The Most Perfect Thing in the Universe

by Tricia Springstubb

“What does your mother say?”

  “She doesn’t know about any of it.”

  “This is messed up. This is not how families work. When Mama had her accident we all went and waited together, even Zeke.” Ellis pulled her brother off the swing. “We’ll go with you. Get your bike.”

  “But… What? You mean to the hospital? It’s so far.”

  “We’ll go with you,” Ellis repeated, hoisting her backpack.

  “But Miss Rinker—”

  “That stinker is wrong. You can’t listen to her. You need to be there.”

  “Only dead fish go with the stream!” Zeke pumped his fist.

  Cheer cheer cheer! A cardinal’s song broke the silence. A jay landed at Loah’s feet and twisted its head indignantly.

  Go, it screeched. What are you waiting for?

  In the kitchen, she took her helmet and backpack off the hooks. The CREW poncho hung there, too, and she slipped it over her head. At the last second, she opened the broom closet and found the other ponchos Miss Rinker had bought at Bargain Blaster. Grabbing two, she ran back outside.

  “Here.” She shook the yellow plastic squares, which unfolded in all their blinding glory. “They’ll make you visible to passing cars.”

  Ellis looked dubious, but Zeke was delighted.

  “Hit it, Crew!” He pulled on the poncho and grabbed his bike.

  Moments later they were on the road, single file—first Ellis, then Zeke, and then, pedaling with all her might, desperately trying to keep her crew in sight, Loah.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Much as they might want to, and wish to, and dream of it, girls cannot fly. Girls are not birds. Their bones aren’t hollow and they don’t have wings. Even girls far more adventurous than Loah (that would be most girls) are forced to obey the law of gravity.

  So Loah’s bike probably didn’t lift off the ground, though they got to the hospital so fast, she’d have sworn it did.

  The hospital was on the opposite side of town. Not to mention atop a hill. By the time they arrived and got off their bikes, she walked on legs of rubber. Her throat was so parched she could hardly speak.

  “Have a drink.” Zeke pulled Loah’s THANKS FOR BEING YOU water bottle out of his backpack.

  She took a long swallow, and he grabbed it back. Ellis was headed for the doors.

  “You better not come in,” said Loah. “Miss Rinker is going to be furious enough that I disobeyed her.”

  “Rinker stinker blinker finker.” Zeke flapped his yellow plastic wings. The poncho came almost to his feet. “Throw her in the clinker.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” asked Ellis.

  Loah pulled her phone from her snowy owl backpack. “What’s your number? I’ll call you when I know how he is.”

  “We don’t have a phone.”

  Loah had never met anyone who didn’t have a phone.

  “If you want,” she said, “you can go back to my house. I’ll meet you there.”

  “No,” said Zeke. “She’s gotta come home now.”

  “Never mind about us,” said Ellis. “You need to go in.”

  “Thank you for getting me here,” Loah said.

  The hospital doors slid apart automatically. The air-conditioning was set on Arctic. Loah immediately began to shiver. A woman with a face round and rosy as a baby doll’s sat at the information desk. Her eyes widened as Loah staggered toward the desk in her poncho.

  Only days ago, Loah would have hated asking for help. Actually, she still hated it, but she was getting better at doing things she was no good at (if that makes sense). When she asked where the surgery waiting room was, the rosy-faced woman replied with complicated directions.

  “Thank you,” Loah said, and blundered off on her rubber legs.

  She had expected the hospital to be even worse than school—a necessary but highly unpleasant place. To her surprise it was bright and orderly, with paintings on the walls and pots of silk flowers at every turn. But she’d been too nervous to pay close attention to the directions and quickly got lost. She passed other visitors, carrying balloons and bouquets. A couple with red-rimmed eyes shuffled by. The man clutched a large white handkerchief, and Loah tried not to think how a white flag was the sign of surrender. She turned down another hallway, by now hopelessly confused.

  “You all right, dumpling?”

  A woman in a smock printed with kittens and puppies stood before her. Her face was so kind, Loah was in sudden danger of weeping. Why should kindness make her go to pieces? She reached up and pulled on her earlobes, a trick that sometimes kept her from crying.

  “I’m looking… looking for the surgery waiting room.”

  “This way.”

  In no time at all, they came to a large room with row upon row of chairs, all occupied by people with drawn, anxious faces. The carpeting was well worn, as if many feet had paced back and forth here.

  “You see your family?” the kindly woman asked.

  Miss Rinker sat on the other side of the room. Had she shrunk even more? Her feet barely touched the carpet. She looked like a pile of sticks buttoned into a sweater.

  “Yes,” said Loah.

  “Good luck, dumpling.” The woman squeezed her hand and bustled away.

  Miss Rinker’s neck was bent. Her hat was in her lap. She might have been asleep, except she was stroking her hat’s snow goose feather over and over, the way Loah stroked the silky edge of her baby blanket. Poor Miss Rinker! There was no keeping busy here. If any place in the world could make a person feel helpless, here it was.

  Loah started across the room just as the door to the area where medical things happened opened. A tall doctor in blue scrubs, with puffy blue covers on his shoes, strode in. When he pulled his mask down, he was as dazzlingly handsome as if he’d stepped out of a TV hospital show.

  “Rinker,” he called, looking around the room. “Rinker?”

  Miss Rinker stiffened as if electrocuted. She raised her hand and tried to stand, but her knees locked and she tottered. Loah was just in time to catch her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  She’ll be fine, don’t worry.” A nurse with silver earrings shaped like hands was leading Loah down yet another endless hallway. “Poor thing’s dehydrated and exhausted, is all.” They were in another part of the hospital, which was like a clown car, stuffed with more corridors and rooms than seemed possible. “By the way, who’s here with you?”

  “Theo and Miss Rinker. He had a leaky heart and they were very worried, more worried than anyone even told me, but he survived the surgery.” Loah was so relieved, she said it again. “He survived.”

  “Right.” The nurse nodded and her hand earrings merrily waved. “Someone who’s not a patient, is what I mean.”

  Loah never lied unless necessary. For example, if things were so complicated that a stranger—even a nice stranger—could never understand. Even then, she tried not to lie.

  “My mother, Dr. Anastasia Londonderry, is an ornithologist specializing in birds of the Arctic tundra, where rising temperatures are radically changing the landscape and making life difficult for many species. Plus, the thawing permafrost is a source of greenhouse gas emissions, so it’s a vicious circle.”

  “For goodness’ sake,” said the nurse.

  “My mother’s not a patient.”

  “I should hope not. That sounds like very important work.”

  “It is.”

  “Here we are.”

  Long rows of beds were separated by what looked like shower curtains. The nurse pushed one back to reveal Miss Rinker. Who barely made a bump beneath the covers, but looked much better than when she’d collapsed in Loah’s arms. Her cheeks had color and her eyes were open.

  “You are here,” she said. “I was afraid I’d suffered a hallucination.”

  “Miss Rinker, how do you feel?” Loah asked. “Are you better?”

  “I knew I didn’t hallucinate. My brain is a steel trap.”

  A tube ran from a plastic bag hung on
a pole to a needle taped to the crook of her arm. Something that resembled a stapler clamped her finger. Do not go woozy, do not go woozy, Loah begged herself. Miss Rinker narrowed her eyes, but before she could say anything more, the curtain swept back again to reveal the made-for-TV doctor. He was smiling, which made him even handsomer.

  “You’re looking much better!” he told Miss Rinker. “Your granddaughter made a great catch. Probably saved you from a concussion.” He high-fived Loah, then folded his arms across his brawny chest. “More good news—we’re pleased with how Mr. Rinker is doing. His vitals are fine, and he tolerated anesthesia well. We need to go one day at a time, but for now, there’s cause to celebrate.”

  The doctor smiled again, radiating handsomeness.

  “We medical people hate to admit it, but there’s a limit to what we can do. The rest is up to the patient.” He patted Loah’s shoulder. “People say, I’m dying to do this or I’m dying to do that. But the real trick is to live for something! From the looks of things, Mr. Rinker has two excellent reasons to live. Good work, ladies.” He patted Loah’s shoulder again. “Nice poncho.” With a jaunty thumbs-up, he went back out, pulling the curtain shut behind him.

  Miss Rinker and Loah looked at each other. From beyond the curtain came voices, footsteps, the rattle of carts, but inside was like a cocoon.

  It was one of those moments when anything you say will be clumsy and awkward and not what you meant at all. One of those moments when words become useless things. Even Miss Rinker, never at a loss for words, felt this, Loah could tell. She reached for the bony white hand. Miss Rinker curled her icy fingers around Loah’s.

  Then snatched them back.

  “I told you not to come. I wish you hadn’t.”

  Maybe this was the truth, but it was undeniably cruel, even for Miss Rinker.

  She’s wrong, Ellis said. This is messed up. This is not how families work.

  “Miss Rinker—”

  “You disobeyed me and now look. Just look.”

  “Miss Rinker, you’re in bed!”

  “Don’t tell me where I am!”

  “You were so dehydrated and exhausted you collapsed. It’s a good thing I was there.”

  Loah had never spoken to Miss Rinker this way and could hardly believe she was doing it now. But Ellis’s voice was whispering that she was helpful and thoughtful. Telling her that families stuck together, no matter what. And though Loah had never before used that word for Miss Rinker and Theo, she understood now that they were her family, not in the same way Mama was, but still. If anything happened to either of them, she didn’t know what she’d do. Though she didn’t know how to put into words this thought, a thought that was startling but also somehow wasn’t, as if it were a vast continent or a glittering galaxy that had been there all along, just waiting to be found—though she didn’t know how to tell Miss Rinker any of this, especially since Miss Rinker was staring at her as if she’d sprouted a second head, one with horns, Loah tried.

  “Miss Rinker, this has all been too hard. You tried to do too much, and you tried to do it all alone. You needed help.” She swallowed. “In fact, you needed me.”

  Miss Rinker bared her dentures. She rapped her bed table so hard, everything on it jumped in alarm.

  “You are a child!”

  “I know. I needed you, too.”

  Slowly, like a chunk of ice in the sun, Miss Rinker melted back against her pillow. Her cheeks sagged and she fumbled for the tissue box.

  “That is exactly the point,” Miss Rinker said.

  Loah handed her the box, and she pulled out a tissue.

  “You’re not supposed to see me like this. It’s my job to be strong and take care of you. Not the other way around.” She plucked tissue after tissue until she had an enormous wad, which she pressed to her nose and blew with an earsplitting honk.

  Loah could have said she was sorry, but remember how she felt about lying? Instead she said, “Not so hard.” Which was what Miss Rinker always told her.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake.” Miss Rinker sniffled. “First you disobey me, then you cruelly point out that I’m flat on my back, then you instruct me on how to blow my own nose.” She blew it again, more gently. “I hardly know who you are. I have lost my bearings.”

  Ferdinand Magellan, thought Loah. Women in space. Explorers of unknown territory.

  Miss Rinker balled the tissue in her fist. She sank deeper into her pillow.

  “That cocky young doctor thinks you’re my granddaughter,” she said with a sigh.

  “I don’t mind,” Loah said.

  Miss Rinker grabbed another tissue.

  A bird knows what it needs. Food, shelter, companions. A sturdy nest, a partner in song.

  But a human can be slow to discover what her heart wants. Sometimes she doesn’t know till the moment it appears before her.

  The next doctor who examined Miss Rinker decided to keep her for forty-eight hours to make sure she got sufficient fluids and rest. Once she was unhappily settled in her room, and had repeated her voluminous directions for staying alone, and had ordered Loah to be very careful on her bike and to call the moment she was safely home, they at last said goodbye. When Loah went to the nurses’ station and asked to see Theo, the nurse told her he was in recovery, no children allowed. She promised Loah that both Rinkers were in good hands, and then, after that, there was nothing more for Loah to do. After getting lost several more times, she found her way to the lobby and stumbled out the automatic front doors.

  By now it was late afternoon, and the sun sent long shadows slanting across the ground. Near the door, surrounded by a flower bed, stood a stone angel. Her wings were spread, as if she’d just landed, and her arms were outstretched as if to protect the two people slumped together on the bench before her.

  Two people wearing radioactive-yellow plastic, their heads together and eyes closed.

  A rumple of friends.

  “You’re still here!”

  Ellis lurched upright. “What happened? How is he?”

  “They think he’ll be all right. Miss Rinker, too.”

  As Loah explained, a pigeon flew down to perch on the angel’s wing. Cooing, it preened in the afternoon sun, showing off its iridescent feathers, so superior to the dull stone.

  “I can’t believe you stayed,” Loah said.

  “We didn’t want you to be alone in case… you know,” Ellis said.

  Loah snuggled between them. Zeke, still half asleep, let his head fall against her arm. Drool glued his poncho to his little-boy cheek. Above them the angel spread her wings and the pigeon softly cooed. The three of them filled the bench just right, like passengers in a boat or eggs in a nest, and they sat there till the gathering shadows told them it was time to leave.

  This time they rode slowly, Zeke in front, Ellis and Loah side by side. Ellis hadn’t told Loah whether she’d changed her mind about running away, but Zeke acted as if his sister was coming home with him. Loah rode along, not ready to say goodbye. At the fork in the road, they all went left, and when at last they came to the meadow and the dusty driveway, they all stood on their pedals and rode to the crest of the hill, where one final sign declared in foot-high letters: THIS CONSTITUTES YOUR FINAL WARNING.

  Loah gazed down into a green hollow. She saw:

  Dozens of goats in a big, fenced-in pen. (Was that Aquaman, butting his stubborn little head against the chicken wire?) A faded red barn. A washing machine with a chicken sitting on top. A target bristling with arrows. A trampoline. Piles of wood, piles of tires, piles of metal scrap. Piles of piles. Tarps covering unidentifiable mounds. Sheds—many sheds. What might be beehives. A pickup truck so rusty it seemed to be made of brown lace. Everywhere—wooden birdhouses of every size.

  And a humans’ house. Narrow and low, like a submarine sinking beneath the waves. A tattered banner hanging from a pole said ONLY DEAD FISH GO WITH THE STREAM. Flowers of every color, yellow and purple and white and red, bloomed around the house, and pink roses clambe
red up one side. A ramp, the kind made for wheelchairs, zigzagged to the front porch where Bully lay chomping what looked like a stegosaurus bone.

  A marmalade-colored cat stepped daintily out of the grass and flopped over at Loah’s feet. When she petted it, the cat slitted its eyes and purred as if no one in the whole history of the world had ever petted it so well.

  “Hope the stinkers are okay, birdbrain! See you later!”

  Poncho flapping, Zeke flew no-handed down the driveway. Bully dropped his bone. He scrambled to his feet, jaws sagging and eyes bugging. What was this weird, toxic-yellow cloud hurtling toward the house? An enemy! An enemy for sure. Bully commenced doing what he did best: barking his giant head off. Zeke dropped his bike, waved back at Loah and Ellis, then ran inside.

  Loah braced for goodbye. She was already imagining another night alone in the empty—the very empty—house when Ellis rolled her bike backward, out of the sight of the house.

  “PopPop’s going to be so mad. At both of us, but especially me. We didn’t do our chores, we took off without telling him… He’ll say it’s all my fault. I’m going to be…”

  Her voice was like something dropping down a well. When Loah looked back, she saw Zeke stick his head out the front door, wave his arm frantically, and duck back inside.

  The chicken flew down from the washing machine. More like tumbled—chickens were not good at flying. A chicken spent its life pecking in the dirt. It let humans steal its eggs, no problem. Still it was a bird, the same as a goshawk or an emu was. How could that be? What was the thing that made them all birds?

  And why was Loah wondering that now?

  Once before, she’d had the chance to help Ellis. Only she hadn’t been ready, not then.

  Now she couldn’t be sure if it was Ellis she was helping—or herself.

  “You can come to my house if you want,” she said.

  “What?” Ellis’s eyes lit up like a hundred candles. Like a sky full of stars. “Are you sure? Because if Zeke tells PopPop I ran away—”

  “If he comes, we’ll hide.”

  Down in the hollow, Zeke ran out onto the porch, poncho flapping. He peered up at Loah, who shook her head and put a finger to her lips.