Where the Forest Meets the Stars(33)

Jo tried to hold him, but his body was wooden. He wouldn’t take his eyes off the cross. She tried to turn his face away with her hand. He wouldn’t move. “Turns out everyone knew,” he said. “I have his face. That’s why I grew the beard, so I wouldn’t have to see him in the fucking mirror every day. I haven’t seen my face since I could grow a full beard—since I was sixteen.”

“Your father knew?”

“He had to. Their affair was obvious. I’d figured it out at age twelve even though I knew nothing about things like that. And like I said, I’m a replica of George. The only person who probably didn’t know was Lynne, George’s wife. She wasn’t the brightest person, and I think that’s part of the reason George went for my mother. Katherine is smart but very devious. Lacey is a lot like her.”

“Lacey knows?”

Finally, he looked at her. “Of course. That’s why she hates me. She has our father’s face—the heavy chin and nose—and I got George’s even features. That night I figured out why she’d tortured me since I was a baby.”

“I’m sure it’s about more than looks.”

“It is. I’m evidence of Katherine and Arthur’s failures. Lacey revered her father, and she hated that he remained friends with George, even when he was screwing his wife. It was painful to see what a pitiful creature Arthur was.”

“Have you ever talked to her about any of this?”

“Tonight is the first time I’ve told anyone.”

“You didn’t tell your psychologist when you had your breakdown?”

“Why would I?”

“To help you come to terms with it. Before you knew George was your father, you liked him. He and your mother never meant for you to see what you did.”

“But I did see! Do you know when it was finally over I vomited? I didn’t get out of bed for two full days. They couldn’t figure out why I didn’t have a fever.”

“So that’s when it started.”

“What?”

“Using your bed to shut out the world when something upset you.”

He stared at her, his eyes “like thunder,” as Ursa said.

“Maybe it all has to do with that night,” she said.

“Right, and you never had cancer. You cut off your breasts just to make yourself miserable.”

“Gabe!”

“You see how it feels?” He walked away.

“I’m not saying you don’t have depression,” she said to his back. “I was talking about the cause. Depression can come from genetics, environment, or both.”

He kept walking.

“I don’t believe this! You’re doing it again. Is that why you brought me here and told me this story—so you’d have another reason to push me away?”

His body disappeared into the trees, the glow of his flashlight fading with him. She walked to Hope Lovett’s grave and shined her light on the cross. Hope had died at age eighteen—the day after Christmas, just before the start of a new century. It couldn’t get much sadder than that. The grave was a strange place to meet a lover.

But maybe not. Katherine was a poet. She might have seen it as a metaphor—a renewal of hope and youth—after she’d given up many dreams for her marriage and children.

Jo swept her flashlight over more faded grave markers, astounded by how many of the dead were babies and children, often buried next to the parents who’d watched them die. Maybe Katherine had been paying tribute to them. Gabe may have been conceived right there, with Hope’s ghost watching.

Jo walked back to George Kinney’s house, Little Bear following. It was 3:40 when she arrived, and Ursa was in a deep sleep. No way Jo could get up in an hour. She didn’t set her alarm.

When she tried to sleep, her thoughts manically cycled through everything that had happened in the last few hours. By four thirty, she was delirious. She desperately needed sleep and relief from her thoughts. Thoughts of the graves and Ursa’s buried woman overshadowed her intimacy with Gabe in the tree house. Everything was wrong. She shouldn’t have kissed Gabe. She shouldn’t have let Ursa stay. Why had she let such a mess interfere with her research?





22



“Jo?”

Ursa stood over her, still wearing her pajamas. Jo picked up her phone and looked at the time. 9:16 a.m.!

“Are you sick?” Ursa asked.

“No,” Jo said. “Did you just get up?”

“Yes.”

“You must have been as tired as I was.”

“Where’s Gabe?”

“At home.”

“He said he would stay.”

“He can’t. He has to take care of everything at his house. You know his mother is sick.”

“Will we see him today?”

“I don’t know.” Jo got up and made coffee and breakfast. They didn’t get out the door until 10:20. She slowed the Honda when she saw Gabe standing in the middle of Turkey Creek Road. He had a metal rake in his gloved hands, and his clothes were soaked with sweat. He looked up, surprised when he saw them. Jo stopped the car, her eyes drawn to his shockingly white driveway, its dirt and ruts covered with a thick layer of new white gravel. She opened her window.

“You’re getting a late start,” he said breathlessly, dragging a sleeve over his dripping brow. “I assumed you were out.”

“I needed a little extra sleep.”

“I know the feeling.” He gestured his chin toward his road. “What do you think?”

“You did all of that this morning?”

“The delivery guy did some of it. I raked it and trimmed back the trees.”

“You need a new No Trespassing sign to keep up with the improvements.”

“Or a Welcome sign,” he said, a quick glance at her eyes. He looked at Ursa in the back seat. “Hey, runaway bunny, how are you?”

“Good,” Ursa said. “I like your road.”

“You’ll have to try it out sometime.”

“Can we have dinner with Gabe tonight?” Ursa asked Jo.

Jo and Gabe’s eyes met. “I’m sorry I ran off,” he said, leaning closer.

“Me too—for what I said.”

“Don’t be.” He stepped back and set gloved hands atop his rake handle. “So, dinner?”

“We’ll get back late because I have to catch up.”

“I can eat light with my mother.” When Jo didn’t answer right away, he backed up farther. “Let me know if you want to. You’d better get going.”

Jo nodded and put the car in drive. They worked the riparian edges of North Fork and Jessie Branch. Summers Creek was next, but a late-afternoon storm had darkened the western sky by the time they arrived. “It’s like the day we came here with Gabe,” Ursa said.

“I know. They say lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place, but I’m not going to risk it.” Jo pulled the Honda out of the ditch.

“Where are we going?”

“Home. That storm looks ominous.”

The storm hit while they drove back to Kinney’s. Jo had to pull over because she couldn’t see the road through the downpour. Ursa loved it. While they waited, Jo taught her how to count seconds between lightning and thunder to estimate how far away the storm’s center was.

They arrived at Turkey Creek Road at quarter to five, just as the severe weather cleared. As expected, their approach to the Nash property elicited Ursa’s pleadings. “Are we having dinner with Gabe? He said we should let him know.”

Jo stopped the car and contemplated the bright-white welcome of gravel in his driveway. He was sending a clear message. But the status of their relationship was far from transparent. And if she was to go further, she had to see her path at least a little better. She turned the Honda down the lane.

“Yay!” Ursa said.

The drive to the cabin took less than half the time it had with all the ruts. “Scrunch down,” Jo said before she stopped next to Gabe’s truck.

“Why?” Ursa said.

“You know why. I don’t want Katherine to see you. She might mention it to Lacey.”

Ursa slouched below the window.

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” Jo said.

“That long?”

“Stay down.”

She walked up the porch stairs and knocked on the door. Gabe answered, releasing a redolence of roasting beef from the house. He was wearing the pink apron again. “Can I kiss the cook?” she said. He smiled but glanced anxiously backward before he let her peck his lips.

“I guess the storm brought you home early,” he said.

Jo nodded. “We were at Summers Creek when we first saw it.”

“No wonder you came back.”

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“I was just making dinner, but I can come over after.”

“That sounds good. Do you like grilled mahi? I’m making it for Ursa to try tonight.”

“I love grilled mahi.”

“Is your mom in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I want to say hello.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, blocking the door with his body.

She pushed past him and walked into the house. His mother was seated at the kitchen table, and she smiled when she saw Jo. “How are you, Katherine?” Jo said.

“Just fine,” she said. She studied Jo’s field clothes and messy hair. “How is your bird research coming along?”