storerooms: pine garland with red bows, candles, and a host of little Santas, reindeer, and gingerbread men.

  “Uhm. I don’t know, maybe Ananda or Thad want some of it. Just put it in the front corner. We’ll have them come over later and check it out.” He went back to packing up the last of the children’s shelves. He’d plann
ed to donate those books to the local school. No point trying to compete with Amazon and sell them. Maybe he’d donate the rest to the library after he declared bankruptcy.

  James had rescinded his offer when he found out they weren’t going to make it. A building in foreclosure was a steal, he’d told Noah with a horrible chuckle. Handley was ready to sell it to him for the balance on the loan. Noah didn’t even know how that was legal.

  He sighed, stood up, and stretched. His back popped painfully, and he grabbed another empty box from the pile Thad had brought over from his last few shipments. Hopeful but pragmatic, he had started saving boxes in anticipation of packing up the store. Noah was grateful. He headed over to the classics section and started with the books on the bottom of the first shelf. Then the next, and the next.

  “Noah, I found some of Granddaddy’s records upstairs. I think… would you mind—” Ellie called from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Take them, Miss Ellie. He would have wanted you to have them.”

  “Noah, there’s some personal papers and stuff back here in the office. What do you want me to do with those?” Miss Edna called from the back.

  Noah sighed. It was just too many decisions. “Put them in a box. I’ll go through them later,” he called, weariness evident in his voice.

  The top shelf was one of the glass-fronted sections where he’d found the first editions. They were all empty now except this one. He’d gone through each one, pulling the first editions, selling his father’s precious books one by one. In the end, it was for nothing.

  He used the I Heart New York keys to open the glass. Only one book remained, lying on its side on the bare shelf. Noah wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it down carefully, lovingly. It was the copy of A Christmas Carol he and his father read every year at Christmas, sitting in front of that electric fireplace. They’d done it for as long as he could remember. It was their thing. A tear slipped down his cheek as he looked at the book’s cover. The novel appeared old but in great condition because his father had kept it that way, because it was theirs.

  Noah opened the book and slid his finger down the title page. He noticed the writing there and cocked his head to look at it. The book appeared to be signed, but by whom he couldn’t imagine. He might just be imagining that it said Charles Dickens. The pages flipped back easily. Noah checked the republication date and gasped. There wasn’t a republication date.

  It was a first edition.

  His father had spent every Christmas reading to him out of a first-edition Charles Dickens novel.

  “Oh my God,” Noah said. Miss Edna stood up from where she’d been cleaning under the front counter and looked at him. He could only imagine how his face looked, because she came running over.

  “Son, what is it?” She put a hand on his arm.

  “Dad read this book to me every Christmas. It was our tradition. We sat right over there,” he said, indicating the leather chair now stacked with books and knickknacks waiting to be packed.

  “I remember. He looked forward to it,” she said fondly. “So what’s wrong?”

  “This book is a signed first edition. He read to me from a signed first edition, and he kept it when things got bad financially. Because it was our thing.”

  “Okay….” The word came out more as a question than a conclusion.

  “If this is authentic, it could be worth a fortune. An absolute fortune,” he finished in a whisper.

  “How would we know?”

  “Well, it looks like it was signed to an Edward Stirling. Kyle!” he called. Kyle looked up from the Christmas lights he’d managed to wrestle into a box. “Could you get my laptop and google Edward Stirling for me?”

  Kyle dropped the lights and headed for the counter.

  “Let’s check my dad’s office. Maybe there’s something authenticating this book.” He grabbed Miss Edna’s hand, and together they hurried into the back office.

  “I put all his papers in this box. Wait—” She started digging through, searching. “There was an envelope here with your name on it. I didn’t think anything—here it is.” She pulled out a sealed business-size envelope and handed it to him. He hefted it, and it felt like more than a sheet of paper.

  When he opened it, a small key fell into his palm. Noah set it on the desk and pulled out the piece of paper. He opened it with trembling fingers.

  Hey, kiddo—

  We just finished our annual Christmas Carol reading, and you’re curled up asleep at the end of the sofa. I look at you and I see my little five-year-old boy instead of the twenty-five-year-old man you are now. You’re wearing a T-shirt and sweats instead of your reindeer pajamas, and you need a shave, but I still see my little boy. You’re older and smarter and more sophisticated, but you still quoted the line at the end of the story just the way you have since you were five. You’ve changed—but you haven’t. And that makes me so proud of you. You’re still good.

  I was worried for a long time. That I wouldn’t be a good parent, that you needed more motherly influence than Miss Edna and the church ladies could give you, that you’d get screwed up by my failures. And when I realized you were gay—it didn’t change how I loved you, but it did scare me to my toes. As hard as most people had it, you were going to have it that much harder. I didn’t want that for you. I never wanted things to be hard, let alone that hard.

  I want you to have whatever you want, to be able to do whatever you love to do. I couldn’t give you much growing up except attention and love, and I hope that was enough. The fact that no matter what was going on in your life, you always—always—managed to get home for Christmas told me your heart was in the right place. You’ve never done anything to make me ashamed of you. I hope that’s reciprocal.

  Old Doc Simmons told me today that I have a bad ticker. A time bomb is actually what he said. So if something happens to me, and it must have if you’ve found this, you’ll inherit the bookstore. I DO NOT want you to keep it if you don’t want it. I know you love New York and your life there. Don’t stay here unless it’s something you really, really want. Of course, it would make me happy if you decided to make Stardust part of your life, but it will make me equally happy if you were to sell the store and use the money to buy a condo or something. Ditto with the house. It’s a nice house, but it’s just a house. Don’t feel like you’d be tarnishing my memory or something if you decide to sell.

  Aster’s a good place, with good people, and I’ve been happy here. But there are other good places, and other good people, and wherever you’re happy is where home is. I won’t be insulted if you walked away from here.

  Speaking of walking away… please don’t hate your mom too much. I know she isn’t a part of your life any more than she is of mine, but I did love her once. And I like to think that maybe, if things had been different, she would have found a reason to stay. But she needed something other than you and me and Aster.

  The key is for a safe deposit box at Handley’s bank. The box number is 33812. It’s the authentication documents for our copy of A Christmas Carol. I never told you how valuable it was, but it’s a first print first edition. I never told you because I didn’t want you to think anything of us reading it together. I didn’t want it to be a thing. Don’t sell it in a misguided attempt to save the bookstore or, God forbid, extend my life if I’m on support somewhere. You use it for yourself, what you want. I got it at auction so many years ago. I don’t know how it got missed—I can’t believe how lucky I was to find it. The seller must not have known what he had.

  But then again, it was also the day your mom told me she was pregnant. So it was a doubly lucky day.

  By the way, Dickens signed the book to Edward Stirling. He was the man who first adapted the story for the stage. There’s a copy of the playbill in the box—it’s a facsimile, not real, so don’t get excited about it.

  And Alastair Sim was the best Scrooge. Don’t even talk to me about Bill Murray.

  Love you always,

  Dad


  A sob caught in his throat, and he dropped the letter to the desk next to the key. Miss Edna picked it up and read through it, her fingers at her throat. A quiet “oh” escaped her parted lips, and he started crying in earnest.

  “Noah?” Kyle asked from the door. His mouth had fallen open, and he still clutched the laptop with both hands.

  “It’s a letter from my dad,” Noah said, waving vaguely at the paper in Miss Edna’s hands.

  “Why wasn’t this with all of his other paperwork?” Miss Edna asked as she handed the note back to Noah.

  “Maybe he only meant for me to find it if I wanted to keep the store. So he left it here.” Noah shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “What does it say?”

  “That he loves me, that he’s proud of me.” Noah hiccupped back the tears. “He had a book that we could have sold to save the store, but it’s so important to both of us. I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m sick of all this being put on me. I can’t….”

  Kyle dropped the laptop onto the desk and wrapped his arms around Noah.

  “It’s not on you, Noah. It’s on all of us. We all want to help,” he whispered. “What can we do?” He rubbed Noah’s back and Miss Edna put a hand on his arm.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered back.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “THAT’S IT, then.” Noah tossed the thick envelope he’d just received onto the counter and rubbed his eyes. “It’s game over. That’s the final notice. We have to be out tomorrow.”

  “What about the book?” Kyle asked. “If you showed it to them and told them what it’s worth….”

  “I’d have to get it appraised, and we’ve run out of time. If I’d found it two weeks ago, maybe. God, I wish Henry was still around. He was always so good at talking around things.”

  “Well, what would he have said?”

  “I don’t know.” Noah pinched the bridge of his nose. He was going to start crying again any minute, and he didn’t know if it was from grief or frustration.