Where the Forest Meets the Stars(52)

“Where do you think she is?”
“In the little cabin. My dad built it when our family outgrew the big cabin. Lacey’s boys loved staying out there alone when they got old enough.”
“Ursa knew about it?”
“I showed it to her one day. You always have to keep that girl’s brain stimulated.”
“That’s for sure.”
He held her hand on the way to the stairs, letting it go with reluctance as he led the way down. They descended from the giddy atmosphere of the treetops to the soft earth of the forest. “This way,” he said.
They passed the GABE’S HOMESTEAD  sign and turned onto a new trail. After a few minutes, Jo saw the little cabin in Gabe’s flashlight beam. The rustic tin-roofed structure reminded her of a summer camp cabin. It was made of unpainted cedar shingles and elevated about three feet from the ground on wooden poles. “This is beautiful,” she said. “Who’d ever think a literature professor would be so good at building things?”
“Arthur Nash was what you’d call a Renaissance man. He could do anything.”
She followed him up the wooden stairs and onto a screened porch with two rocking chairs that faced the woods. He slowly opened a wooden door, its rusted hinges whining from lack of use. The door led to a small open area with a table and chairs, behind it two sleeping rooms. Gabe shined his light into the left bedroom, while Jo looked in the right. “Here,” Gabe said. Jo went to him and saw Ursa curled on her side on the lower bunk of a two-tiered bed. She still had on the blue flower-print pajamas she’d worn to bed, and she’d brought the afghan from the porch couch to use as a pillow. Her eyelids quivered in a dream state.
“Don’t say anything about the grave drawing,” Jo whispered. “Not tonight.”
He nodded.
She turned off her light and sat on the edge of the lower bunk. She stroked Ursa’s hair. “Come on, Big Bear, wake up,” she said.
Ursa’s soulful brown eyes opened, and her first sleepy words confirmed the strategy behind her elopement. “Is Gabe here?”
“I am,” Gabe said. He walked over, keeping his flashlight out of her eyes. “Jo and I have decided you have to sleep in a locked dog crate from now on.”
Ursa sat up. “No I don’t.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
She smiled drowsily.
He crouched in front of her like he had the night she got lost on the creek. “Get on my back and I’ll carry you home.”
“That’s too far to carry her,” Jo said.
“Then I’ll take her to your car and ride home with you.”
“You will?” Ursa said.
“Yep. Climb aboard. The Gabriel Express is leaving.”
Ursa scrambled up onto his back.
“Look who’s enabling her now,” Jo muttered. “How did that happen?”
He carried Ursa out the door, a covert smile peeking from under his beard. Jo bundled the afghan into her arms and followed. When they arrived at the car, Gabe deposited Ursa into the back seat and sat next to her.
“Are you sure you can leave your mom?” Jo said. “What if she has to go to the bathroom?”
“She still manages that herself, thank god. But her balance is getting worse, and she refuses to use the walker Lacey bought.”
Jo looked at him in the rearview mirror as she began to drive. Ursa was snuggled against his chest, and he had his arms around her. She hated to take her eyes off them but had to confront the rutted road ahead. “Damn it,” she said when the chassis scraped bottom. “Your road is ruining my mom’s car.”
“This was hers?” he said.
“Yes.” Jo turned left on Turkey Creek Road and drove to the Kinney property, where Little Bear, locked on the screened porch, barked rowdily.
Gabe carried Ursa into the house. He tried to lay her on the couch, but she sat up. “You have to sleep,” he said.
“Don’t leave,” she said.
“I’ll stay right here. Go to sleep.” He covered her with a blanket as she put her head on the pillow. Jo kept the house dark, turning only the stove light on.
“Why are you nice again?” Ursa asked him.
“I’m always nice,” he said.
“Not sometimes.”
“Close your eyes.” He sat on the edge of the couch, his arm resting across her as she fell asleep. Jo sat in the chair next to them. When Ursa’s breathing became deep and regular, Gabe motioned to the front door. They stepped out of the cooled cottage into the sultry forest.
“I’ll drive you home,” Jo said.
“I’d rather walk,” he said.
“Need to expend the first-kiss energy?”
“Is that what this is? To expend it all, I’d have to walk thirty miles.”
“Same here. Maybe a good-night peck will help.” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him more than a peck.
“I think that made it worse.” He held her, looking at the house over her shoulder. “It’s so strange that I love coming here now. I used to hate this house. I hadn’t looked at it for years until that day you asked me to bring over the eggs.”
Jo pulled out of his arms. “Why would you hate it? I thought you were close with the Kinneys?”
“Not really.”
“You said George Kinney taught you about aquatic insects.”
“He did.”
“Well, your mom obviously likes him, so it must be your dad who didn’t.”
“Arthur and George had a weird love-hate relationship.”
“Why?”