“You have a good heart,” Celeste noted.
The words were simple but impactful. Ruby pressed her lips together and looked down, willing herself not to blush. She wasn't used to compliments like that, straightforward and sincere, with no ulterior motive.
“I just can't ignore suffering when I see it, even if it's inconvenient. Which probably makes me a nightmare travel companion. Are you mad at me?” The question escaped before she could stop it. “For all the detours and chaos?”
She needed to know and understand if Celeste was just being polite, merely tolerating her because they were stuck together. Or if maybe, possibly, she was actually enjoying this strange, unplanned adventure they'd stumbled into.
Celeste was quiet for a moment, and Ruby braced herself for polite lies and the careful deflection people used when they didn't want to hurt your feelings but also didn't want to tell the truth.
Then Celeste smiled, a wide, true smile that reached her eyes and transformed her entire face.
“I'm getting used to it.”
“That's not a no.”
“It's not a yes either.” Celeste set her phone down, giving Ruby her full attention. “You have a different, unique approach to life. It's interesting to witness.”
“Interesting good or interesting like watching a car crash?”
“Interesting good.” Her smile widened, and the flutter within Ruby grew. “Mostly good. Ask me again after the next detour.”
They looked at each other in unspoken communication, an electric sensation rendering in the air. Ruby wanted to say something profound and capture the moment, this shift from strangers to something else, yet to be defined but real.
But before she could do that, the door to the examination area swung open.
Dr Zimmerman appeared, still in his scrubs, with a surgical mask pulled down around his neck. He was in his late fifties, with kind eyes and the weathered look of someone who'd spent their life caring for creatures who couldn't say thank you. Ruby recognized that look. She saw it in the mirror sometimes, on days when she'd spent hours nursing an injured rabbit or coaxing a traumatized cat to eat.
“You're here for the sparrow?” he asked.
Ruby shot to her feet, her heart in her throat. “Yes. How is she? I named her Sparkle.”
“I gathered that from the intake form.” Dr. Zimmerman's expression was serious, and Ruby's stomach dropped. That was the face doctors made when they had bad news. “The wing injury is severe. There's a chance she may never fly again.”
“Never?”
The word came out strangled. Ruby's hands clenched at her sides.
A bird that had lost its ability to fly. It was a death sentence in the wild, even with the best care. Sparkle would spend the rest of her life grounded, watching other birds soar overhead, her wings clipped by circumstance and bad luck.
“Birds are resilient, but this type of break—” Dr. Zimmerman paused, his expression sympathetic. “We'll perform surgery immediately and stabilize the wing, then see how she responds. But I want you to understand the reality. Best case scenario, she'll need extensive rehabilitation. Worst case, she'll need permanent care.”
“I'll take care of her,” Ruby said immediately, the words coming out without further thought or calculation. “Please give her whatever she needs, and I'll come back for her.”
She meant it. Even if it meant taking on permanent responsibility for a bird that might never fly. She'd made a promise when she picked Sparkle up from that roadside, and Ruby kept her promises.
It was one of the few things about herself she still trusted.
Dr. Zimmerman nodded with an approving expression. The surgery will take about an hour. Do you want to wait for the results?”
Ruby looked at Celeste, half expecting to see hesitation and for her to suggest that they leave their contact information and move on.
Instead, Celeste said with certainty. “We'll wait.”
Relief flooded through Ruby, so intense it made her dizzy. She wasn't sure she could have left, even if Celeste had wanted to. But knowing she didn't have to make that choice—that Celeste was choosing to stay with her through this—meant more than she could articulate.
The doctor disappeared back through the door and Ruby resumed her seat, but she couldn't stay still. Her leg bounced and her fingers drummed against her thigh.
Energy thrummed through her, anxious and discomfiting. She felt like her skin was too tight, like she might vibrate out of her own body. This was always the worst part of rescue work—the waiting, the not knowing and the powerlessness.
