Where the Forest Meets the Star - Glendy Vanderah Page 0,4
She’d probably gone home.
While her oatmeal cooked, Jo made a tuna sandwich and packed it alongside her trail mix and water. She was out the door twenty minutes later and at her site by dawn. While the morning air was still cool, she searched for indigo bunting nests along Church Road, the least shaded of her nine study sites. A few hours later, she moved on to the Jory Farm site, and after that, to Cave Hollow Road.
She quit at five, earlier than usual. Insomnia had become routine in the last two years, since her mother’s diagnosis and recent death, but for some reason her anxiety had been especially bad for three nights running. She wanted to be in bed by nine at the latest to catch up on sleep.
Though she’d stopped at a farm stand first, she arrived at Turkey Creek Road early enough that Egg Man, a young bearded guy, was still seated under his blue canopy at the road’s intersection with the county highway. During her infrequent days off work—mostly because of rain—Jo had noticed he kept a regular schedule, selling eggs on Monday evenings and Thursday mornings.
Egg Man nodded his head in greeting as Jo rounded the bend. She waved and wished she needed eggs to give him business, but she still had at least four in the refrigerator.
Turkey Creek Road was the five-mile gravel road that dead-ended at the creek and Kinney property. Driving it took a while, even in an SUV. After the first mile, it got narrow, snaky, potholed, and washboarded, and toward the end it was precariously steep in a few places where the creek washed it out in heavy rains. Jo’s return trip on the road was her favorite part of the day. She never knew what the next bend might bring—a turkey, a family of bobwhite quail, or even a bobcat. At its end, the road brought her to a pretty view of the clear, rocky creek and a left turn that led to her quaint cottage on the hill.
But it wasn’t wildlife she saw staring back at her from the cottage walkway when she turned onto the Kinney property lane. It was the Ursa Major alien and her Ursa Minor dog. The girl was wearing the same clothes as the previous night, her feet still bare. Jo parked and jumped out of the car without removing her gear. “Why are you still here?”
“I told you,” the girl said, “I’m visiting from—”
“You’ve got to go home!”
“I will! I promise I will when I’ve seen five miracles.”
Jo took her phone from her pants pocket. “I’m sorry . . . I have to call the police.”
“If you do, I’ll run. I’ll find another house.”
“You can’t do that! There are weird people out there. Bad people . . .”
The girl crossed her arms over her chest. “Then don’t call.”
Good advice. She shouldn’t do it in front of her. Jo put the phone away. “Are you hungry?”
“Kind of,” the girl said.
She probably hadn’t eaten since her meal at the fire. “Do you like eggs?”
“I heard scrambled eggs taste good.”
“There’s a guy who sells eggs down the road. I’ll go get some.”
The girl watched Jo walk back to her car. “If you’re lying and bring the police, I’ll run.”
The desperation in the girl’s eyes put Jo on edge. She spun the car around and turned onto Turkey Creek Road. About a mile from the cottage, she stopped at a hill where she was more likely to have a connection and dialed information to get the sheriff’s nonemergency number. After three unsuccessful attempts, she laid the phone in the console. She had a better idea.
She arrived at the outer road just in time. Egg Man had taken down his canopy and FRESH EGGS sign, but he hadn’t put away the table or three unsold cartons of eggs perched on his chair. Jo pulled her car into the roadside weeds and grabbed her wallet. She waited behind Egg Man while he leaned over the table to fold its legs. She’d never seen his whole body because he’d been seated behind the table when she bought eggs. He was about six feet tall and muscular from daily hard work, the kind of proportional strength Jo preferred to weight-lifting bulges.
He turned around, smiling and making more eye contact than usual. “Sudden urge for an omelet?” he said, noting the wallet in her hand.
“I wish,” she said, “but I don’t have cheese. I’ll have to settle for scrambled.”