Where the Forest Meets the Stars(41)

“My dad would love that.”
“What?”
“How you still connect with your parents through a book.”
She did, and not only through that one. She had most of the books that had belonged to her parents, and she read passages from them every night before she fell asleep or when she had insomnia. As she read, her fingers touching the same pages theirs had touched, her father and mother were right there with her.
“Your family sounds interesting if they all liked an unusual book like that.”
“We were definitely interesting,” she said. “Kind of weird, truthfully, and sometimes that made it hard for my brother and me to relate to other kids.”
“How so?”
She thought for a few seconds. “Since I’ve gone into field biology, I’ve noticed most scientists who work out in the natural world are a little different from other people. Maybe it has something to do with how they can turn their backs on the comforts of society for long periods of time. But it’s not just that they can forgo society, it’s more like they need to. For people like that, the natural world is vital, a spiritual experience.”
His candlelit eyes were intent on her.
“That’s how my parents were. They rarely took us to do the things other kids did—amusement parks and touristy beaches. On weekends we hiked and kayaked or went in search of salamanders or fossils. Our vacations were usually camping trips, sometimes to far places like Maine to see puffins or Utah to see rock formations. And anywhere we went, we would go rock-hounding to look for minerals and gems.”
“Cool,” he said.
“It was. You should see our family collection. My dad’s excitement about geology was contagious, almost manic. He was always pointing out the geology of the landscapes around us. That probably sounds boring, but it wasn’t. The way he described how the forces of nature had shaped the earth was almost poetic.”
“Sounds like an interesting guy.”
“He was. And my mom—she was a force of nature, too, but in a relaxed, rippled stream kind of way. If I got into some screwed-up situation at school or with my friends, she could always help me see it was no big deal and bring positive light to it. And her garden . . . it was gorgeous, a wilderness of flowers and ponds and trees in the middle of suburbia. My friend Tabby used to say she was pretty sure fairies lived in my mother’s garden—it was that magical.”
“Where did you live?” he asked.
“Evanston. My dad taught nearby at Northwestern.”
“Really! Not far from where my dad taught.”
“To Chicagoans it’s far,” she said. “Did you live in the city when your dad was at U of C?”
“In Brookfield, in the house my dad grew up in. Do you know where that is?”
“I do. I went to the Brookfield Zoo a few times.”
“My house was about a half mile from the zoo.”
She gazed down at the book in her lap. “It’s weird . . .”
“What is?”
“When I first bought eggs from you, I never would have thought our backgrounds were so similar.”
“You thought I was just a dumb, gun-totin’ redneck?”
“I didn’t know what you were.”
Neither knew what to say next, but the silence didn’t feel awkward. Jo got up and put the book on the bed stand. She grabbed the pillow and blanket off the living room couch and laid them next to Ursa on the bed. “You look tired,” she told him. “Why don’t you lie down?”
“Are you sure?”
“If we’re both here, we have more contact with her. Anytime you wake up, you can check her, and I’ll do the same.”
“I think she’s okay.”
“She fell asleep so fast, and all this time we’ve been talking she hasn’t moved.”
“Because she’s exhausted.”
“She is. I’d better let her sleep in.”
“Good idea.”
Jo set her phone alarm for 7:00 a.m. and blew out the two candles. She stretched out on the mattress and heard him do the same on the other side of Ursa.
“Do you have enough room?” she asked.
“Enough to sleep in.”
The air conditioner hummed and rattled in the window. She hoped it didn’t bother him. She preferred the sounds of field and forest at night, but she slept poorly when the bedroom was warm and muggy.
“I’m sorry I talked your ear off about my family,” she said.
“Don’t apologize. I enjoyed it,” he said.
“I’d like to hear more about your parents sometime. Growing up with a poet and lit professor who built a cabin in the woods must have been amazing.”
After a silence he said, “Yeah, it was amazing, but not in the way you’re thinking.”
Jo propped on her elbow and tried to see him in the darkness. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind.” He rolled over, turning his back to her.


17

The windows rattled. Jo opened her eyes and tried to make sense of what she’d heard until another long rumble of thunder shook the panes. She put her hand on Ursa to make sure she was breathing and picked up her phone. It was 6:03. After a few minutes she got enough signal to check the weather. The remnants of a tropical storm in the Gulf were hitting Southern Illinois, and rain was expected until at least noon. More thunder rolled in the distance.
“Just what we need, another storm,” Gabe said.
“It is what we need. I get to stay in bed. And that’s good for Ursa.” She turned off the alarm on her phone.