“Come out of there, little person with a big name,” Tabby said, reaching inside the car and hauling out Ursa. “You’re so lucky to be named after a bear!”
“I know,” Ursa said. “You’re lucky to be named after a cat. Gabe has a tabby kitten I call Caesar.”
“How cool, but I’m not named after a cat. My completely insane mother named me after a TV witch.”
“Really?”
“For real, and that’s why if anyone calls me by my real name”—she leaned down and whispered “Tabitha” in Ursa’s ear—“I will punch them in the nose.”
Ursa smiled for the first time that day.
“She means that,” Jo said. She looked at the house, as enchanting as ever. “How much? You still haven’t told me.”
“The rent is only a little high,” Tabby evaded, “especially considering we don’t have to buy furniture. But she wants rent now because she’s leaving.”
“Now? We’d be paying for two places until August.”
Tabby dropped to her knees on the sidewalk and held her hands in a prayer gesture toward Jo. “Please, please, please use some of that wonderful money you inherited to help us get this house. I’m begging you!”
Ursa had probably never seen an adult act so goofy, but she loved it. Her left cheek was dimpled in a big grin.
“Get up, you dope,” Jo said.
“Please?”
“Let me look at the house and talk to the lady.”
Tabby sprang to her feet. “It’s our dream house! How often did we wish we lived here when we jogged past it?”
Jo walked to the front of the little house and looked up the walkway lined with a rainbow of bearded irises. “Imagine us drinking wine and pondering mysteries of the universe on that porch swing,” Tabby said.
“Will we be able to afford wine?” Jo said.
“If we correctly prioritize our grocery list.”
Frances Ivey, the retired physical therapist who owned the house, greeted them at the door, casting a wary stare on Ursa. “Who is this?” she asked.
“Jo is babysitting her today,” Tabby said.
“Good,” Ms. Ivey said. “No kids. No dogs. No smoking.”
“But cats are okay,” Tabby said. “Ms. Ivey has two.”
Ursa squatted down to pet the calico weaving between their legs.
“I hope neither of you are allergic?” Ms. Ivey said.
“That would be a bummer for a veterinary student,” Tabby said.
“It would,” Ms. Ivey said with a hint of a smile. “Of course, I’ll take my cats with me to Maine.” She closed the front door behind them. “Tabby told me you’re doing your PhD research down in the Shawnee Forest,” she said to Jo. “And you study birds?”
“Yes, bird ecology and conservation.”
“I like birds. I have several feeders out back. If you decide to rent, I’d appreciate it if you kept them filled. The birds have gotten used to me feeding them all these years.”
“I’d love to feed them. Having birds to watch would be great after apartment living.”
Ms. Ivey took Jo on a tour of the house. Up a wooden stairway with baluster handrails, three bedrooms, one small and two tiny, shared a full bath with antique tile and a claw-foot bathtub. Downstairs, the living room had a working fireplace with a gorgeous old oak mantel. Next to it was a dining room that had been converted to a reading room, and a kitchen with a breakfast nook. The downstairs half bath was as quaint as the bathroom upstairs. The rugs and furniture were simple, giving emphasis to the early nineteenth-century charm of carved woodwork, burnished oak floors, and stained-glass window transoms.
A wooden deck beyond the kitchen french doors overlooked a small backyard, a private garden of cottage-style flower beds, redbud trees, and forsythia and rhododendron bushes. A sizeable river birch shaded the western side of the garden and a bench surrounded by ferns and blooming hostas and astilbes. A house wren sang its burbling song near its nest box and a variety of bird feeders.
“I love the natural look of your garden,” Jo said.
“Thank you,” Ms. Ivey said. “Do you know how to take care of flowers?”
“I do. My mom had a big garden.”
“I didn’t grow up with a garden, but I love flowers,” Tabby said. “That’s why your house was one of the best on our jogging route.”
“Let’s go inside and look at the lease,” Ms. Ivey said.
“You’re going to let us rent it?” Tabby said.
“If you agree to the terms.”
“We’ll agree to anything,” Tabby said. “I’ll sign over my firstborn.”
Ms. Ivey smiled. “I’m glad you love it that much.”
Ms. Ivey served iced tea while they talked about the lease in the living room. She gave Ursa milk and cookies at the kitchen table. She also gave her crayons and paper, probably too childish for her, but Ursa obediently drew pictures while they talked business in the other room.
They soon discovered they shared many more interests than flowers, birds, and cats, and Frances, as she insisted they call her, eventually trusted them enough to tell them why she was leaving her beloved house. Her former partner, Nancy, who’d moved away after they split two years earlier, had been in a devastating car wreck and had no one to help her. Nancy had a shattered arm and leg, and the foot on her other leg had been amputated. Frances needed to leave immediately. She would stay in Maine for at least one school year to keep the lease simple.
Though the rent was high and Jo hated to pay for two houses until August, she signed the lease and paid the portion Tabby couldn’t afford. As Tabby had said, why not use some of the money she’d inherited? Her mother would have loved the house. Every time Jo sat in the garden, she would feel connected to her.
Tabby wanted to go out for pizza to celebrate after they signed the lease. Jo followed her to the restaurant, and as she pulled into the space next to her, Tabby climbed out of her VW and peeled off her shirt in the busy parking lot.
“A little exhibitionist, don’t you think?” Jo said.
“Who cares?” Tabby said. “And no way I’ll be seen in public wearing that hideous shirt.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Right, like you’re so emotionally involved with a T-shirt.” She pulled a tee with a Rolling Stones tongue over her black lace bra.
Ursa’s dimple marked her grin again. She took the crayons Frances had given her into the restaurant so she could finish a drawing. They ordered slices, and Tabby got a beer. Jo had water, and she let Ursa have a Sprite. When the drinks arrived, Tabby held up her beer for a toast. “To our awesomest house.” Jo and Ursa tapped their glasses to hers. “Don’t you think it has to be fate that this happened?” Tabby said. “I mean, how weird that we loved that house so much and now we’re going to live in it!”
“I made it happen,” Ursa said.
“How’d you make it happen?” Tabby said.
“I’m from another planet. My people can make good things happen.”
“Really?” Tabby said.
“She likes to pretend,” Jo said.
“It’s not pretend,” Ursa said. “And the proof is that house.”
“How do your people make things happen?” Tabby asked.
“It’s hard to explain,” Ursa said. “When we find Earth people we like, good things all of a sudden start to happen for them. It’s how we reward them for being nice to us.”
“But that means you made Nancy get in a car wreck,” Tabby said.
“I didn’t want that,” Ursa said, “but sometimes bad things happen to make good things happen.”
“You know what I hope happens?” Tabby said. “I hope Nancy realizes she still loves Frances, because Frances is obviously still shitloads in love with her.”
“Maybe that will happen—because I like Frances,” Ursa said. “Are Frances and Nancy lesbians?”
Tabby grinned. “Yeah, they’re lesbians. You cool with that?”
“I support gay rights,” Ursa said
.
“Wow,” Tabby said to Jo, “and from Banjo Land, no less.”
“I’m from Hetrayeh,” Ursa said.
“Is that your planet?” Tabby asked.
Ursa nodded. “It’s in the Infinite Nest Galaxy.”
“Whatever that is,” Tabby said. “How do you know about gay rights if you’re an alien?”
“I saw it on the internet at Gabe’s house. I’m supposed to learn about Earth, kind of like getting a PhD.”
“Awesome,” Tabby said. “Who’s this Gabe you keep mentioning?”
“He owns the property next to my rental house,” Jo said.
“This is Gabe,” Ursa said, sliding a paper out from under her drawing of a house.
Tabby studied the crayon drawing of a bearded man with blue eyes. “This is good, Ursa. How old are you?”
“My age wouldn’t make sense to Earth people,” she said.
Tabby looked at Jo. Jo shrugged.
After they ate, Tabby drank another beer and they discussed their move to the rental house. Ursa worked on her second drawing, a front view of Frances Ivey’s house. When she went to the bathroom, Tabby said, “Tell me more about this kid.”
“I know about as much as you do.”
“Do you have any idea where she lives?”
“I don’t.” Jo watched Ursa walk into the bathroom on the other side of the restaurant. “And she hasn’t been reported missing. I check the internet almost every day.”
Tabby leaned across the table, whispering, “You shouldn’t have brought her up here. What if something happened to her while she was with you?”
“I didn’t want to leave her alone all day.”
“You could get in big trouble, Jo!”
“Do you think I can’t see what a mess it is? But I don’t know what to do other than literally tie her up and drag her to the sheriff. And then she goes back to the people who hurt her.”
“Shit.”
“I’m hoping it’ll work itself out somehow.”
Tabby swallowed a swig of beer. “Is she . . . normal, do you think?”
“As normal as she can be under the circumstances.”
“But does she actually believe she’s an alien?”
“I don’t think so.”
Tabby picked up Ursa’s drawing of the house. “There’s something odd about this.”
“About what?”
“Look at the way she drew depth and dimension in this picture. And she saw the house from the outside for maybe a few minutes, but she got all these details. She even remembered the design in the stained glass above the front windows.”
“She’s really bright.”
“How does that Gabe guy figure in?”
“She likes to hang out at his farm.”
“He’s okay with that?”
“It’s a village-raises-the-kid kind of thing.”
“You know the guy? Are you sure he’s not a weirdo?”
“He seems okay.”
“Seems?”
“His dad taught literature at the University of Chicago. He went there for a while, too.”
“He could still be a creeper.”
“Ursa would tell me.”
“Since when is Banjo Land inhabited by literature professors?”
“Since before you became a bigot.”
“I’m not a bigot!”
“If you believe everyone who lives in rural America is a backward hick, you’re a bigot.”
“Okay, so maybe they all aren’t.” She picked up the drawing of Gabe. “Maybe this guy isn’t, even though he uses his beard to clean grits off his plate.”
“He reads Shakespeare.”
“No shit?”
“All his barn kittens are named after Shakespearean characters.”
Tabby burst into laughter.
“Seriously.”
She laughed harder, wiping at tears.
Ursa nearly ran back to the table. “What’s so funny?”
“Shakespeare,” Tabby said.
“Not usually,” Ursa said. “Most of his characters have sad fates.”
“Oh my god!” Tabby said. “Even she reads Shakespeare! I take it all back about Banjo Land!”
“What is Banjo Land?” Ursa asked.
“It’s where purple shoes are harvested.” Tabby pushed her purple boot out from under the table and wedged it next to Ursa’s purple gym shoes. “We have the same color taste in footwear.”
“Purple is my favorite color,” Ursa said.
“I see that,” Tabby said, noting her lavender puppy shirt and purple shorts. She looked at Jo. “She has to hear it.”
“No,” Jo said.
“Hear what?” Ursa said.
“You see that thing over there, little alien?” Tabby said.
“What thing?” Ursa said.
“That machine with the colored lights.”
“What about it?” Ursa said.
“It’s called a jukebox, and it plays music from all of human history, all the way back to the original version of ‘Walk Like an Egyptian.’”
Ursa stared at the jukebox.
“The most awesome song ever written is in there,” Tabby said.
“Please don’t,” Jo said.
“What song?” Ursa said.
“‘The Purple People Eater.’ Have you ever heard it?”
“No,” Ursa said.
“It’s about an alien,” Tabby said.
“For real?”
“For real,” Tabby said, digging in her wallet.
“This is lunch,” Jo said.
“What about it?”
“Only drunk people think this is funny.”
“Quit being so uptight.” Tabby took Ursa’s hand and led her to the jukebox. After explaining how it worked, she let Ursa put the money in the machine and select the song. When the absurd song came on, Tabby started singing and dancing in front of everybody. She’d been doing that since she’d discovered the song their sophomore year, but usually she had more than two beers in her. The diners laughed when she took Ursa’s hand and showed her how to dance. “Look at the alien go!” Tabby called to Jo. “Jojo, get over here!”
“Come dance with us!” Ursa shouted.
Everyone turned expectant smiles on Jo, which made remaining in her seat more humiliating than dancing. She took Ursa’s other hand and tried to look like she was dancing. Ursa had no idea how to dance either, but she didn’t care. She laughed and jumped and shimmied, as radiant as Jo had ever seen her, as if starlight shined straight from her Hetrayen soul.
12
At the start of the trip back to Southern Illinois, Ursa used her third and last piece of paper to draw a picture of Tabby. An hour later, she was still working on the portrait.
“How can you draw in a moving car without getting carsick?” Jo asked.
“I’m used to doing things at star speed,” Ursa said.
“You mean light speed?”
“We call it star speed. It’s different from light speed.”
“You love drawing, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I’ll get you colored pencils. Those crayons are too thick to get good detail.”
“I know,” Ursa said. “I made the purple jewel in her nose too big.”
“Art is supposed to represent how you see the world, not exactly copy it.”
“I wish I could exactly copy Tabby.” “Why?”
“So I could always have her with me.”
“I know the feeling. She’s the most free-spirited person I’ve ever met. Even when I was really sick, she could make me laugh.”
“It’s done.” Ursa handed Jo the drawing over the seat.
Jo glanced at it as she drove. “This is good! It looks like her.”
“Tabby is my third miracle.”
“Really? Tabby ranks up there with baby birds and kittens?”
“She’s kind of like a baby. She didn’t know she was supposed to grow up, and that makes her more f
un than other grown-up people.”
“Good assessment.”
Ursa looked at the approaching exit ramp. “Why are you slowing down?”
“To get gas.”
She looked around in all directions. “Wait . . . where is this?”
“A city called Effingham. I usually stop here. There’s a station that has cheap gas.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
“I’m out of gas. I have to.”
“Can’t you go somewhere else?”
“Why?”
“I don’t like this place.”
Jo looked in the rearview mirror. “Have you been here before?”
She didn’t answer.
“Have you?” Jo said.
“I said I don’t like it because it’s ugly.”
“Maybe it is, but we’ll only be here for ten minutes. You’d better use the bathroom. They have a clean one here.”
“I don’t have to go.”
“You had two Sprites.”
Ursa scrunched down in her seat. “I’m going to sleep.”
Jo fueled the car and used the restroom. She also bought two Necco rolls, a candy she rarely saw in stores. That was the other, more important, reason she stopped at that particular gas station.
Jo thought Ursa was asleep when she returned to the locked car, but Ursa sat up a few miles down the highway. “Want a Necco?” Jo said.
“What is that?”
“A candy I like.” She handed the open roll back to Ursa.
“Can I have a purple one?”
“How far down is it?”
“Only three.”
“Go ahead, but purple isn’t grape if that’s what you’re expecting. It’s clove, and some people don’t like it.”
Ursa pried out the purple wafer and laid it on her tongue. “I like it!”
Half a Necco package later, Ursa said she had to go to the bathroom.
“Why didn’t you go in Effingham?”
“I didn’t have to go when we were there.”
Jo stopped in Salem and took her into a bathroom. They made it all the way to Turkey Creek Road without another bathroom break. After they turned onto the road, Ursa asked if they could see the kittens. Earlier that day, they’d stopped to tell Gabe they were going to Urbana, but when they saw a silver SUV parked in front of the cabin, Jo decided they shouldn’t disturb him and his mother when they had visitors.
Where the Forest Meets the Stars Page 9
