On the ninth day after the accident, John called his wife from his daughter Cece’s hospital room to tell her to come quick, there are llamas on the roof outside the window.
Kate, John’s wife, after hearing him say “come quick,” misheard llama as mama, and because she was already looking for her keys, which had to be here somewhere, damnit, misunderstood the part about the roof to mean Cece was awake, or maybe dead, or some other emergency that would necessitate a “come quick,” when the doctors had been saying for days that there was no hurry, that they could take all the time they needed to make a decision about their 8-year old, that she was never going to wake up or get better, which is why John told her to go home, sleep a little if she could, eat something, maybe check on the dogs who were staying with their neighbors, even though the neighbors were allergic.
While he was waiting for Kate to arrive, John called everyone he could think of to tell them about the llamas, who were clumped together in a pack, and he told them all–his cousin Tom, his aunt and uncle from Cleveland, his mother and his step-mother, his neighbors (not the ones with the dogs), his boss and his wife’s boss, the minister at the church they used to go to, Cece’s best friend and her best friend’s mom–to come quick, how amazing it was to see llamas on a roof like this, how impossible it was, how he wouldn’t believe it if he wasn’t looking at it himself.
He pushed the call button hanging off the side of Cece’s bed and when the nurse fast-walked in the room he grabbed her arm, which would have been inappropriate if this wasn’t such an occasion, and pointed out the window at the llamas, and she brought her hand to her mouth and made a little noise like she couldn’t believe it, but there they were!
“How many are there?” she asked, and John told her there were eight, that at first he thought only seven, but then that one right there, with the black patch on its haunch, came out from behind the heating duct just a moment ago.
“There’s a whole pack of them,” he said, scanning the roof.
Kate arrived at the same time as the minister and John’s boss, and she was wearing shoes that didn’t match and she looked at Cece, who seemed so peaceful, even with the bandage on her head, and she heard the beeping of the machines and knew that she wasn’t dead, her daughter, but also that she wasn’t awake, and then she went to the window, where there were a dozen people gathered now, orderlies and nurses and the chief of surgery and John in the middle pointing at llama number 9, who had just come from behind the duct to join the others.
“It’s called a herd, not a pack,” said one of the orderlies, who had his phone out. “That’s the collective noun for llamas,” he said, reading. “Unless they’re baby llamas, and then they’re called a cria herd. Are they baby llamas?”
“Definitely adult llamas,” the chief of surgery said, and then he rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck from side to side, even though he’d just started work an hour ago. “How did they get there?” he asked the nurse next to him, who just shrugged as she texted someone, maybe her sister, who had always loved llamas.
Kate squeezed in beside John to watch the herd, who were jostling and nudging, stretching their necks out and lipping each other, staying close.
“Look,” John said, pointing, “Another one.” He rubbed his eyes.
“How is this possible?” Kate asked. She’d never seen llamas in real life, let alone llamas on a hospital roof.
“It’s a miracle,” said the minister, just as a TV crew arrived in the room.
The TV producer said, “Who’s in charge here?” and everyone went quiet for a moment, and the chief of surgery stepped forward, because his whole life he’d been in charge of things, but Kate raised her hand and said, “I am,” and then she took John’s hand and amended her statement to, “We are,” and the producer nodded at the cameraman, and the on-site reporter said, “We’re live from St. Joseph’s, Room 232,” and then the reporter said, “Tell us what’s happening,” and Joe said, “I can’t,” and he put his head in his hands and said, “I don’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense,” and then he started sobbing, and the reporter turned to Kate, who put her hand on her husband’s shoulder and said to the reporter, to the room, “I’m sorry, we’re going to need you all to leave now.”
