“We’re going home,” Jo said.
16
Jo had hardly stopped the Honda when Ursa jumped out, grabbed a stick, and threw it for Little Bear. All the way home she’d been manic, trying to prove that the blow to her head hadn’t done any damage.
Jo unlocked the front door of the house. “Ursa, inside for a bath.”
“You mean a shower?” Ursa said.
“No, I don’t want you standing up.”
“I’m okay.”
“At the very least, your head has to hurt. Do what I said. I’ll be in the bathroom to help in a minute.”
“I don’t need help,” Ursa said, though she obediently walked inside.
Still cloaked in his bloodstained shirt, Gabe put his backpack in the back of his truck. “She looks good.”
“I think a lot of that is fake,” Jo said.
He laid the bloody shirt they’d used to put pressure on Ursa’s cut next to the backpack.
“Will you come back after you clean up?” she asked.
“Do you want me to?”
“I do. What if I can’t wake her up in the middle of the night or something like that?”
“That’s the risk we’re taking by letting her call the shots.”
“Come on . . . I feel bad enough.”
He gently touched her arm. “I’ll be back soon.”
“You’re welcome to have dinner with us,” she said.
“Are you sure you have enough? Your fridge looked pretty bare when I put things away last night.”
“I know. We’ll have to do omelets with the eggs you brought.”
“I’ll bring something over to cook. Let me handle dinner. You look beat.”
“You must be about the same.”
His weary smile confirmed it. “We’ll manage. I’ll see you soon.”
Jo had Ursa undress and sit in warm water. After she cleaned the wound on Ursa’s scalp, she gave her the soapy cloth and let her wash her body. Ursa came out of the bathroom wearing the pink Hello Kitty pajamas she and Gabe had bought at a yard sale. She didn’t want to lie down on the couch while Jo showered, but Jo made her.
Jo bathed and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. When she emerged from the bathroom, Gabe was already in the kitchen cooking. “Hope you don’t mind if Ursa let me in,” he said. “I wanted to get dinner on as fast as possible.” He was seasoning a chicken in a roasting pan, and he’d brought bread stuffing to cook on the stove top.
“This looks great,” Jo said.
“I want to make the stuffing, but he won’t let me,” Ursa said.
“Because you’re supposed to be resting,” Gabe said. “Go back to the couch.”
“I’m not an invalid,” she said on her way to the living room.
“Invalid,” Gabe said. “My sister doesn’t use vocabulary like that, and she’s a writer.”
“How is Lacey?”
“Spittin’ nails, as they sometimes say around here.” He poured the stuffing mix into a mixture of water and melted butter. “I think she suspects we’ve committed a murder.”
“The blood! How did you explain it?”
“I told her Ursa got hurt. And that led to another lecture on why I shouldn’t be going around with someone else’s kid. She threatened to call the cops.”
“Will she?”
“Never know with Lacey.”
“What did she say when you left again?”
“She demanded I stop my childish fling—as she called it—and stay home. She says she’s leaving in the morning no matter what.”
“Do you have to go home tonight?”
He quit stirring and faced her. “You asked me to stay the night, and I’m staying.”
“Only if you want to.”
“I do. I’m worried about Ursa, too.”
“How can I help with dinner? Looks like we need a vegetable.”
“I’ve got it covered. Lacey and my mother had leftover green beans and corn in the refrigerator. They only need to be heated.”
An hour later, they sat down to the chicken, stuffing, and vegetables. Gabe had also brought a partial container of fudge ripple ice cream for dessert. Jo was too full to eat it, but Ursa and Gabe each had a bowl. “That knock on the head certainly hasn’t affected your appetite,” he said to Ursa.
“I told you I didn’t need to go to the hospital,” she said.
“Well, you gave us quite a scare. So much for your magic forest.”
“It’s not the forest’s fault,” Ursa said. “I made it happen.”
“You made a branch conk you on the head and nearly kill you?”
“It wouldn’t have killed me. But like I told Tabby and Jo, sometimes a bad thing has to happen to make a good thing happen.”
“What was the good thing that came of it?” Gabe asked.
“You’re staying overnight again.”
“You knew I would stay overnight if you got hurt?”
“I didn’t exactly know. It all just happens. People from Hetrayeh give off these invisible specks, kind of like quarks—except different—and they make good stuff happen around us when we meet earthlings we like.”
He laid his spoon in his empty dish. “So I guess these quark things are kind of like giving off good vibes.”
“They can change people’s fates.”
“What’s so good about me staying overnight?”
“Jo and I like you.” She picked up her bowl and drank the last of her melted ice cream. “You didn’t want to be over there with your mean sister anyway, right? That’s another way it’s good.”
“What do you think, science lady?” he asked Jo.
“Why not? We can’t see gravity, and it has a strong effect on us.”
“True.” He stood and nested Ursa’s bowl inside his. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll find a million dollars under my pillow.”
“Probably not,” Ursa said.
“Why not?”
“The quark things know what you really want.”
“I don’t want a million dollars?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Darn it.” He went to the sink and washed the bowls.
“Do you have that medicine Earth people call Motrin?” Ursa asked Jo.
“Do you have a headache?”
“Only a little one.”
“Don’t lie. How bad does it hurt?”
“Kind of bad.” She saw Jo and Gabe glance at each other. “I’ll be okay. I heard a cold washcloth and Motrin helps a lot.”
She must have had that remedy in the past. Who had taken care of her when she was sick, and why hadn’t that person reported her missing?
They took Ursa to the couch, gave her a Motrin, and had her lie down with a cold washcloth over her eyes and forehead. They darkened the room and lit Ursa’s two candles. She fell into a deep sleep immediately. Jo sat on the edge of the couch watching her breathe.
“You can’t sit up like that all night,” Gabe said.
“I have to be next to her.”
“Let me put her in your bed.” He carried her to the first bedroom and rested her on the queen mattress on the wooden floor. He drew Jo’s blanket over her, carefully tucking it around her shoulders. He pulled aside the strands of hair that covered her face. He looked up and caught Jo’s smile. “Are you going to bed right away?” he asked.
“I’ll stay awake as long as I can to keep watch on her.”
“Do you mind if I sit here next to the bed?”
“Not at all.” She retrieved the two candles and put one on the dresser and the other on the nightstand. She sat on the mattress facing Ursa, and Gabe sat on the floor on Ursa’s other side.
“I had a good day,” he said. “Before Ursa got hurt, obviously.”
“You stood up to the heat, insects, and bushwhacking very well.”
“Not to mention the stinging nettle.”
“Yeah, don’t mention it.”
Silence lingered between them. He lifted the book lying next to Ursa. “Slaughterhouse-Five,” he said, turning the book in his hands. “I’ve never seen it in hardcover. How old is it?”
“Printed in 1969, the year it came out.”
He looked up at her. “With the original cover? It must be worth a fortune.”
“It’s not in the greatest shape—but it is priceless. It was handed down from my grandfather, to my dad, to my brother, to me. My mother read that copy more than once, too.” She reached over Ursa and took the book from him, resting it on her crossed legs. “This book often came up in our conversations,” she said, stroking her hand over the cover. “It was a favorite for all of us.”
“My dad would love that.”
“What?”
“How you still connect with your parents through a book.”
She did, and not only through that one. She had most of the books that had belonged to her parents, and she read passages from them every night before she fell asleep or when she had insomnia. As she read, her fingers touching the same pages theirs had touched, her father and mother were right there with her.
“Your family sounds interesting if they all liked an unusual book like that.”
“We were definitely interesting,” she said. “Kind of weird, truthfully, and sometimes that made it hard for my brother and me to relate to other kids.”