Orbiting Jupiter

  “Yup?” I said.

  “Yup, as in ‘Yup, he was here.’”

  “When?” said my mother.

  “I can’t say when exactly he got here, but I found him yesterday morning on the couch in the Teen Sunday School room.”

  “Is he still here?” I said.

  Pastor Greenleaf shook his head. “We had breakfast, we talked. He was pretty hungry, since I think all he’d eaten was the potato chips he found in the church kitchen—and they’d been there a lot longer than they should have been. I asked where he was from. He said Portland. I asked him to give me his parents’ phone number, and I ended up calling the phone of some real estate agent in Yarmouth. When I came back, he was gone.”

  “You call the police?” said my father.

  “I did,” he said.

  “Really?” I said.

  “They told us they hadn’t heard a thing,” said my mother.

  “Well, they heard me,” said Pastor Greenleaf. “What’s the boy’s real name?”

  “Joseph Brook,” I said.

  “And your name?”

  “Jack.”

  “Then I’ll be praying for Joseph Brook. And for you, too, Jack Brook.”

  “Hurd. Jackson Hurd,” said my mother.

  Pastor Greenleaf looked at me. “The boy isn’t your brother?” he said.

  “I have his back,” I said.

  WE DROVE THROUGH Lewiston and down toward Brunswick. We stopped again and again and again, but no one else had seen anything of Joseph. We ate hamburgers at a diner—they hadn’t seen Joseph either—and then we drove into town. Parked on Maine Street. Got out and looked around. Walked toward the statue of Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, since it seemed a lucky thing to do. Then stood there in a cold wind, looking around and wondering what to do next.

  No one else was on the street, it was that cold.

  The sky spitting snow.

  Clouds still granite.

  “Let’s split up,” I said.

  My father considered this. “Okay,” he said. “But we’re not going to stay out in this cold too long.” He looked at his watch. “And we have to be back by four thirty for milking. That gives us a couple of hours.”

  He handed me Joseph’s picture.

  “You take that side of the street,” he said. “We’ll take the other.”

  But after just a couple of blocks, I didn’t.

  If I were Joseph, I thought, I wouldn’t go into stores. I’d walk around a neighborhood, hope someone came out, ask if they’d heard about a new baby around—something like that. He’d make up a story about why he wanted to know, and someone would tell him, because Joseph wanted to see Jupiter so badly, they would be able to see he loved her. And that would be enough.

  I turned down a block of houses.

  The wind, of course, was right in my face now.

  Still no one out on the street.

  Clouds racking up.

  A few cars driving by, probably with their heaters going full blast.

  The smell of smoke from the wood stoves the families in all of these houses were gathered around.

  A church bell tolling once, the sound hard as iron in the cold air.

  Okay, so maybe I was a little angry at Joseph by this time. I couldn’t even feel my toes. Or the ends of my fingers. What chance did he have of walking around Brunswick and finding a house with a baby, and that baby would be Jupiter? I mean, what chance did he really have?

  And what chance did I have of walking around the streets of Brunswick and suddenly running into him? Like, I’d turn a corner and there he’d be, watching the house where Jupiter was sleeping. What chance did either of us really have?

  I walked around for an hour and a half. I saw four other people on the sidewalks, cross-armed, shoulders into the wind—they were too bundled up for me to see their faces, but none of them was Joseph-shaped. I saw two kids younger than me working on a snowman, except it was so cold, the snow wasn’t packing and it looked more like a snow heap with branches sticking out for arms. An ambulance sirened past. A police car right after it. Once a car pulled into a driveway ahead of me and parents got out, and kids. The trunk popped and they all grabbed bags of groceries. The mother looked at me and almost said something, but one of the kids called and she was gone.

  By the time I saw the library, I think my face had frosted to ice.

  Libraries are terrific in a whole lot of ways, but one way is that on a frozen day in a Maine winter, you can go inside. I stood in the lobby for a long time, dripping and thawing. Then I wandered in. Everything was so warm. The shelves of books, the wooden tables, the bright carpets. Old people reading newspapers and staying warm. Fewer old people fussing at computers they didn’t get and staying warm. A Teen Read section that didn’t have enough M. T. Anderson, but it was warm. A kids’ section where a whole bunch of mothers with little kids were listening to One Morning in Maine on tape, and they were warm. Some of the mothers held babies.

  Yeah, I thought he might be there too.

  But he wasn’t.

  I showed the picture to one of the librarians.

  She didn’t recognize him.

  “What’s his name?” she said.

  “Joseph,” I said.

  She showed it to another librarian.

  She didn’t recognize him either.

  “What’s he doing in Brunswick?” the second librarian asked, not even looking at me.

  “Looking for his daughter,” I said.

  She held the picture closer. “His daughter?” she said.

  “Her name is Jupiter,” I said.

  Then she looked at me.

  “What did you say?”

  “Her name is Jupiter.”

  She looked down at the picture again.

  “This is Jupiter’s father?” she said.

  Remember what I said about your heart forgetting to beat?

  “Joseph Brook,” I whispered.

  “He’s just a baby himself,” she said.

  “He’s fourteen.”

  “Like I said.” She handed the picture back to me.

  “You know her,” I said. “You know where she is.”

  “I think we’d better make a phone call,” she said.

  “All he wants to do is see her. That’s all. He just wants to see his daughter.”

  “And who are you, exactly?”

  “I have his back. Can’t you let him see her?”

  “You don’t even know where he is.”

  “When I do, can he see her?”

  She looked at me. “Listen, Guy Who Has Jupiter’s Father’s Back, probably not. It wouldn’t be good for him, and I’m not sure it would be good for her.”

  “She’s four months old,” I said.

  “They’re not going to be together,” she said. “Joseph Brook has to understand that. He’s in high school. He can’t give her what she needs.”

  “He’s in middle school.”

  “Even worse,” she said.

  “He can love her.”

  The librarian looked at me, and I thought she was going to cry—just like Reverend Ballou again.

  Maybe she thought I was going to cry.

  Maybe I was.

  “Yes, he can love her,” she said. “He can do that. But he can’t love her just for himself. He has to love her for her, too. That means he has to learn to let her live the life that can come to her with a new home.”

  “He only wants to see her,” I said.

  “I know,” she said. “I really do know.”

  “You’re her foster mother,” I said, “aren’t you.”

  She waited.

  “Tell Joseph that Jupiter is doing fine,” she said. “Tell him she’s growing, and happy, and ready for a family. Tell him she needs that family. Tell him that he and his father should let her go.”

  I stood there, wondering what Joseph would do if he were standing there instead of me.

  “That’s a lot to put on you,” she said, “telling him that.
”

  I nodded.

  Actually, I knew if I told him that, he’d break my nose.

  “Take care of her,” I said. Nodded again. Turned to go. What else was there to do?

  “Guy Who Has Jupiter’s Father’s Back,” she said.

  I turned around.

  “Tell him she’s beautiful. Tell him I promise to take good care of her. And I promise she’ll find a family who will love her too.”

  “And tell Jupiter about Joseph,” I said. “Tell her he tried to find her.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  “He tried really hard. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And he loves her. He’ll always love her, even if she doesn’t know him.”

  “I’ll tell her that, too.”

  I turned to go again. I had to, because I really was about to bawl.

  In the Brunswick Public Library, I was about to bawl.

  And that was when her phone rang.

  I looked at her.

  She pulled the phone out of her bag.

  She listened for a minute. She was looking at me the whole time.

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “Describe him to me.”

  She listened.

  “Okay, I know who he is. Jupiter’s father. No, really. He’s Jupiter’s father. You better make the call. I’ll be right home.”

  She put the phone back in the bag.

  “This isn’t some sort of plan, is it?”

  “Plan?”

  “You come where I work and he goes to the house. Did you plan that?”

  “Joseph’s at your house?”

  “My husband says he’s been walking back and forth in front of the house since noontime. If this is a plan, it’s just going to get you both—”

  “It’s not a plan. We better go.”

  She looked at me. “We better go? There’s no ‘we’ here. I’m going. And you better go home to wherever home is.”

  I crossed my arms.

  “Oh, right, you’re the guy who has his back.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m the guy who has his back.”

  She sighed. She sighed again. She looked at the other librarian, who shrugged, and she sighed again.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m going to ignore my instincts here and take you with me. But only if —”

  “I’ll listen to the rules in the car,” I said.

  She laughed, then nodded.

  “Then we better go,” she said. “Do you mind if I drive?”

  “I’m twelve,” I said.

  “Never would have known,” she said, and I followed her out through the library offices and into the cold.

  SHE HAD LOTS of rules.

  I had to stay in the car.

  My seat belt needed to be buckled even when we stopped.

  I had to not interfere.

  I had to not expect to see Jupiter.

  I really had to not interfere.

  I had to go find my parents immediately after we found Joseph.

  Did I understand that I really, really had to not interfere?

  We drove out from the library parking lot and down to the statue of Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain again—he looked pretty cold—and past Bowdoin College. Then we took a right down a street of houses, and let me tell you, there were a lot of cars and this was taking forever and maybe I was squirmy because she said, “Do you have to go to the bathroom or something?” but I just kept looking out the window for Joseph.

  And then, there he was. Standing in front of a smallish brick house with a yard that was probably pretty nice in the summer but was pretty bare right now. Standing with his arms crossed as if he’d wait until the end of the world.

  Which he probably would.

  We pulled into the driveway.

  “You stay here,” she said.

  Joseph saw me, and then he saw her getting out.

  His arms at his sides.

  Watching.

  She went up to Joseph and stood close to him.

  She reached out to touch him, but he moved back and away.

  She let her arm go down and she said something.

  He nodded.

  She pointed back at the car, at me.

  He shook his head.

  She sighed.

  She said something.

  Joseph shook his head again.

  Then the police showed up. They got out from their car, two guys. Two big guys. They walked up to the librarian and Joseph with that slow, big walk police have. They stood next to Joseph, and he backed up a little so they wouldn’t be standing behind him. They talked to the librarian and she talked to them. She shook her head.

  She said something to Joseph again.

  He shook his head, and one of the big policemen put his arm on Joseph’s.

  Joseph pulled it away—which the big policeman did not like. He came closer. Joseph took a step back and I could tell what he was going to do—and where.

  So, I guess, could the librarian.

  She held out her hand and said something else. They all three looked at her. She said something else, and then she ran into the house.

  Joseph watched her. He didn’t even see the other policeman come around behind him, that’s how hard he watched her.

  Then she came out, kind of running, and in her hand was a photograph.

  She gave it to Joseph and he looked at it. I could tell his hand was sort of trembling, but he never took his eyes off it. Then she put her arm behind Joseph’s back—he was still looking at the photograph, so he didn’t flinch—and she walked with him to her car. The big policemen watched, and she turned around and nodded to them. They let her go. And she brought Joseph to the back door of the car, opened it, and said, “Get in.”

  He looked up at her.

  He looked behind him at the two policemen.

  “Oh, Joseph, it’s the best we can do for now. Please.”

  I looked at the two policemen. They were still watching.

  “Joseph,” I said.

  He looked at me.

  “What are you doing here?” he said.

  “Looking for you,” I said.

  He smiled. Really. He smiled. Number eight. Definitely not sort of.

  He got in the car and leaned forward. “Look at this,” he said, and showed me Jupiter.

  THE LIBRARIAN DROVE us back to Maine Street, where my parents were standing and looking around, waiting. When we got out and my mother saw Joseph, she ran toward him. He probably wasn’t sure if she was going to hug him or slaughter him.

  Probably she wasn’t sure either.

  She ended up hugging him. And my father did too.

  Even Jupiter’s foster mom hugged Joseph. “You look so much alike,” she said. “And determined, like she is.”

  Joseph just listened. It was like he was dragging every word about Jupiter into himself so he could remember it and treasure it in his heart.

  “We’re taking good care of her,” she said.

  “I’m her father,” said Joseph.

  She looked at him. “I’ll tell her all about you,” she said. “I’ll write to you. I promise.”

  And Joseph said, “Tell her I . . .” He stopped. His mouth sort of crumpled.

  “I will,” she said.

  That was pretty much all Joseph said on the way home.

  We stopped at a diner so he could get something to eat, since he hadn’t eaten for most of two days except for the Baptist potato chips and breakfast with Pastor Greenleaf. I won’t even tell you how much he ate, except my father had to look twice in his wallet to make sure he had enough money.

  We got home in time for milking. Rosie did her happy moo when she saw Joseph.

  Then at supper, he ate like we hadn’t even stopped at the diner.

  THAT NIGHT, JOSEPH stood by the window in the cold dark. He held Jupiter’s picture, looked at it, looked up at the sky, looked back at the picture. I was almost asleep when he said, “So, Jackie, you still have my back.”

  “Yup. A
nd it’s Jack.”

  “Yeah.” Then he looked up at Jupiter. “Thanks,” he said.

  I don’t know if he ever went to bed that night.

  eight

  OVER the next couple of days, Mrs. Stroud had a lot to say to Joseph about violating rules and being mature and understanding boundaries, and what was he thinking anyway, and didn’t he realize and stuff.

  And over the next couple of days, Mr. Canton had a lot to say to Joseph about missing school and about responsibilities and being truant and meeting expectations, and who did he think he was, and didn’t he get it that rules are for everybody and stuff.

  We started walking to school again, since Joseph really didn’t want to hear the whole lot that Mr. Haskell probably had to say too. My father said that was all right.

  What Joseph did want to hear, though, was anything about Jupiter—and the librarian kept her promise: she wrote to Joseph every week. All through the rest of January and into February, the letters came—mostly on Mondays—and sometimes Joseph would read a little bit to us, or show the new picture, but mostly he kept them to himself, which my father said was all right too.

  And you know what? At night now, I wasn’t hearing anything from Stone Mountain.

  It was still dark when we walked to school in the morning, but it was lighter coming home, and not as cold. Sometimes we’d have snowball fights by old First Congregational, and Joseph would defend from behind the Bridge Out sign, or sometimes we’d just lob snowballs at the bell. At home, sugaring time would come soon, and already we’d carried the pails and the taps and the tubing down from the barn loft and begun to wash them all out. Joseph and I were splitting wood—he was getting good—and piling it beside the sugaring house. And in the Small Barn, Quintus Sertorius had smelled February and already he was excited. He knew he’d be dragging the sled through the woods soon, and after a winter of doing not very much, he was ready to get out.

  Things were changing for Joseph at school. He wasn’t doing fifth-period Office Duty anymore, since Mr. D’Ulney had nominated him for Math Olympiad in April, so fifth period he was tutoring Joseph in trigonometry.

  No kidding. Trigonometry.

  In PE, Coach Swieteck put Joseph in charge of his own squad of kids who wanted to go out for track and field in the spring. Joseph worked them in the field stuff—high jump and broad jump and even pole vault—and he was so good that no one minded that a kid was coaching them. Except I don’t think Mr. Canton liked it. Once he came to class and did a lot of pointing at Joseph, who was showing John Wall and Danny Nations and his ear buds how to pile up the high-jump pads. But Coach Swieteck said something I think the class wasn’t supposed to hear and Mr. Canton left pretty quickly.