Where the Forest Meets the Stars(48)

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. Little 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.”