Where the Forest Meets the Stars(59)

“Every kid remembers this book. Do Hetrayens know it?” he asked Ursa.
“No,” she said.
“I thought of it when I called you ‘runaway bunny’ this morning.”
“It’s a baby book,” Ursa said.
“But great literature, all the same. My father was a literature professor, and he loved this book.”
“Seriously?” Jo said.
“He liked how it encapsulated the conflicting urges of parental protection versus a child’s desire for independence. He often read it to me at night, even when I got older.”
“My mom read it to me,” Jo said.
“Get in bed, alien,” Gabe said. “It can teach Hetrayens something important about humans.”
Ursa climbed onto the couch and pulled up the blanket. Gabe read about the little bunny who told his mother the many places he would hide from her when he ran away, while his mother countered his every plan with inspired ways of finding him. Jo had always loved how patient the mother bunny was, how she loved her baby unconditionally.
When he finished, Ursa said, “Now I see why you called me ‘runaway bunny.’”
“It’s a good name for you, isn’t it? But stay in bed tonight. Jo and I are too tired to run after you again.”
“Are you staying?”
“Maybe for a while.”
“I’ll stay in bed so you and Jo can kiss.”
“Sounds like a decent plan,” he said.


24

Gabe came over for dinner the next night—and the night after. When Ursa fell asleep, they would cuddle on the porch in the light of the two candles Ursa had found for their first dinner together. So far, resolving their attraction hadn’t helped the situation with Ursa. If anything, their indecision worsened. The word sheriff wasn’t part of their vocabulary anymore. They never talked about Ursa’s future or what they would do when Jo moved away. Savoring his first relationship, Gabe started to live as Ursa did, in an infinite present disconnected from the past or future.
Jo let him have his fantasy. And she let Ursa have hers. Working twelve-hour days left her with little time or mental capacity to think about losing them both. She came home tired, content to curl up with Gabe and Ursa in their iridescent bubble.
The third night Gabe came over, Jo brought Katherine’s second book, Hope’s Ghost , out to the porch after Ursa went to bed. She’d finished reading the poems earlier that day. Gabe grimaced when he saw the book in her hand.
“I thought we might read a few of these poems,” she said. “You said you’ve never read this book.”
“For good reason.”
“Some of the poetry is about you. I think you should see it.”
He tossed the book to the floor. “We’re not going to waste our precious time talking about my screwed-up family.” He pulled her down to the couch and kissed her.
“Lots of families are screwed up,” she said. “What matters is how much love there is.” She lifted the book off the floor. “Your mother was brave enough to expose her love in these poems. If you won’t read them, I will. Just a few.”
He reclined against the cushions like he was about to hear a time-share sales pitch. Two of the poems were about Gabe when he was little. Katherine’s references to the child of her lover were metaphorical but easy to interpret now that Jo knew the story. They revealed an intensity to Katherine’s maternal love that made Jo cry. The third poem referenced George and how deeply she loved him. The book’s title poem, “Hope’s Ghost,” expressed some of Katherine’s regrets about her divided family.
Gabe had dropped his aloof front by the time Jo finished the fourth poem. He was barely able to keep himself from crying.
“I think she wrote that one after you found out about her and George,” Jo said. “She knew she’d screwed things up and driven you away from your father.”
“He’s not my father.”
“He’s your biological father, and you’re his son. They all loved you, Gabe. From everything you’ve told me about your childhood, I’m positive Arthur, Katherine, and George all loved you. Each of them encouraged your interests and talents to the greatest extent possible, and only very good parents do that.”
“They did encourage me,” he said. “But then I turned into a little shit when I was twelve—after I found out. They thought it was puberty, and none of them had any idea what to do with me.”
Jo put down the book and rubbed his arm.
“Of course, later, they decided my problem was mental illness.”
“You say that like you don’t believe it anymore.”
“I feel so much better with you. Is that temporary, do you think?”
“I can’t say.”
“Lacey called today.”
“Why?”
“She was worried because she hadn’t heard from my mother. I think my mother didn’t want her to know what’s been going on with us. She’s afraid Lacey will come and ruin it. My mom nearly pushes me out the door to come over here every night.”
“I knew a woman who made love in a graveyard had to be an incredible romantic.”
He aimed a piercing stare at her.
“Love isn’t a crime, Gabe.”
“She said vows to Arthur Nash. She should have let him out instead of turning him into a cuckold—with his best friend, no less.”
“What about that? His best friend. Have you ever considered that Arthur was okay with it?”
“You can’t be serious.”