Where the Forest Meets the Stars

by Vanderah, Glendy

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, giving her change.

  She took a carton off the table. “Have a good one, Gabe.”

  “You too.” As Jen walked away, he lifted a battered copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance out of his lap.

  “Can I?” Ursa said.

  “Can you what ?” he said.

  “See the kittens tonight.”

  “I told you why you can’t be at my place anymore. If the sheriff comes again, they’ll be set on taking you where you belong.” Looking at Jo, he added, “They have to do what’s right.”

  Ursa stared at him like she didn’t know who he was.

  “Come on,” Jo said. When Ursa didn’t move, Jo took her hand and tugged her toward the car. Gabe kept his eyes fixed on the paperback in his hands.

  “Why is Gabe mad at us?” Ursa asked when they were driving again.

  “We shouldn’t assume he’s mad.” She wished he were only angry. Because what he was doing was much worse. He was freezing them out, shutting down his emotions.

  They worked a typical day, but everything felt strange. Ursa was more subdued than Jo had ever seen her. She barely even reacted when they saw a fox running along the edge of a cornfield. At the end of the day she was still quiet, and Jo thought they might make it past the Nash homestead without reference to Gabe.

  That would not be their fate. As the Honda’s headlights hit the dark Nash driveway, they shined on Gabe seated on his open pickup gate. He dropped to his feet and waved them down.

  “What’s up?” Jo said out her window.

  “I’ve been waiting for you. You’re getting in late.”

  “I had to run to the grocery store.”

  “Are you too hungry to see the kittens?”

  “No!” Ursa said.

  “Follow me in,” he said.

  At the barn, Ursa jumped outside as Jo shut down the car. “Can I go in?” she said.

  “Hold your horses and wait for Jo,” Gabe said.

  “I wish I had horses to hold,” Ursa said.

  The interior of the barn was black, but Gabe turned on a lantern to light their way to the kittens. The mother cat emerged from shadows, mewing at Gabe as he set the lantern on a hay bale near her nest.

  “Look how big they got!” Ursa said. “And they can kind of walk!” She petted each kitten as she said its name. She scooped Juliet and Hamlet into her hands and held them against her cheeks. “Did you miss me? I missed you.”

  “Would you come outside for a minute?” Gabe asked Jo.

  Ursa sprawled on her belly, watching Juliet and Hamlet clumsily tussle.

  “Jo and I will be right back,” Gabe said.

  Once outside, he closed the barn door and led Jo out of Ursa’s earshot. “I wanted to apologize for how I behaved this morning,” he said.

  “You should be saying that to Ursa.”

  “Was she upset?”

  “I think she was.”

  He studied the ground, preparing to say something. He looked at her. “That’s more the reason she can’t come around.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

  “She’s gotten too attached. And I have . . .” He looked away from Jo’s eyes for a few seconds. “This can’t end well,” he said. “Every day you don’t turn her in to the police, you’re making it worse for all of us.”

  She bristled at his phrasing—you instead of we —as if he were abandoning all responsibility for keeping Ursa.

  “Do you even think about what you’re doing?” he asked. “You’re bonding with a kid who’ll be heartbroken when you go back to your life up at the university. You’re feeding a dog that will starve when you leave, and you’ve let Ursa get attached to him. No way will that dog be going wherever she ends up.”

  She didn’t need his lecture. She harangued herself on those same points constantly.

  “I can’t be a part of this anymore,” he said. “Everyone’s going to get hurt.”

  “More like it already hurts and you want it to stop before it gets worse.”

  “Yeah, it already hurts—maybe for her more than us. This thing has gone too far.” He waited for her to respond. “Don’t you agree?”

  “I do. It’s gone further than I ever imagined.” Jo scraped a line in the gravel with the toe of her boot. “When I knew my mother would be dead in a few months, I had two choices . . .” She looked at him. “I could distance myself from the pain or get closer to it. Maybe because I’d lost my dad without getting a chance to tell him what he meant to me, I decided to get closer. I got so close, her pain and fear became my own. We shared everything and loved each other like we never had when death was some distant thing. In the end, part of me died with her. I’m not recovered from it even now, but I made the conscious choice to enter the darkness with her. Everyone I know who’s lost someone they love has voiced regrets—they wish they’d done this or that or loved them more. I have no regrets. None.”

  He had nothing to say.

  “I guess it’s impossible for you to understand.”

  “The dumb farm guy isn’t quite that dumb,” he said. “I’ve always thought what’s happening with you and Ursa has something to do with what you’ve been through. But it’s not the same as what happened with your mother. In the end, you will have regrets. Loving her will only have increased Ursa’s pain.”

  “What if the end is different from what you imagine?”

  “How?”

  “I might try to become her foster parent.” She had never vocalized the tantalizing idea. Finally, it was out there. And she felt good about it.

  He just stared at her.

  “I know you have to get certified or whatever, but I doubt that’s too difficult. And even though I’m single, I have the resources they’ll want a foster parent to have. My dad had a big life insurance policy because his work was risky. My mom used some of that money to buy another policy because she was a single parent. I have enough money to hire people who can watch Ursa when I’m in school. And I have a plan for Little Bear, too. I can’t have dogs where I live, but Tabby is good at finding homes for strays. I’m hoping one of her vet friends will adopt him and Ursa can visit.”

  “No matter how much money you have and what you plan for the dog, you can’t change the fact that you’ve lied to the police.”

  “I haven’t broken any laws.”

  “You have. We both have. Do you know what that deputy told Lacey? He said letting someone else’s kid stay in your home—especially when she’s hurt—is considered child endangerment. Maybe even kidnapping. Do you really think they’d let you become a foster parent after what you’ve done?”

  “I’ve only ever been good to her! Ursa would verify that.”

  “What about when she tells them she went to work with you every day—for twelve hours in extreme heat, no less?”

  “She wants to go. And leaving her home alone would be worse.”

  The hollowness of her last words echoed in his silence.

  “Okay, you know what?” she said. “I won’t let Lacey shit all over my life like you do.”

  “This has nothing to do with Lacey!”

  “Doesn’t it? That last day she stayed here she did a great job of sucking all the joy out of you. Ursa and I saw the change in you this morning. If you keep this up—being afraid to get involved with people—you’ll end up as bitter as she is, which is exactly what she wants.” She walked to the barn, opened the door, and called, “Ursa, let’s go. We need to eat dinner before we’re too tired to cook.”

  Ursa appeared from behind the hay bales. “Can Gabe have dinner with us?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Ursa ran to Gabe, standing halfway between the parked cars and the barn. “Do you want to come over for dinner? We’re having chili and cornbread.”

  “Sounds great, but I’d better get back to my mom.” Tousling her hair, he said, “Have a good dinner, kiddo.”

  Ursa was as quiet as Jo on the drive home. L
ittle Bear danced around the car as she parked in the moonlit driveway. “Are you and Gabe mad at each other?” Ursa asked.

  “Not exactly mad,” Jo said.

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Gabe has decided he doesn’t want to hang out with us anymore. He still really likes you—don’t ever doubt that—but he’s afraid about what could happen.”

  “What could happen?”

  “For one thing, he’s afraid he’ll get in trouble with the police.”

  “He wouldn’t get in trouble. I’d tell the police my home is in the stars.”

  “You know they won’t believe that.” Jo turned around in her seat to face her, a dark shape in slightly brighter darkness. “I hope someday soon you’ll tell me the truth. You should trust me enough by now. You know I’ll fight for what makes you happiest.”

  Ursa turned her face to the car window. “What if . . .”

  Jo didn’t move, almost didn’t breathe, to give her a refuge of silence in which to speak. She was certain Ursa was on the brink of telling her something important.

  But Ursa only kept staring out at the dark forest.

  “What were you going to say?” Jo asked.

  She looked at Jo. “What if I really am from another world? Have you ever, even for a second, believed me?”

  She’d lost her nerve. Or she’d never intended to say anything. Whichever it was, Jo understood her predicament. Ursa Major was fictional, only the shape of a bear bounded in stars. The girl lived as a parallel constellation. Like a child who obsessively colors within the lines, she had to regulate her every move or she might end up in the terrifying universe that lay beyond the shape she’d drawn to contain herself.

  “Why won’t you believe me?” Ursa pressed.

  “I’m a scientist, Ursa.”

  “Do you believe in aliens at all?”

  “Considering the vastness of the universe, it’s probable there are other life-forms out there.”

  “And I’m one of them.”

  Sometimes Jo was overwhelmed when she tried to imagine what events could make a child stop wanting to be human. And this was one of those times. Ursa, fortunately, couldn’t see her tears in the darkness.

  “Will you and Gabe ever talk to each other again?” Ursa asked.

  “When we buy eggs we’ll talk to him.”

  “That’s all?”

  Jo wouldn’t lie. “Yes, that’s probably all.”

  19

  The next morning Ursa wasn’t on the couch when Jo went into the living room to wake her. She wasn’t in the bathroom either. Jo opened the door to the screened porch and found Little Bear curled up on the rug, looking dozily at her. Next to him was an empty bowl.

  Ursa knew she wasn’t allowed to feed the dog on the porch. She must have let him in during the night and given him food to keep him quiet while she crept away. Jo had no doubts about where she’d gone.

  She returned to the house and verified that Ursa’s purple shoes were missing. The clothes Jo had laid out for the morning also were gone. Jo hurriedly dressed, ate, and made the usual lunch food. She packed enough water for her and Ursa. When she carried her gear outside, she shooed Little Bear off the porch and gave him his bowl of food on the back concrete slab.

  She drove onto the Nash property in the predawn darkness. She assumed Gabe would be up early, milking the cow and whatever else he did in the morning. She only hoped she didn’t have to go to the cabin door. As the car jounced down the wooded driveway and turned toward the barns, her headlights fell on Gabe, lantern in hand, his jeans covered to the knee in rubber boots. He’d heard her coming. Jo rolled down her window. “Ursa’s gone.”

  “Shit. Let’s check the kitten barn.”

  “That was my first guess.”

  He waved her on to the barn, following at a jog. They entered the barn and walked toward the back wall. The light from Gabe’s lantern fell on Ursa. She was asleep with the six kittens, her curled body forming one boundary of a warm nest, the mother cat’s body the other. Jo and Gabe didn’t move, neither willing to disturb the beauty of the scene.

  The mother cat got up and stepped over her co–den mother, waking her. Ursa shielded her eyes from the light of the lantern. “Gabe?” she said.

  “And Jo,” he said.

  Ursa squinted up at them.

  “Why are you here?” Jo asked.

  Ursa sat up, hay prickled in her tangled hair. “I don’t want to never see the kittens or Gabe again.”

  “Shouldn’t that be Gabe’s decision?”

  Ursa stood and looked at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but Jo and I disagree—about where this is going.”

  “Where what is going?” Ursa said.

  “You,” he said. “I think you need to find a stable home, wherever that may be.”

  “I have a stable home in the stars.”

  “He really doesn’t want to hear this again,” Jo said. “I have an egg sandwich in the car for you. Are you coming with me?”

  “I’d rather stay here.”

  “Here on Earth we don’t always get what we want.”

  “But you and Gabe don’t know what you want.”

  “I’m in no mood, Ursa.” She pulled her out of the barn by the hand and let her go. “You’ll walk to the car or stay here and risk Gabe calling the police.”

  “Would you?” she asked Gabe.

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’m leaving,” Jo said.

  Ursa followed her to the car and climbed into the back seat. “Bye, Gabe,” she said mournfully.

  “Have a good day,” he said, closing her door.

  Again, Ursa didn’t say much while Jo monitored and searched for nests, but this time, Jo didn’t encourage her to talk. She appreciated the silence. Without the distraction of Ursa’s chatter, her thoughts were more linear, the way they used to be before Ursa and Gabe. By the end of the day, she agreed with almost everything Gabe had said. There was no way anyone would let her be a foster parent when she’d kept Ursa with her for so long. And that meant Gabe was right about turning her in immediately to reduce the pain.

  That night, while Ursa drew a picture with her colored pencils, Jo scanned the missing children websites she hadn’t checked for a few days. Though the prospect was painful, she hoped Ursa would be listed. She would have an unarguable reason to help the police ensnare her. But the remarkable child with a dimple in one cheek still wasn’t listed as missing.

  Jo put Ursa’s drawing of a monarch butterfly on the refrigerator next to the indigo bunting. She reminded Ursa to brush her teeth after she put on her pajamas. They went to bed, Ursa on the couch and Jo in the bedroom. Ursa called her usual “Good night, Jo” after Jo put out the lamp.

  Jo’s usual nocturnal restlessness was worsened by Gabe’s abandonment. Bearing the burden of responsibility for Ursa without him was agonizing. Wide awake at one in the morning, she went in the living room to check on Ursa.

  She was gone.

  Jo stared at the empty couch, contemplating what to do. If she drove to Gabe’s, she was letting Ursa control her. If she didn’t and she went to work in the morning, Gabe might call the police when he discovered her on his property.

  If he did, Ursa would run. Jo knew that with certainty. Ursa would possibly try to hide at the Kinney property, which would bring down a shit storm on Jo and the Kinneys and maybe on the University of Illinois Biology Department, who paid the rent.

  If Ursa didn’t hide at Kinney Cottage, she could end up anywhere. She was way too trusting, and there were all kinds of dangerous people who might take advantage of that.

  Jo slipped her feet into flats and grabbed her keys and a flashlight. Once again, she found Little Bear closed in the screen room with an empty bowl. She left him there, frustrated and barking at her departure.

  She shut off the Honda’s headlights and turned on parking lights as she arrived at the Nash entry road. She negotiated the ruts at slow speed to minimize noise, and she ki
lled all headlights when she approached the cabin. The house was dark except for a porch light, and all the doors and windows were closed to keep in the air-conditioning. Gabe and his mother probably wouldn’t hear her car if she drove slowly.

  Using the utility pole light to guide her, she crept down the road to the livestock buildings. She parked and pushed the car door closed with gentle pressure. She didn’t turn on the flashlight until she was inside the barn. She walked around the stacks of hay bales and shined her light in the direction of the kitten nest. The mother cat blinked and mewed at her, but Ursa wasn’t there. Jo searched the barn, illuminating every niche and corner. No Ursa.

  Outside, she looked at the other buildings: a cow shed with two small pastures, a muddy pig field, a chicken coop with a large enclosed outdoor run, and a small wooden building that probably was Gabe’s toolshed. Jo doubted Ursa would go in the chicken coop. That left the cow and toolsheds. But she was afraid to sneak around any more than she had on a gun owner’s property. She had to get Gabe.

  She walked the barn road to the cabin. She stopped in the shadows near the pole light and looked at the cabin, recalling the night she and Ursa had visited Gabe in his bedroom. They’d turned after the living room, and Gabe’s room had been the second small one on the left. Jo walked the left wall of the log cabin past the big living room window and the small window of the first bedroom. She stopped at the next one. Hoping Gabe wasn’t trigger-happy at night, she lightly rapped on the window with one knuckle. Nothing happened. She knocked louder, and a light came on. The curtains parted, and Gabe appeared in the rectangle of light.

  She reacted to the sight of him. More powerfully than she would have expected.

  She stepped closer to the window and waved. He unlocked the window and pushed it up. “Gone again?”

  “Yes. And I already checked the kitten barn.”

  “Figures she wouldn’t be there. She’s too smart for that. I’ll meet you out front.”

  She walked to the porch and waited at the base of the stairs. He came out minutes later wearing a dark T-shirt, work jeans, and his leather slip-on shoes. He’d brought a flashlight.

  “I’m really sorry,” she said.