Where the Forest Meets the Stars

by Vanderah, Glendy

  “I think you should call that doctor you saw up in Chicago.”

  “I had lots of doctors.”

  “You know what I mean,” Tabby said.

  “The psychologist—the one you used to call Dr. Death?”

  “Yeah, her.”

  “You know what she told me? She said survivors can live and love more fully than people who haven’t stared death in the face.”

  “Seriously . . . what are you doing?”

  “I guess I’m being a survivor.” She opened the door and strode down the walkway.

  “I love you, Jojo!” Tabby called from the porch.

  “Love you, too, Tabs.”

  Suffering wounds large and small, the three of them kept silent during the drive to Interstate 57. Not a word was spoken all the way to the town of Mattoon.

  “My dad liked a barbeque place here,” Gabe said.

  Jo hit the brake pedal. “Should I stop? We need gas, and Ursa is hungry.”

  “I wanted pizza!” Ursa said.

  Gabe turned around to look at her. “There’s a good pizza place coming up down the road. It’s one of those old-fashioned places that has a jukebox.”

  “I want Tabby!”

  “I don’t think they serve that,” he said.

  “Shut up!”

  “Hey, that’s not nice,” Jo said.

  Gabe turned back to face the windshield. The car fell silent again. Jo drove past Mattoon.

  “I’m sorry, Gabe,” Ursa said a few minutes later.

  “Apology accepted. And I’m sorry I messed up your plans.” He twisted around to look at her again. “Do you want to try the pizza place up ahead? I used to go there when I was your age. I liked to play the jukebox, too.”

  “I bet they don’t have ‘Purple People Eater.’”

  “We’ll find something good.”

  “You better make sure this place is still in business,” Jo said.

  “It will be. It was huge with the locals and always crowded.”

  He used his cell phone to find the restaurant. Jo glanced in the rearview mirror at Ursa. She was drawing again. The colored pencils and art pad had been great purchases. “What are you drawing?” Jo asked.

  “A purple people eater.”

  Art was a form of self-soothing for Ursa. When she wanted something or missed someone, she would often draw whatever it was to satisfy her need.

  They arrived in Effingham at dusk. At that late hour, Jo would rather have gotten fast food than stop for a sit-down dinner. But if Gabe was up for seeing a childhood haunt, she was, too. Connecting with his dad might be just what he needed.

  While Gabe navigated to the restaurant, Ursa hunched over her art pad, wholly focused on her drawing despite the failing light. “Bring your art stuff inside,” Gabe said as Jo parked. “The pizza takes a while to cook, and it’ll give you something to do.”

  Jo surveyed the long row of motorcycles parked beneath the multicolored bulbs strung along the eaves of the restaurant. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  “This is it,” Gabe said. He opened Ursa’s door. “Thank god they haven’t changed it. The parking lot is still all gravel. And look how many cars are here.”

  “Look how many Harleys are here,” Jo said.

  “I know. Isn’t it great? It’s straight out of the sixties.”

  “I wouldn’t know how authentic it is.”

  “Arthur did. Too bad he isn’t here. He loved this place at night.”

  “It looks a little rough.”

  “You see, that’s the problem with people now. They glimpse a little color in their gray fast-food world and they panic. Places like this are too real for them. But this is the kind of place where the really interesting stories of humanity play out.”

  “I think I’m getting one of Dr. Nash’s lit lectures.”

  “You are, and I completely agree with him. Imagine this place described in a book you’re reading and try to put McDonald’s in its place.”

  “I think those two restaurants would be used for very different purposes in a book.”

  “Exactly. No comparison. One would be a metaphor for all that’s dreary in our lives and the other for what little unpredictability still exists.”

  “As long as the unpredictability doesn’t include a biker knife fight, I’m up for it.”

  “A biker knife fight—now that would be excellent!”

  “You know, the Arthur side of you is a little scary,” she said.

  “Ursa, are you planning to come out of the car anytime this century?” he said.

  “I don’t want to eat here,” she said.

  “Not you, too!”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said. “I want to go home.”

  “This place is perfectly safe.”

  “It’s not that. I’m just not hungry.”

  “What’s with her tonight?” he asked Jo.

  “She’s in Tabby withdrawal—it can be rough. Go inside and get a table and let me talk to her.”

  “Should I give you the tire iron for protection first?”

  She swatted his shoulder. “Go. Make sure there’s a table before I expend a lot of energy out here.”

  Jo leaned into the open door and said, “Gabe really wants to do this. Can you cooperate, please, just for him? Even if you’re not hungry?”

  “This place looks stupid,” she said.

  “Bring your pencils and paper and don’t look at it.”

  She didn’t move.

  “You heard what Gabe said—his dad loved this place. His father died two years ago, and this is a way for Gabe to connect with him. Do you understand how that would be?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then come on. Do it for Gabe. He’s in there waiting at a table.”

  Ursa reluctantly slid out of the car. Jo reached in and got her box of colored pencils and pad of paper. She looked at the purple people eater on the top of the pad. “That’s great,” she said. “I love how you did his mouth.”

  “It has to be that big because he can eat people whole.”

  “The teeth are pretty scary.”

  “He doesn’t actually eat people anymore. He went to the magic forest where Juliet and Hamlet live, and they taught him to be nice.”

  “He’ll be in your play about Juliet and Hamlet?”

  “I don’t know. I only pretended he was in the magic forest while I drew him.”

  They mounted a worn plank porch lit with colored bulbs. Jo pulled back the heavy wooden door, and as soon as she stepped inside, she understood Arthur’s fascination with the place. The interior was mostly made of timber—plank floors, paneled walls, and wooden booths and tables—and the scoured wood seemed imbued with the smell of time, of people’s stories, as Gabe had said. The place was redolent of pine and pizza grease, and of sweat, whiskey, and tobacco, the mingled smells aging like wine in an old oak barrel. Nancy Sinatra’s sixties hit “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” was playing on the flashing jukebox. It perfectly suited the vibe, but the song was nearly drowned out by laughter and voices. The atmosphere was dark, mostly lit with colored lights, except for billiard lamps over three pool tables at the rear of the room. Around the tables, a group of tattooed men and women drank beers and gabbed as they watched the pool balls roll.

  Many eyes followed Jo and Ursa to Gabe, seated at a table in the middle of the room. The patrons—mostly locals from what Jo could tell—probably knew she and Gabe were tourists. Their jeans and T-shirts blended in, but Jo’s AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGICAL SOCIETY shirt certainly outed her.

  Jo sat opposite Gabe, and Ursa took the chair between them at the little square table. “Great, isn’t it?” Gabe said.

  “I have to admit, I feel like I’ve gone back to another era. But I think they all know we’re time travelers.”

  “They don’t care. We’re supporting the local economy.” He picked up Ursa’s hand and looked at her lavender fingernails. “That’s a nice color. Did Tabby do your toenails, too?”


  Ursa nodded. “They’re dark purple.” Pencil in hand, she bent over her purple people eater again, her face hovering close to the paper so she could see in the dim light.

  Gabe opened the menu. “What do you want on your pizza, Ursa?”

  She didn’t lift her head. “Whatever you want.”

  Because Jo ate little red meat, especially cured meat, they ordered a large pizza that was half vegetarian and half sausage and pepperoni.

  “What to drink, darlin’?” asked a fortyish waitress with heavy makeup and burgundy pigtails.

  Ursa kept drawing.

  “How about a kiddie cocktail?” Gabe asked. “I used to get those here.”

  “Okay,” Ursa said without looking up.

  Jo looked at what had her thoroughly focused. She was drawing plants and trees around the purple people eater. “Is that the magic forest?” Jo asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s like a jungle.”

  “It’s magic. It keeps him safe.”

  “Can’t he use all those teeth to keep himself safe?”

  “Not when there’s bad stuff around.”

  Gabe raised his eyebrows at Jo, noting her odd mood. “Want to play the jukebox?” he asked. “No one’s using it.”

  “You can if you want to,” Ursa said.

  “I’ll see if your song is on it.” He left the table and stood over the jukebox.

  “Is something wrong, Ursa?” Jo asked.

  “I didn’t want to come here,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. Thanks for sticking it out for Gabe.”

  Gabe’s first song, “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” came on before he returned to the table.

  “Are you a Nirvana fan?” she asked him as he sat down.

  “Not in any dedicated kind of way. But I like this song.”

  Jo’s water, Gabe’s beer, and Ursa’s kiddie cocktail arrived. Raising his glass, Gabe said, “I want to propose a toast.”

  Jo picked up her water. “To what?”

  “To Katherine and George’s marriage. May it be long.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s a great idea. At least someone in my family will get closure on this thing.”

  He held out his glass.

  “Ursa, we’re doing a toast,” Jo said.

  “I don’t get it. Katherine is your mother,” Ursa said, proof that she’d been listening.

  “She sure is,” he said.

  “She’s getting married?” Ursa asked.

  “Maybe,” Jo said.

  “Who’s George?”

  “George Kinney,” Jo said.

  “The man who owns our house?”

  “It’s not ours,” Jo said. “But yes. Pick up your glass and toast.”

  Ursa tapped her glass on theirs and drank. After her first sip of the sweet drink, most of it went down quickly. “Isn’t George married?”

  “He is,” Gabe said, “but soon he won’t be.”

  “They’re getting a divorce?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Your mom is kind of old to get married,” Ursa said.

  “People can be in love at any age,” Jo said.

  Ursa wasn’t listening anymore. She sat motionless, staring across the room. Jo followed her line of sight. She was looking at the bar. A scruffy young man with a phone pressed to his ear glanced in their direction. When he saw Jo and Ursa looking his way, he swiveled his stool around to face the bar. Ursa kept looking at something, but Jo couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “What has you two so mesmerized? Is there a hot guy over there or what?” Gabe asked.

  Ursa picked up a green pencil and made another leaf in her magic forest.

  “You’re the hottest guy in the room,” Jo said.

  “Only because I’m up against aging bikers.”

  He was wrong. The crowd was fairly young, especially the people seated at the bar. The guy Ursa seemed to have been looking at got off the barstool and walked past their table, staring as he passed. Ursa watched him leave the restaurant.

  “Do you know that man?” Jo asked.

  “What man?” she said.

  “The one you were just looking at.”

  “I was looking at that thing over the door.”

  “The horseshoe?”

  “Why’s it there?” Ursa asked.

  “To give good luck to people who come through the door. It’s a superstition.”

  Ursa stared at the horseshoe for a few more seconds before going back to her drawing.

  Now that he’d embraced Katherine and George’s future, Gabe was in a good mood. The restaurant probably contributed, too. He and Jo talked about music and other things until the pizza came, but Ursa kept scrawling away, the protective forest around her purple alien growing more and more elaborate.

  Gabe raved about the pizza. Jo liked it well enough, but she had a feeling Arthur’s enthusiasm about the restaurant had added more flavor to the pizza than Gabe realized. He insisted on paying the bill and left a big tip for the waitress.

  On their way out of town, Jo stopped for gas and made Ursa use the bathroom because she’d refused to go at the restaurant. She was still acting oddly withdrawn. Jo thought fatigue might be the root of her moodiness and hoped she would sleep most of the way back to the cottage.

  Jo and Gabe wandered through several topics during the ride but steered clear of what had happened with George because Ursa was still awake. She was restless, shifting from window to window, and more than once Jo had to tell her to put her seat belt back on.

  When Jo pulled onto the county highway, she saw lights in her mirrors. The car behind turned off with them and followed the six miles to Turkey Creek Road. “Don’t tell me they’re turning here, too,” she said.

  “Who?” Gabe said.

  Ursa looked out the rear window.

  “That car behind us,” Jo said. “I swear it’s been with us for a long time.”

  As Jo rounded the corner onto Turkey Creek Road, the car suddenly sped up and disappeared.

  “They’re lost,” Gabe said. “They saw the No Outlet sign and realized this isn’t the road they’re looking for.”

  Jo drove to Gabe’s newly graveled driveway but stopped in the road to make sure Lacey didn’t see Ursa. She got out of the car to say goodbye. “Was it a good trip, despite seeing George?”

  “It was interesting—that’s for sure. I doubt I’ll sleep much.”

  She smiled. “Is that a hint? Should I leave the front door unlocked?”

  He kissed her. “Put a key in the usual place. You should keep your doors locked at night.”

  29

  Ursa wanted to sleep in Jo’s bed, but Jo couldn’t let her. She’d slept in Jo’s room only twice: the first night Gabe stayed over and when she injured her head. Jo had to be careful about keeping their beds separate, especially now that she might apply to become her foster parent. People might spin it wrong if she slept with Ursa. As it was, they would probably ask Ursa uncomfortable questions about her relationship with Jo.

  After Ursa put on her Hello Kitty pajamas and brushed her teeth, Jo turned out all the lights except the one on the stove and tucked Ursa into the couch. She kissed Ursa’s cheek. “Sweet dreams, Big Bear.”

  “Is Gabe coming over?”

  “Probably not. He’s more tired than he realizes. We all are.”

  “I wish he was here.”

  Jo rose from the couch. “Go to sleep. We’ll get up later than usual because it’s so late.”

  When Jo walked away, Ursa said, “Leave your door open.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can I please sleep with you?”

  “You know the rules. Go to sleep.” Jo wished she could give in. She’d never seen Ursa afraid at bedtime, not even when she first arrived. Maybe it had something to do with the drawing of the alien with big teeth. Her mood had changed after she drew it.

  The loud drone of the air conditioner put Jo to sleep quickly. But after only a few h
ours, Little Bear woke her. She looked at her cell phone. It was 2:10, too late for the dog to be greeting Gabe. He was probably barking at a raccoon or a deer. The air conditioner was in its off cycle, and Jo wished it would turn on to mask the noise.

  Little Bear suddenly went berserk, his barks generated so fast he hardly took a breath between. He would wake Ursa, if he hadn’t already. Jo had to get up and quiet him.

  She stopped cold in the entry to the living room. Ursa was standing next to the couch staring at her, her body unnaturally frozen. Her face appeared a ghostly blue cast by the fluorescent stove light, and her eyes looked like two black holes. She had become a changeling again.

  “Jo . . . ,” she said.

  Jo ignored the irrational pounding of her heart. “Get back in bed,” she said. “Maybe there’s a coyote out there. I’d better put him on the porch.”

  When Jo moved toward the front door, Ursa ran to the door and threw her back against it with her arms spread open. “Don’t go out!”

  “Why not?”

  A sob caught in her throat. “The bad men! The bad men are here!”

  Jo’s body went cold. “What bad men?”

  She began crying. “I’m sorry! I should have told you! They’ll kill you, too! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  Little Bear had stopped barking for about ten seconds, but he started again, this time much closer to the house. Jo grabbed Ursa’s shoulders. “Stop crying and tell me what’s happening. Was it that man in the restaurant?”

  “Yes! But it’s not him!”

  “That makes no sense!” Jo gave her body a little jolt by the shoulders, trying to shake something clearer out of her. “Tell me what’s going on! I have to know!”

  Two gunshots rang out, and Little Bear wailed a horrific sound.

  “Little Bear!” Ursa screamed. “Little—”

  Jo clamped her hand over her mouth. “Quiet!” she hissed.

  Little Bear’s wailing yelps didn’t stop. Another shot fired and he went silent. Ursa nearly collapsed in gasping sobs. Jo put her hands on her cheeks to focus her attention. “How many men are there? Do you know?”

  “I . . . think two. In that car. I don’t know for sure! They killed Little Bear!”

  “That car followed us from Effingham?”

  Ursa nodded, her body shuddering with heaving sobs.

  “You have to stop crying! Please! If they hear you, they’ll know where we are!”