“Their eyes are open!” Ursa said, a white kitten in her hands. It mewed softly, its squinted eyes trying to make sense of her human face. “This is Juliet,” Ursa said. “Want to hold her?”
Jo cradled the kitten against her chest.
“The gray one is Hamlet,” Ursa said, pointing at a kitten. “This brown tabby is Caesar. The black-and-white one is Macbeth, and the orange one is Olivia—”
“Which play is that from?” Jo asked.
“Twelfth Night,” Gabe said.
“Finally, a comedy.”
“And the black one is Othello,” Ursa said. “That name was Gabe’s idea because Othello is a Moor.”
Ursa took Juliet from Jo’s hands. “Juliet and Hamlet are my favorites.” She scooped Hamlet out of the nest and reclined against a hay bale with the two kittens on her chest.
Balancing the mother cat on one arm, Gabe lifted Olivia and handed her to Jo. “Have a little comedy. We need it.”
Jo warmed the tiny orange kitten until it settled down. Gabe was watching her, smiling. “How do you feel?” she asked him. But immediately she regretted asking the question that had dogged her since her diagnosis. “Are you up to having dinner with us?”
He tried to read her motives.
“Ursa and I are making burgers, sweet potato fries, and salad. But I should warn you, they’re turkey burgers. I don’t eat much red meat.”
“I don’t mind turkey burgers,” he said.
“Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Then come over.”
“I’d have to shower first.”
“We can start cooking while you do that.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“Guess what, you guys?” Ursa said.
“What?” Gabe said.
Ursa sat up, white and gray kitten in each hand. “I’m going to write a play about Juliet and Hamlet.”
“Is it a play about cats or people?” he asked.
“People. Juliet and Hamlet meet in a magic forest before all the bad things happen, and that changes their fates. It’s a comedy, and everyone is happy at the end.”
“I like it,” Gabe said.
“I really like it,” Jo said. “Can we buy tickets in advance?”
13
Ursa explored the prairie edge with a flashlight while Jo stoked the fire for the burgers.
“What are you doing?” Jo asked.
“Picking flowers for the table.”
“I thought we’d eat outside like we usually do when we grill.”
“No! Gabe coming for dinner is special.”
Jo didn’t want it to be. Maybe she and Gabe would get awkward again, and eating at the kitchen table in fluorescent light would only make it worse. When Jo went inside to check the potatoes, she saw that their dinner wouldn’t be eaten in fluorescence. Ursa had turned out all the lights and placed two half-burned pillar candles on the table on either side of her flower bouquet. It looked way too romantic, but before Jo could do anything about it, Little Bear was barking to announce Gabe’s arrival. She hurried outside to quiet him.
“Good watchdog,” Gabe said, closing his truck door.
“It’s not good. It’s annoying.”
Gabe patted the dog and came up the walkway. He held out a carton of eggs. “Do you really need them?”
“We do. Thanks.” She took the carton from his hand, noticing the warm scent of soap on his skin. “Just to warn you, Ursa has turned this into an haute cuisine affair.”
“Did she find caviar in the creek?”
“The menu is the same, but she’s trying to create dining ambiance.”
“Sounds nice. I hope I’m suitably dressed for a restaurant.”
In the yellow glow of the porch light, Jo appraised his clothing—a blue button-down shirt and light-colored pants, much nicer than the T-shirt and frayed jeans he usually wore. He looked like he was dressed for a date. She suppressed a spike of panic. “It’s perfect,” she said. “A tux would have been overkill.”
She led the way into the house, where Ursa was folding paper towels into napkins at the kitchen table. “I was afraid Lacey wouldn’t let you come,” she said.
“She did her best to prevent me, but I got the chains off,” he said.
Maybe that wasn’t so far from the truth.
“Need help with dinner?” he asked.
“Thanks, but all that’s left is grilling the burgers,” Jo said. “Stay in the air-conditioning—if you can call it that.” When Ursa insisted on eating inside, Jo turned the living room window unit to its highest setting, but it was old and hadn’t done much to lower the temperature yet.
Jo stayed outside while she cooked four turkey burgers and grilled the buns. When she brought the food inside, the living room light was on. Gabe and Ursa were seated on the couch looking at Ursa’s crayon drawings of him, Tabby, and Frances Ivey’s house.
“Ursa says you drove up to Urbana to rent a house the day before yesterday,” Gabe said.
“We did. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to let you know before we left. But if Tabby and I didn’t move fast, the house would’ve been gone.”
“That’s okay.” He returned her pointed gaze. He knew her apology was meant to cover more. “Tabby must be quite a person if she was Ursa’s third miracle.”
“Tabby is miraculous in more ways than I can explain,” Jo said. “I’ve known her since our sophomore year in college, and we’ve roomed together since junior year.”
“Ursa said she’s going to be a vet.”
“And her name is a cat!” Ursa said. “Isn’t that funny?”
“It is,” he said.
Jo set the bowl of sweet potato fries on the table next to the burgers. “Dinner is served.”
Ursa turned off all lights in the living room and kitchen. “Yikes, spooky,” Gabe said to discharge some of the tension. Ursa took the seat next to Gabe at the candlelit table, and Jo sat across from him.
“I made the salad,” Ursa said.
“Good job,” he said.
“The extra burger without cheese is for you,” Jo said.
“Not sure if I’ll be able to handle it,” he said. “I haven’t eaten much the last few days.”
“Because you were throwing up?” Ursa asked.
“No, I just wasn’t hungry.”
Jo had expected as much, but she’d put a fourth burger on the grill anyway. Just like the meals she’d brought her dying mother—always too big—as if she could feed her back to wellness. Sometimes she thought about herself in the same way, afraid the cancer had come back if she didn’t have an appetite.
Good thing she never had those worries about Ursa. She was famished, her usual chatter silenced by a mouthful of burger.
“I hear Ursa has become quite the ornithologist,” Gabe said.
“She has,” Jo said. “She’s found two nests.”
He held up his hand and let Ursa high-five him. He was pretending he felt better than he did. He’d put down his burger before he’d eaten half of it, and while Jo and Ursa finished eating, he picked at his salad to have something to do. “How’s the research going?” he asked.
“Better than expected for my first field season.”
“How many more will you have?”
“At least one more.”
“You’ll be living here next summer?”
“That’s the plan.”
He looked down at the fork he was poking in his salad before he returned his gaze to hers. “Why are you studying buntings?”
“I’m doing a nesting study, and bunting nests are plentiful and easy to find. Historically, they nested in forests that were disturbed by fire and floods. These days, they’re attracted to the edges of our roads and crop fields, and those habitats aren’t so good for them. Lots of birds that nest in those shrubby kinds of landscapes are declining.”
“Interesting,” he said.
“So I’m comparing nesting success between habitats created by natural and human disturbances.”
He nodded. “What brought you into the world of birds in the first place?”
“I’d have to say my parents,” she said. “My dad was a geologist, and my mother was a botanist. When I was a kid, my family camped and hiked all over the United States. That was when I learned my first birds, mostly with my mom.”
“Jo’s mom and dad are dead,” Ursa announced.
Gabe didn’t look especially surprised when Jo had used past tense to describe her parents. But unlike most people, he didn’t ask what had happened to them.
“My dad did research in the Andes,” Jo said. “He was in an airplane that crashed into a mountain when I was fifteen. Two other geologists and the Peruvian pilot died with him.”
“Jesus. How old was he?”
“Forty-one.”
“Was your mom there, doing research with him?”
“No, she was home with my brother and me. She never finished her botany PhD after my brother was born. My dad went on long research trips, and she didn’t want to put my brother in day care while she finished her degree.”
“Jo’s mom died from breast cancer,” Ursa said. “She saved Jo’s life.”
“As you can see,” Jo said, “Ursa has been very curious about my family.” Looking at Ursa, she added, “I wish she’d tell me as much as I’ve told her.”