She paused, taking a small spoonful of soup before looking up at them. “How are things at the shelter? I’ve been so focused on Matt, I haven’t even checked in.”
“Completely under control,” Kathleen said firmly. “The community’s been incredible. Dr. Harrison’s been covering emergencies at the wildlife center, and Tom Bradley brought his daughter in to help clean kennels every afternoon.”
“Sarah McAdams organized a volunteer schedule,” Isabel added. “You’ve got coverage through to the end of January.”
Lynda’s eyes filled with tears, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. “I don’t know how to thank everyone.”
“You don’t have to.” Susan handed her a sandwich. “That’s what people do when they care about you.”
They ate in comfortable silence, the only sounds the quiet hum of the vending machines and the muted conversations from the hallway. Susan watched Lynda take small bites of her sandwich, her eyes occasionally drifting toward the corridor.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Isabel said suddenly. “Teresa Martinez stopped by the shelter yesterday with a delivery.”
“A delivery?”
“She dropped off twelve cuddly toy animals. There’s everything from a golden retriever to a barn owl.” Kathleen smiled. “She said Matt might feel more at home when he wakes up if he’s surrounded by his favorite animals. As soon as he’s in another ward, we’ll leave them with him.”
Lynda laughed, the sound watery but genuine. “That’s so like her.”
Susan caught Kathleen’s gaze across the table. They’d planned this moment carefully, wanting to acknowledge what today meant without making Lynda’s grief worse.
“We brought something else,” Susan said quietly. “For you.”
Isabel reached into her bag and pulled out a wrapped package, its paper covered in delicate silver stars. “We know today is hard.”
Lynda stared at the gift, her face going still. “I didn’t think anyone would mention it.”
“It’s your wedding day,” Kathleen said gently.
“It was supposed to be.” Lynda’s voice cracked. “Pastor John said he’d make his special hot chocolate for the reception.”
Susan moved to her friend’s side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Matt’s going to wake up, and when he does, you’ll get married. Not today, but soon.”
“Open it,” Isabel urged softly.
Lynda’s hands trembled as she tore open the paper. Inside was a wooden frame, simple but elegant, holding a photograph Susan had taken at Thanksgiving.
Matt and Lynda stood in front of one of the wildlife enclosures. Matt had his arms around Lynda’s waist. Her head was tipped back in laughter. Behind them were the wolfdog puppies they’d rescued. Although they weren’t so little anymore.
But it was the inscription carved into the frame’s lower edge that made Lynda’s breath hitch.
Together is where we belong.
“The frame is made from cedar,” Isabel said. “From a tree that grew on Frank’s property. He cut and planed it himself.”
“And the photograph,” Kathleen added, “captures exactly who you are together. Happy, whole, and home.”
Lynda traced the carved words with one finger. “It’s perfect.”
“We wanted you to know,” Susan said, choosing each word carefully, “that this day still matters. Even though Matt can’t stand beside you right now, even though everything happened differently than you planned, your love is real. It’s worthy of celebration.”
“The timing doesn’t change what you mean to each other,” Isabel added.
Lynda clutched the frame against her chest and started crying in earnest. Not the desperate, frightened tears of the accident’s immediate aftermath, but something deeper. Grief, yes, but also recognition. Gratitude.
Kathleen produced tissues from her purse, and they let Lynda cry until the storm passed.
“I keep thinking about the dress hanging in my closet,” Lynda said finally, wiping her eyes. “And the flowers Shelley was giving us. The lanterns Matt hung in the barn rafters three weeks ago because he wanted everything ready early.”
