Where the Forest Meets the Stars(19)

“If her caretakers dumped her out of a car, they obviously won’t report her missing.”
“Maybe she ran away,” he said. “She’s too smart for whatever idiots would do this to her. I never told you what she’s working on.”
“What?”
“She saw some books about Shakespeare on our shelves and asked if I liked him. When I told her I love Shakespeare . . .”
Jo lost his next few words while she absorbed that Egg Man loved Shakespeare.
“. . . she was going to name the six kittens after people in Shakespeare’s plays. She asked to use my computer to read about Shakespeare’s characters so she could decide which names to use. That’s what she’s doing right now, studying the plays.”
“She did this with me, sort of plugged in to my interest in birds—even read some of my Ornithology textbook. I think she does it to make people attach to her.”
“Maybe that’s how she survives her screwed-up family.”
“They obviously aren’t attached.”
“No shit.”
Jo leaned against the front of his truck and pressed her hand to her forehead.
“Are you okay?” he said.
“I’m too tired to deal with this right now.”
“You look like you need to sit down.”
She stepped away from his truck. “I put in a fifteen-hour day. What I need is a shower, dinner, and sleep.”
“First, would you talk to her?”
“About what?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a confession. Ursa and I came over to look for you twice tonight.”
“Why?”
“She’s worried. She says you have cancer.”
“God damn it! Let’s just broadcast it from every cell phone tower.”
He uncrossed his arms. “I didn’t know that was possible.”
“I don’t think it is, but the graduate students and my advisor have been thorough enough.”
“Are you in remission?”
“I guess that’s what they call it.”
“Would you let Ursa see you’re okay and maybe tell her that? She’s afraid you’re going to die.”
“We’re all going to die.”
“Let’s do a nine-year-old version.”
“Yeah. I have to talk to her anyway. I felt bad about sending her away last night.”
“You had to. She said you were going to get in trouble with your advisor.”
“Is there any detail of my life you two didn’t discuss?”
“We never got into your choice of undergarments.”
Undergarments. His mother must be influencing his vocabulary.
“I’ll drive you over in my truck,” he said.
“I’m a mess.”
“So’s my truck.”
She knew nothing about Egg Man—a.k.a. Gabriel Nash—other than that a guy who loved Shakespeare should be too educated to sell eggs on a country road. She remembered his sudden display of anger after Ursa asked him if he was getting a PhD. And Jo had seen no evidence of his alleged mother. Maybe he’d killed Ursa and he was using her as bait to lure Jo into the same trap. For the hundredth time that day, Jo berated herself for letting a nine-year-old go off into the woods alone.
He saw her hesitation. “Follow me in your car, if you prefer.”
“I think I will.”
“You’re smart to be cautious,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
He considered how to answer. “If I wanted to hurt you, I’ve had plenty of opportunities since you’ve lived here.”
“So have I, if I wanted to hurt you,” she said, because he had no right to see a woman living alone in the woods as an invitation for violence.
He smiled slightly, a hint of white teeth in the darkness. “Usually more than one person rents the house. Why is it only you this summer?”
“It’s just the way it worked out,” she said.
The truth was, a graduate student who studied hill-prairie insects had planned to live in the Kinney house that summer—until he heard he would be sharing it with Jo. He used his research money to rent another house, claiming he wanted to be nearer to his study sites. But Jo suspected he didn’t want to live in close confines with a woman who wasn’t exactly a woman anymore. More than a few of the male graduate students had been awkward around her since she’d returned, especially the ones who used to flirt with her. Her psychologist had warned her of such reactions from men, but the injury of it couldn’t be alleviated by any number of therapy sessions. Dealing with the pain was a day-by-day ordeal. Nature and her research were some of her only respites.
“That’s too bad,” Egg Man said. “Must be kind of lonely.”
“It’s not,” she said. “I prefer to live alone when I’m doing research. Having people around is distracting.”
He opened his truck door. “I guess that was a hint. Follow me over.”


8

The furrowed lane that led onto Egg Man’s property hadn’t been graveled for years, and only the width of his truck kept the forest from conquering it. Jo took the road slowly, the Honda rocking and squeaking as its tires dipped into deep troughs. She heard loud woofs before Little Bear’s eyes appeared, glowing in the headlights. He continued barking, running between the truck and SUV as the press of dark forest opened into a yard lit by a utility light.
Egg Man sprang from his truck and tried to shush the dog.
“I see you’ve inherited Little Bear as well as Big Bear,” Jo said, stepping from her car.