Time to Fly Read Online Free PDF Page B

with a huge beak. It has to be a toucan. I realize with embarrassment that I recognize the bird from the box of Froot Loops cereal that Maggie eats! I can’t help pausing to watch. The toucan lies quietly on an examining table.
    â€œIs that toucan sedated?” I ask the man.
    â€œShe is. Had to put that big beak out of commission long enough for me to treat her.” The veterinarian turns to me, and his face breaks into a smile. “Say, you look a little young to be a vet student, but you sound like you know your way around animals.”
    Gran nods proudly. “My granddaughter here is quite an animal lover. We might make a vet out of her yet.”
    Zoe Hopkins, D.V.M. That has a nice ring to it. I grin, imagining what Mom would say if I told her I wanted to be a vet like Gran. She’d probably faint.
    Mom . With all the excitement over the parrots, I’ve been able to avoid thinking about her phone call. Now it all comes rushing back—the thought of leaving Gran and Maggie and Dr. Mac’s Place, moving to California…My grin fades and I turn away, swallowing a stupid lump that suddenly swells in my throat.
    Gran lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Zoe? Are you all right?”
    I meet her gaze briefly. With her sharp blue eyes, she’s searching my face in a way that reminds me of how she studies her animal patients, looking for clues to their illness or injury. But the confusion I’m feeling isn’t something you can see with the eye, or even with an X-ray. It isn’t something you can solve with a splint or a shot or a pill. I shrug and look away again. Does Gran know what my mother is planning? Does she think it’s for the best?

    Gran drops the other kids off at their homes. As soon as we’re back at the clinic, I rush to the backyard to check on the parrots, but the oak tree is empty. Only a few cardinals take turns swooping down to Mr. Cowan’s feeders.
    I suppose it was silly of me to think the parrots would be waiting for us. Yet somehow I was hoping that they’d know we care about them, that this is a safe place.
    â€œThey’re gone!” I shout, shoving through the back door into the kitchen.
    â€œShhhh!” Maggie hisses, with the phone to her ear. “I’m ordering pizza!”
    â€œPizza?” I ask Gran.
    Gran pretends to shrug helplessly. She’s been on an anti-takeout campaign lately, but it looks like Maggie won this round. “I made her promise to order at least one vegetable,” Gran says with a laugh.
    â€œDo olives count as a vegetable?” Maggie asks.
    Gran sighs. “How about green pepper—or even broccoli if they have it?”
    Maggie makes a face, then asks into the phone, “What else have you got in the vegetable department?”
    I laugh and pull open the refrigerator door. “I’ll make a salad.”
    â€œThat would be lovely, Zoe,” Gran says. She opens a cupboard and sets out plates and salad bowls.
    I dig out the lettuce and an assortment of raw veggies. Before I came, most of the meals Gran and Maggie ate were canned, frozen, or delivered. Gran’s too busy to cook, and Maggie leans toward artificial colors and flavors, so she didn’t mind just opening a box for dinner.
    That’s one way my mom is like her mother: she never cooks. Luckily for me, Ethel loved to cook, and she taught me how. We even used to watch the food channel together… Don’t think about New York, or Ethel, or Mom right now.
    â€œGran, do you think the parrots are OK?” I ask as we tear the romaine for salad. I think of the lush jungle in the aviary. “What if they can’t find enough to eat?”
    â€œYou’d be surprised how tough these birds can be,” Gran replies. “There are flocks of parrots living wild in many parts of the U.S. There’s even a flock of Monk parakeets living wild in Chicago.”
    â€œParakeets? Those cute little birds