Where the Forest Meets the Stars(16)

“Very,” Shaw said. “All we had for lunch was a few chips in the car.”
“Good. Go up to the house and have a beer while I check this last nest.”
“Did I hear the word beer ?” Tanner called from inside the car.
“You did,” Jo said. “Lots of it. The door to the house is unlocked.”
As Shaw drove away, Jo hiked toward the bunting nest, her worries about Ursa momentarily erased by Tanner’s apparent guilt. An awkward conversation was at hand, and considering what a coward Tanner was, he’d prolong the tension for as long as possible.
Fierce barks sounded down the road. Jo had never heard the half-grown dog bark like that, but it had to be him. “Damn it, the dog is going at them,” she said.
“He won’t hurt them,” Ursa said.
“How do you know? He’s defending the Kinney house like he lives there. I should never have let you bring him onto the porch.”
“I’ll teach him not to bark.”
“You’ll take him off the property . . . when you leave.”
The barking hadn’t stopped. Jo hurried in the direction of the last nest.
“Shaw is nice,” Ursa said behind her.
“He is, but that doesn’t mean he won’t make you go home.”
“I don’t have a home here!”
Jo stopped walking and faced her. “Don’t even think about telling him you’re from another planet. Don’t tell any of them that. Do you understand?”


6

Lightning glimmered in distant southern clouds. “I hope that’s heat lightning,” Jo said. “I don’t want to miss another day in the field.”
“It’s good for you to take a break,” Shaw said.
Her illness again. All four had asked her how she was feeling. And Carly and Leah had suggested she get a field assistant to help her. They wouldn’t even let her put the burgers on the grill. Sit down, Joanna. We’ll cook dinner while you rest.
“I’d better close my car windows just in case,” Jo said, walking away from the fire.
“I’m going in for another beer. Anyone want one?” Tanner said behind her.
“No thanks,” Shaw said.
“I’m good,” Carly said.
“This is my last,” Leah said.
Ursa was catching fireflies and putting them in a jar Jo had given her. When she saw Jo leave the group circled around the fire, she followed at a distance. Jo had let her eat dinner with them and listen to their conversation around the fire, but soon Jo would have to make her leave. Already she had evaded questions about why the girl was hanging around the cottage, and fifteen minutes earlier, Shaw had said, “Isn’t it about time that little girl went home?”
Jo sat in the dark car in the driveway, pressed the ignition button, and closed the windows she’d left open in her hurry to rescue her visitors from Little Bear’s assault. The dog had instantly calmed after Jo and Ursa arrived, but she’d had to explain that he was a stray that wouldn’t leave. “Probably you fed him, which means you’re stuck with him,” Shaw had said critically.
If he only knew.
“Nice ride.” Tanner’s voice came out of the darkness.
He’d had at least six beers, enough to lubricate him for the speech Jo had expected all night. She locked the car as Tanner’s handsome face emerged from shadows cast by the porch lights. “I know,” Jo said. “It’s the first newish car I’ve ever owned. But I’d truthfully feel better having my old Chevy down here. These gravel roads are beating the crap out of it.”
Tanner put his hand on the shiny red hood of the Honda SUV. “It was your mom’s?”
“She insisted I take it, and my brother didn’t want it.”
“I caught another lightning bug, Jo. I have four now,” Ursa called from under the hickory tree.
“But you have to let them go soon,” Jo said.
“I will,” she said.
“Cute kid,” Tanner said. “Won’t her parents be worried she’s out so late?”
“I think the home situation is a little questionable,” Jo said.
“That sucks.”
“Yeah.”
“Jo . . .”
She crossed her arms over her chest and waited. Tanner stepped closer, his features obscured by a tree shadow, and his faceless proximity made the humid darkness feel like a church confessional.
“I’m sorry I didn’t go up to Chicago to see you,” he said. “But I thought . . .”
“What?”
“I thought you wouldn’t want me to see you like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know . . . sick. No hair and all that.” When she didn’t respond, he twisted his neck from side to side to crack it, his standard nervous gesture. “Was I wrong . . . ?”
“You were right. I didn’t want to see anyone.” If she’d learned one thing in the last two years, it was that life could be hard enough without adding petty resentments.
He took a swig of beer to wash away the last of his sin. “Did you want one?” he asked, holding the beer out. “Should I get you one?”
“No thanks.”
He took another long drink from the bottle. “You look great, by the way.”
“Great for a cancer survivor?”
“Just great.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you going to do reconstruction when you’re feeling better?”
“I am feeling better.”
“But probably you have to wait awhile . . . ?”