Coo

by Kaela Noel

  “Us,” Burr said, pecking at the letters. “Coo and Burr. Burr and Coo!”

  It was like someone had knit together two unfinished pieces in Coo’s mind and made a whole. Words were everywhere, and they meant something.

  She practiced writing COO and BURR over and over, filling up page after page, until it was dinnertime and Tully made her stop to eat some spinach lasagna.

  A few days later, a weak feeling entered Coo’s arms and legs. She sat on the floor playing flock and roof, but the balled-up socks and buttons were suddenly heavy. A few hours later, her throat changed. It hurt to swallow the hummus sandwich Tully made for lunch. After that her head hurt, too, and she lay down on the floor and closed her eyes. Her nose was starting to run. Tully offered to get out the drawing supplies, but Coo wasn’t interested.

  “Okay, you?” asked Burr, hopping up and down her arm. “Strange, you.” His voice fell to a hush. “Beak sick, you?”

  “Just tired, me,” Coo managed to reply. But she knew it was more than that.

  Soon Tully’s worried face peered down on her.

  “I think you’re sick,” she said, and pressed her lips together in a thin line. “I may need to bring you to the doctor after all.”

  Coo burrowed deep as she could into her nest on Tully’s floor. Sick. A new word. But she knew immediately what it meant. No wonder Tully sounded so upset.

  Coo closed her eyes and jerked her head away when Tully reached for her. She knew soon Tully would keep her distance, anyway. As Coo got weaker and snifflier, unable to hide her illness, Tully would ignore her, or maybe even push her out of the apartment. That’s what the flock did to sick members—why would Tully be any different?

  Coo wondered where she would go. The few times she had been sick before, only Burr had cared for her. He’d brought her bananas and extra donuts, found clean newspaper to wipe her runny nose, and snuggled against her even when she’d burned with fever and all the other pigeons had edged away. Without Burr to help, what would being sick on the roof have been like?

  All at once, Coo’s hopes about visiting or even living again in her old home shriveled up and vanished. Maybe she could find her way back to Food Bazaar and hide there. Would anyone notice her if she stowed away behind the shelves full of bread? Would they stop her if she only took a little bit of food at a time? Then she remembered the human in the blue apron and his frighteningly strong grip on her shoulders. She shivered. No, not Food Bazaar.

  She closed her eyes, burrowed as far down into her nest as she could, and rubbed her drippy nose against one of the blankets. She hoped Tully wouldn’t put her out on the street. The only thing to do was wait.

  “Soup. You’ll need to sit up to eat it.”

  Coo opened her eyes. Tully knelt beside her on the floor, hunched over in her tan-and-white sweater so she looked like a big fresh cinnamon bun. She held a bowl with an herby smell. Coo sat up. Her head hurt, and she coughed.

  “Minestrone. You can just slurp it. It’s a kind of medicine.”

  Coo looked at the small puddle in the bowl. She’d never encountered a puddle that smelled so good.

  “Soup,” Tully said again. “Soup!”

  “Eat, you,” said Burr from his perch on the chair above her.

  Coo chugged one bowl, then another, and then a third. Soup. Sick. She was learning new human words. But she was learning other things, too. Tully was kind to her, despite her sickness, even kinder than she was when Coo was well. How could that be?

  Tully made her bowl after bowl of soup, followed by a cloud-like lump called rice pudding.

  She wiped Coo’s forehead with cool washcloths. She gave her a box of the smoothest, softest, plainest bits of newspaper Coo had ever touched and showed her how to blow her snotty nose into them. She added a pile of pillows to Coo’s nest and helped her find all the TV programs showing grown-up humans making food—Coo’s favorite kind of TV. She moved the television so it was right in front of the nest and then sat next to Coo, doing her best to explain what was on the screen in words Coo understood.

  She smiled at Coo, even when Coo’s nose was running like a drippy pipe, and she didn’t flinch when Coo coughed.

  There were some less soothing things Tully did, though. Only the rest of her kindness made Coo tolerate them.

  She made Coo hold a plastic stick under her tongue for what felt like ages. When she took it out again, Tully squinted at it, and frowned and sighed, and then said, “It’s just a little fever. Not even a hundred degrees. But time for medicine.”

  What followed was like biting into a good-looking bagel and finding out it had gone moldy. Tully poured candy-purple goop from a bottle into a spoon and motioned for Coo to swallow it. The first taste was sweet, but that sweetness turned bitter, then rancid. Coo screeched and spit it out.

  “Cold medicine tastes bad, but it’ll help you feel better,” said Tully. “Come on, dear.”

  Burr coaxed her to try again.

  “Gave me bad stuff, too, her,” he said. “But healed me, it did.”

  Wrinkling her face, gripping her blanket, Coo managed to swallow down another vile purple spoonful. The broad, relieved smile on Tully’s face when she did made the gross taste almost worth it. She did notice that her cough was a little better afterward, too.

  Several times a day, Tully pulled a small plastic rectangle out of her pocket and looked at it. Sometimes she flipped it open and punched some of its buttons. Other times she held it against her ear and spoke into it. Sometimes the thing made noise like a car horn. It rattled and honked, and then Tully sighed and said, “Another call,” and picked it up and talked into it. She called the thing her cell phone and said that when she spoke into it, there was someone else listening and speaking, too.

  It had been a week since Coo fell ill and she was almost fully better. She was sipping hot tea and paging through one of Tully’s pigeon books with Burr one afternoon when the cell phone honked.

  “Oh gosh,” said Tully, looking at it. “It’s Lucia. I really should answer.”

  Lucia. Coo’s ears pricked. Something about Lucia made Tully nervous, and that made Coo uneasy.

  “Fine, fine,” Tully said into the phone. “No, no. Actually, she’s staying with me. Just until they get settled here.” She paused. “What country? That’s complicated, too. Kind of near, um, Estonia.”

  Tully wedged the phone under her chin and picked up the green-and-white patterned sweater she was making for Coo. She began knitting rapidly.

  “Yes, she’s my niece,” Tully continued. “Honestly, it’s so much to explain over the phone. She’ll be going back to her family soon. Yes, I’ll be very sad.”

  Tully fell silent again, and her knitting needles began to fly even more furiously.

  “Sure, of course I would love to have coffee. This week won’t work; Coo is sick at the moment. No, no, not serious, thank God, just a cold. Sorry, Lucia, I have to go. I’ll be in touch!”

  Tully shut the cell phone and flung it into the fruit bowl.

  “Good grief,” Tully said, closing her eyes. “After Ben died, I told Lucia about how I was so lonely, with no family left at all. She knows we were both only children. And she’s a retired social worker; she notices this stuff!” Tully sighed. “I would love to get her advice on how to navigate everything with you, but I’m afraid she’ll push me to call the police if I tell her the truth. Why on earth didn’t I say I was just babysitting you?”

  “Back to family . . . soon?” Coo’s heart began to pound. She hadn’t understood everything Tully said on the phone, but she understood enough to make her nervous. She let the book slide to the floor.

  “Oh, you pick up a lot now, don’t you?” Tully raised her eyebrows. “You must be worried.” Tully came over to the chair where Coo sat and kneeled next to her. She looked Coo in the eye. “You’re staying with me, okay? I’m not sure how I’m going to make this work, but I won’t let anyone take you away. I promise. Understand?”

  Coo nodded. She hoped
she understood, and she hoped it was true.

  Chapter Twelve

  Aggie

  Two days later, when Coo was feeling completely better, there was a knock on the door.

  “Into the bedroom,” Tully said, shooing Coo through the door. “If it’s somehow Lucia, I’m telling her my brand-new pretend family took you back.”

  But it wasn’t Lucia.

  “Aggie, what are you doing here?” Coo heard Tully say.

  “I’m locked out, Tully,” a bright voice answered. “Can I stay with you?”

  “Locked out?” Tully said after a pause.

  Coo heard the door open.

  “Don’t you have dance, Aggie?”

  “Not doing dance anymore.” Aggie’s voice sounded sad now.

  “Nobody in your family is home?”

  “My mom is at Nutcracker rehearsal, and Dad is chained to his desk filing some story, and Octavia is in ballet class, and Henry is still at school. And my grandma . . . well, you know.”

  “What about your friend Julia on the fifth floor? The one who came over with you a few times?”

  “She moved out of the city when school started this year.”

  “Right.” Tully sighed. “I forgot about that.”

  Coo crept out of the bedroom and down the hall.

  Aggie stood in the doorway. She wore the same purple hat and funny glass circles over her eyes as before.

  “My dad said if you weren’t home, I’d have to wait at the library. I really don’t want to. Please, Tully, can I wait in your apartment? I promise not to bug you, or . . . whoever that is.” She glanced at Coo and then quickly looked away. “I could do the dishes or something?”

  “Of course you don’t need to do the dishes.” Tully took a deep breath. “And you can wait here, of course. You’re always welcome here, Aggie. Come in. This is my niece, Coo. She’s staying with me for a while.”

  How strange it was. Another human sitting at Tully’s table! A kid, no less. Aggie plunked herself down in the chair like she lived at Tully’s, too. She took a cookie from the plate of them Tully put out and broke it in two. Then she beckoned to Burr.

  “Here, Milton! Have you been a good pidge? Yes, you are such a good pigeon. Do you want some cookie? Yes, you do!”

  Milton hopped across the table and right up onto Aggie’s arm.

  “What a beautiful sling you’re wearing today,” Aggie said as she held out the cookie for Burr to nibble. “The pink is really nice with your gray feathers. It’s been so long since I got to see you! I kept hoping Tully would invite me over like she used to.”

  Burr let Aggie scratch him under the chin. He tipped back his head and fluffed his feathers. He only did that when he was very happy.

  “Would you like some tea, Aggie?” said Tully. “I have Darjeeling, green, mint, chamomile. . . .”

  “Mint, please,” said Aggie.

  “What about you, Coo?”

  “Um. Mint.”

  Mint? Coo was startled at herself. She never chose mint. It was too much like drinking toothpaste. Yet suddenly it seemed like a very interesting kind of tea.

  Coo couldn’t stop staring at Aggie. Finally Aggie seemed to notice. Frowning, she looked away, and shook her head so her long black hair fell over her cheeks and her eyeglasses.

  “I should do my homework,” Aggie mumbled. She unzipped the giant pink nylon bag with straps she’d brought with her and began rummaging around in it.

  “Maybe you want to color first?” Tully pulled out the shoebox of drawing supplies and smiled.

  Aggie paused, her lips drawn together in a straight line.

  “Are you too old for that now, Aggie? Sorry, I’m slow on these things.”

  “No, Tully, don’t worry. I’m not too old. I need to make some Christmas cards.”

  Christmas cards, it turned out, were pieces of paper with drawings on them. You wrote nice messages inside and gave them to people you liked, along with presents. Christmas was a whole day devoted to being nice and sharing. It was next week.

  Coo watched Aggie draw small, tidy yellow and red stars all over her paper, along with a green tree and a white bird. The results looked much neater than Coo’s wild lines.

  “So they don’t have Christmas where you’re from?”

  Coo looked up from her paper, startled. It was the first time Aggie had asked her a question. She glanced at Tully, who had frozen over the teacups, the kettle raised to pour.

  “No,” said Coo.

  “Where are you from? You have a funny accent.”

  Coo looked at her blankly.

  “Tully? Where is Coo from?” asked Aggie.

  “She’s from, uh—Dovecote. I mean, Dovecotia.” Tully raised her eyebrows at Coo and shook her head very slightly.

  “In the Midwest? But I thought they spoke English there. You’re still learning English, right, Coo? I can tell.”

  “Not Dakota. Dovecotia. It’s in, um, Eastern Europe.” Tully poured the hot water very quickly. “Sugar in yours, Aggie?”

  “Extra, please.”

  Tully nodded and brought the teacups to the table, nestling them in between the rolling crayons and markers. “So, tell me why you decided to drop dance, Aggie,” she said, sitting down. “That’s a big deal. You loved dance.”

  “I just decided. That’s all. More time to read books.”

  For a moment, Coo thought she saw Aggie’s lip quiver.

  “But you didn’t want to go to the library this afternoon?” asked Tully.

  Aggie focused very intently on the gold heart she was drawing in the corner of her card.

  “Of course I’m happy you’re here instead,” Tully added.

  Aggie finished filling in the heart. Then she picked up a green marker and, as Coo studied her, began writing letters in neat, perfect loops on the inside of the card.

  “Voilà!” she said, putting down the marker. “It’s all done.”

  Aggie pressed down the crease of the folded paper and then, with a flourish, pushed it up to Burr’s beak. “It’s for you, Milton. Merry early Christmas!”

  “How sweet, Aggie!” said Tully. “Milton will love that. Coo can tell him all about it.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Tully’s eyes went wide. Puzzled, Aggie looked from Tully to Coo to Burr, and back again. She started to say something, but the doorbell rang. Tully stood and raced down the hall.

  “Wonder who that could be,” she said nervously, peering through the peephole. “Oh, it’s your mother, Aggie.”

  A tall, thin woman swept through the doorway as Tully opened it. Her ink-black hair was pulled into a tight, perfect bun on her head. She wore a long black coat and a silky red scarf, and she walked with the elegance of a flamingo.

  “Thank you so much for taking care of her,” Aggie’s mother said. “I just managed to get out of rehearsal. How did you forget your keys again, Aggie? Have you thanked Ms. Tully for going to all this effort?”

  “Oh, she’s thanked me plenty and been a wonderful guest, Vivienne, as always. It was no trouble. Don’t worry about it. Coo enjoyed spending time with her.”

  Aggie’s mother’s gaze fell on Coo as if she was noticing her for the first time.

  “Nice to meet you, Coo. Do you live in the building?”

  “She’s my niece,” said Tully. “Staying with me for a while.”

  “How nice,” said Aggie’s mother. “Come on, Aggie, pack up.”

  Slow as a sleepy pigeon, Aggie began gathering her things.

  “I just want to say again, I know it’s been several weeks, but I’m so sorry about your loss,” Tully said, turning to Aggie’s mother. “I really miss Isabel’s presence in the building. I hope you’re all doing okay.”

  “We’re holding up.” Aggie’s mother dropped her voice to a whisper. “Aggie is taking it the hardest.”

  “It’s very hard to lose a grandmother,” Tully said quietly. “Especially one you lived with and who was so kind.”

  “I’m re
ady to go, Mom.” Aggie stood by the door. “Thank you, Tully. Good-bye, Milton!” She waved to Burr. “Bye, Coo,” she said much more quickly, not meeting Coo’s eyes. Then she turned and followed her mother out of the apartment.

  After Aggie left, Tully rummaged around in the closet for a long time. When she emerged, she was holding a plastic tub big enough for Coo to sit in.

  “I haven’t had any reason to celebrate Christmas for years,” she said. “But with you here it’s different. And special. After all, in a way this is your very first Christmas.”

  The top lifted off the tub with a pop. Swooping Burr up to her head, Coo peered inside.

  It was packed with a jumble of old newspapers. Coo felt a sudden wistful comfort mixed with disappointment. Christmas was about old newspapers?

  “It’s just a fake little tabletop tree,” said Tully, rummaging around in the paper. “My mother must be rolling in her grave. She was a war bride from Germany, and we always had real trees when I was growing up, even when my dad was out of work and we were flat broke. Ben and I switched to plastic, though. Cheaper and better for the environment if you reuse them.”

  The paper fell away as Tully pulled out a funny little waist-high green shrub and a small bowl that its trunk fit inside perfectly. She sat it atop a table in the main room.

  “Outside, inside,” said Burr. He gave a branch an experimental nip. “Not food.”

  “And now the ornaments. Careful, Coo, okay? Some are fragile.”

  Tully tugged more newspaper out of the tub to reveal tiny beautiful objects, each on a hook or a string. There was an old human with a long beard and a red cloak; a group of perfectly round glass balls in deep, bright colors; a set of silver and gold stars; and a dozen other amazing things, like little birds and hearts and snowflakes.

  “Ornaments. Let’s hang them on the Christmas tree,” said Tully.

  With Burr’s help—his beak was perfect for picking up the strings—Coo and Tully put the ornaments all over the little tree, until it was glinting with many colors.

  “Ack! I forgot the lights! Those are supposed to go on first. Let’s see if they still work.”