Chapter Ten
Ruby
The veterinary office smelled like antiseptic and wet dog, with an underlying note of fear-sweat from anxious pets.
Ruby sat in one of the plastic chairs, the injured sparrow now in the capable hands of a veterinary technician who'd whisked it away with professional efficiency.
Her leg bounced nervously, heel tapping an erratic rhythm against the linoleum floor that she couldn't seem to stop.
She hated this part: the waiting, the not knowing. The bird had looked so fragile in her hands, its tiny body trembling and its wing hanging at that terrible angle. Ruby had seen enough injured animals to know that sometimes love and good intentions weren't enough.
Sometimes they died anyway.
Celeste sat beside her, looking down at her phone with an air of acceptance. Like she'd finally surrendered to the chaos of this trip and was making peace with it.
“At this rate we’re never making it to New Orleans.”
She didn't sound upset about it. In fact, she seemed more amused than resigned.
“Technically, we're on the outskirts of Tennessee now.” Ruby leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, trying to channel her nervous energy into something productive.
“If we keep moving after this, we can probably make it to Memphis by tonight. And if there are no further interruptions, we might actually arrive in New Orleans tomorrow.”
“If there are no further interruptions.” Celeste repeated with an arched eyebrow, but there was no hostility in her expression. “Given your predilection for getting carried away with one thing or another, that seems unlikely.”
Ruby grinned despite her anxiety. “I prefer being considered a free spirit instead of 'easily distracted.”
“Those mean the same thing.”
“No, one sounds whimsical and the other sounds like I have ADHD.” Ruby stretched her legs out, trying to ease the restless energy coursing through her. “I love exploring and seeing what's out there. You can't do that if you're glued to a schedule.”
“You can if you plan exploration time into the schedule.”
“That defeats the entire purpose of spontaneity.”
“Does it though?”
Ruby opened her mouth to respond, to continue this familiar banter that had become comfortable as they spent more time together. But before she could, a golden retriever bounded into the waiting room, its owner—a harried-looking man in his forties—struggling with the leash.
The dog made a beeline for Ruby, tail wagging with such enthusiasm its whole body wiggled. Ruby laughed, the sound ringing through the space, and reached out to scratch behind its ears. The dog leaned into her touch, vibrating with joy.
“See?” she said to Celeste. “Dogs understand me. We're kindred spirits.”
“You compared yourself to a golden retriever yesterday.”
“And I stand by it.” Ruby gave the dog one final pat before its owner managed to wrestle it toward the examination rooms, apologizing profusely. “I love animals. Always have. I do rescue work when I'm in one place long enough. Wildlife rehabilitation, mostly. Birds and sometimes small mammals.”
It was one of the few constants in her moving life. No matter where she landed, she always found the local wildlife rescue and volunteered. It was the one thing that made her feel useful, like she was contributing something meaningful even when she was running from everything else.
A look of understanding crossed Celeste’s face. “That's why you couldn't leave the sparrow.”
“Sparkle.”
“You named it?”
“Her. And yes. She needed a name.” Ruby's leg started bouncing again, the anxiety creeping back now that the dog was gone. “I couldn't just leave her there on the road. That wing was clearly broken and without intervention, she'd be dead by nightfall or probably eaten by something before then.”
The image made her stomach turn. She'd seen too many animals die unnecessarily, victims of human carelessness or simple bad luck. Everyone she saved felt like a small victory against the cruelty of an indifferent universe.
“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.
“Ruby.” Celeste's voice was gentle, cutting through the static in her head. “Come here.”
She reached over and took her hand, threading their fingers together. The touch was grounding and it anchored Ruby back to the present moment.
Ruby stared at their joined hands and it felt right in a way that made her chest ache. Natural, like they'd been doing this for years instead of barely knowing each other.
“Tell me something,” Celeste said. “Distract me from the fact that we're now emotionally invested in a sparrow named Sparkle.”
Despite the situation, Ruby laughed. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Tell me about your weirdest rescue.”
“Oh okay.” Ruby settled back, trying to focus on the story instead of the anxiety churning in her gut.
Celeste's hand was still in hers, and she used that as an anchor.
“So there was this raccoon in Chicago. Someone called me because it had gotten into their garage and wouldn't leave. I showed up, and this raccoon—I swear to God—had figured out how to open their mini-fridge and was eating leftover Chinese food.”
“No.” But Celeste was smiling, and Ruby felt some of the tension within her ease.
“Yes. Sitting there with a container of lo mein, just going to town and using its little hands to grab the noodles. And when I tried to catch it, it hissed at me like I was the one being unreasonable for interrupting its meal.”