“Last summer there were a bunch of fish students at Kinney’s,” he said. “Summer before, it was dragonflies and trees.”
“I study birds,” Jo said.
“What kind?”
“I’m looking at nesting success in indigo buntings.”
“Plenty of those around here.”
She was surprised he knew the name of the bird. Many people couldn’t name one beyond cardinal, and even those were often called redbirds.
“I saw you out walking a few times,” he said. “Did you put up those pieces of orange surveyor tape?”
“I did. Turkey Creek Road is one of my study sites.” She didn’t tell him the flags marked nests. If local kids found out, they might mess with them and spoil her results. She watched him fold the stadium chair. “Are you, by chance, missing a dog?” she asked.
“I don’t keep dogs, just a couple of barn cats. Why do you ask?”
“A starving puppy is my other problem.”
“When it rains, it pours.”
“I guess so,” Jo said, returning to her car. She didn’t see girl or dog when she pulled into the cottage driveway. She unloaded her field gear and the fruit and muffins she’d bought at the farm stand. The girl was hiding, or maybe she’d sensed trouble and split.
As Jo put away her purchases, three soft knocks tapped the kitchen door. Jo opened the door and looked down at the girl through the tattered screen.
“Are you going to make the eggs now?” the girl asked.
“The guy ran out,” Jo said. “He’s bringing some.”
“How can he bring some if he ran out?”
“He’s going home to get more. He lives on the property next to this one. Over there.”
The girl looked west where Jo pointed.
“Want a blueberry muffin?”
“Yes!”
Jo plopped a muffin in her dirty hand.
“Thanks,” the girl said before burying her mouth in it.
The food brought the dog from around the corner of the house, but the girl was too hungry to share. She’d already finished the muffin when Egg Man’s white pickup rumbled down the gravel driveway half a minute later. Jo took the muffin paper from the girl’s hand and tossed it onto the cold ashes in the fire pit. “Let’s get those eggs,” she said, beckoning the girl around the side of the house.
“Oh no!” the girl said.
“What?”
“Little Bear ate the muffin paper.”
“I’m sure he’s eaten worse. Come on.”
They met Egg Man at his pickup. As he handed the carton of eggs to Jo, he sized up the bedraggled girl from filthy bare feet to greasy hair. She looked much worse than she had the night before. “You live around here?” Egg Man asked the girl.
“She told you to ask me that,” the girl said. “That’s the real reason you brought the eggs. You weren’t really out.”
“A whippersnapper,” Egg Man said.
“What’s that?” the girl said.
“It means you’ve gotten too big for your britches. And speaking of britches, what are you doing going around in pajamas?”
The waif looked down at her lavender star-spangled pants. “The girl was wearing these when she died.”
“What girl?”
“The human whose body I took. Didn’t Jo tell you?”
“Who’s Jo?”
“I am,” Jo said.
Egg Man held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jo. I’m Gabriel Nash.”
“Joanna Teale.” She squeezed his warm, coarse hand, very aware that she hadn’t touched a young man in two years. She held on a little longer than she should, or maybe he did.
“And what’s your name, zombie girl?” he said, offering his hand to the girl.
The girl backed away, afraid he’d try to grab her. “I’m not a zombie. I’m visiting from Hetrayeh.”
“Where’s that?” he asked.
“It’s a planet in the Pinwheel Galaxy.”
“Pinwheel? Really?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“I’ve seen it.”
The girl looked askance at him. “No you haven’t.”
“I have. With a telescope.”
Something about what he’d said made the girl all beamish. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
“It’s one of my favorites.”
It must be a real galaxy. At least the girl hadn’t lied about everything.
Egg Man leaned against the front of his pickup, hands tucked into his jeans pockets. “Why’d you come to Earth?”
“It’s school for us. I’m like what Jo is—a graduate student.”
“Interesting. How long do you plan to stay?”
“Till I’ve seen enough.”
“Enough what?”
“Enough to understand humans. When I’ve seen five miracles, I go back.”
“Five miracles?” he said. “That’ll take forever.”
“By miracles I only mean things that amaze me. When I’ve seen those five things, I’ll go back and tell the stories to my people. It’s like getting a PhD and becoming a professor.”
“You’ll be an expert on humans?”
“Just on the little bit of your world I’ve seen. Like Jo will be an expert on bird ecology but not other kinds of science.”
“Wow,” he said, looking at Jo.
“Smart little alien, isn’t she?” Jo held the dozen eggs out to the girl. “Would you put these in the refrigerator for me?”
“You’ll let me in your house?”
“Yes.”
“Only because you want to talk to him about me.”
“Put the eggs away.”
“Don’t say anything mean.”
“Go on.” The girl ran for the front door. “Walk,” Jo called, “or your scrambled eggs will be on the sidewalk.” She turned back to Egg Man. “What do you think?”
“I’ve never seen her before. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t live on our road.”
“She has to be from somewhere close. Her feet would be a mess if she’d walked far.”
“Maybe she lost her shoes since she got here . . . dipped her feet in a stream and forgot where she put them.” He got off the pickup and rubbed his hand on his beard. “Her accent sounds like she’s from around here—but all that stuff about graduate students and professors . . .”
“She got that from me.”
“Obviously, but she looks too young to put it all together as well as she does.”
“I know, that’s what I was trying to tell—”
The girl burst out the porch door at a run, bare feet slapping the cracked concrete. “What are you saying?” she asked breathlessly.
“We were saying it’s about time you went home,” he said. “Do you need a ride? I can take you in my truck.”
“You’re going to drive me across the stars to my planet?”
“You’re too smart to think we’ll believe you’re an alien,” he said, “and you know a girl your age can’t be out on her own. Tell us the truth.”
“I am!”
“Then Jo has no choice but to call the police.”
“Toh-id ina eroo-oy!” the girl said.
“Toad in a what?” he said.
The girl burst into her alien language, speaking as fluently as she had the night before, but this time the speech was spoken as an invective at Egg Man, with much arm and hand gesturing.
“What was that?” he asked when she’d finished.
“I was telling you in my language that you should be nice to a graduate student who came all the way across the stars to see you. I’ll never get to be a professor if you don’t let me stay.”
“You know you can’t stay here.”
“Are you getting your PhD?” the girl asked.
He looked at her strangely.
“If you are, you’d know it’s wrong not to let me get mine,” the girl said.
He walked to his truck and opened the door.
“Wait . . . ,” Jo said.
He closed the door. “You’re on your own with this,” he said out the window.
“What if she’d shown up on your doorstep?”
“She didn’t.” He pulled out of the driveway fast, scattering gravel.
“What the hell? Henhouse on fire?” Jo said.
“What fire?” the girl said.
“Never mind.”
Clearly, something had pissed him off. Maybe he was insecure about Jo’s level of education. He’d changed when the girl asked if he was getting a PhD.
“I saw pie in the kitchen. Can I have a piece?”
Jo stared at the empty road as the rumble of Egg Man’s truck faded. Why couldn’t the people of his community take care of their own? Why would it be left to her, the outsider who didn’t know their ways, their unspoken rules?
“Can I?” the girl said.
Jo turned to her, trying not to look nervous. “Yes, you can have pie. But first you should eat something substantial.” And before that, Jo somehow had to call the sheriff without the girl knowing.
“Are scrambled eggs substantial?”
“They are,” Jo said, “but I want you to clean up before you eat. You have to take a shower.”
“Can’t I eat first?”
“I’ve told you the rules. Take them or leave them.”
The girl followed Jo into the house like a hungry puppy.