Where the Forest Meets the Stars(35)

“Jo, come on . . . ,” Gabe said.

“You come on. You said you haven’t seen your face since you could grow a beard.”

“You know why.”

“Don’t you think it’s time to stop hiding from who you are?”

“I don’t want to see his face every day!”

“You aren’t him. Anyway, your face has a lot of your mother in it. Your eyes are like hers.”

“I know. I tried to grow the beard over them, but it wouldn’t take.”

She stroked her fingers on the hair below his eye. “It nearly has.” She kissed him softly. “Please let me. If you hate it, you can grow it back.” She kissed him again. “Don’t you want to be irresistible to me?”

“Like George?”

“I’ve seen George. He’s not really my type.”

“Where have you seen him?”

“In the biology office. He’s an emeritus professor—retired, but still doing research.”

“Figures. He’ll do research till the day he dies.”

“My advisor said that about him. He’s a legend among entomologists.”

“Yeah, around here, too.”

Jo grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt and lifted it.

“Are you going to shave my chest, too?”

“No, I like chest hair. But you have to take this off or it’ll get wet.”

He let her pull the shirt over his head. She tossed it on the chair and placed her hands on his pectoral muscles. “Nice,” she said. “You have more up here than I do.”

“Your body is beautiful,” he said.

She got off his lap.

“It is, you know.”

“Yeah, the scars show how brave I am and blah, blah, blah.”

“I wouldn’t have said that.”

“No matter what you say, I won’t believe it. You might as well not say anything.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Tell me about it.”

Ursa came out, shaving cream can pressed to her chest while she held a bowl of water in one hand and a razor and scissors in her other. Jo went over to help. They put the supplies on a little plastic table next to Gabe. “We should have a towel,” Jo said.

“I’ll get it,” Ursa said, “but don’t start without me!” She ran for the door again.

“At least someone will enjoy this,” Gabe said.

“I’ll make it as enjoyable as possible,” Jo said.

Ursa returned with the towel, and Jo wrapped it around Gabe’s neck. She pulled a lawn chair in front of him and sat with her legs straddled around his. He looked quite captivated by her open legs and short cutoff jeans, but they knew they had to keep things G-rated in Ursa’s presence. Jo picked up the scissors to draw his eyes to a more decent level. “Ready?”

“No,” Gabe said, but Ursa shouted, “Yes!”

Jo snipped at the dark hair, burnished gold by the setting sun. She had to be careful not to pinch his skin as she cropped closer to his face. After she’d pared the beard, Jo wet the hair and let Ursa shake the shaving cream. She sprayed a big puff of it into her hand. “Smear it all over the hair,” Jo said.

“This is fun,” Ursa said, piling it on with abandon.

“I need to breathe, ladies,” he said.

Jo used the towel to clear shaving cream out of his nostrils and off his lips. She picked up the razor. “Here we go . . .”

“Can I do it?” Ursa said.

“No way!” he said.

“Razors should be handled by adults,” Jo said.

Ursa leaned close to watch the first strokes of the blade. “His skin looks regular under there,” she said.

“Did you think it would be green alien skin?” he asked.

“I’m an alien, so that wouldn’t have surprised me.”

“Do your people have green skin?” he asked.

“We look like starlight on the outside.”

Jo enjoyed uncovering Gabe’s face. It was reminiscent of George Kinney’s, but much more handsome. The high forehead, strong, subtly hooked nose, and square chin were all George. But the slight slant of his deeply blue eyes came from Katherine, as did the well-defined bow of his upper lip and the contour of his smile. Jo rubbed her finger over a half-inch line on his left cheekbone, barely resisting her urge to kiss him there. “How did you get this scar?”

“You’ll never believe it,” he said.

“How?”

“Running with scissors.”

“So it’s true.”

“Yep, nearly put my eye out when I was six years old.”

Ursa dumped the water clotted with shaving cream and hair and brought out more warm water. After Jo gently scraped finishing touches, she wet one end of the towel and cleaned off his face. He gazed into her eyes as she wiped. “Well?” he said.

“You should be fined for covering this face all these years.”

“Who would I pay?”

“Me.” She sat in his lap, wrapped her arms behind his neck, and kissed his lips.

“I did it! I did it! I did it!” Ursa sang, pumping her fists and dancing around them.

“What did you do?” Gabe said.

“I made you and Jo fall in love. My quark things did it. I knew it! I knew it!”

Jo and Gabe kissed again while Ursa continued her quark dance and Little Bear barked and frisked at her capering. “If this is how a crushed soul feels, it’s not so bad,” Gabe whispered in her ear.

“This is for sure my fourth miracle!” Ursa said.

“That means you only have one left,” Gabe said.

“I know. I’ll save it for something really good.”

After they cleaned the dinner dishes, Gabe and Ursa roasted marshmallows. Jo watched, enjoying his new face and their playful banter.

Gabe sat next to Jo, holding her hand. “Look, you guys,” Ursa said. “I’m making stars.” She poked her stick again and again into the fire, and they watched cascades of sparks vanish into the starry black sky. Jo wanted to live as she did, in each sweet moment. But every second she spent with Ursa was overshadowed by the uncertainty of her future. And now Gabe was part of that onrushing fate, summer already on the wane.

When Ursa was in pajamas and ready for bed, Gabe went out to his truck and brought in a beat-up copy of The Runaway Bunny. “I remember that book,” Jo said.

“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.”