Chapter 32
Susan shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair, trying to find a position that didn’t make her back ache.
The ICU waiting area at St. Joseph Medical Center had become her second home over the past three days.
She knew which vending machine dispensed the least stale coffee, which nurse worked the early shift, and exactly how long it took for the automatic doors to open and close.
Across from her, Matt’s daughter Stephanie sat with her husband Mark, their fingers intertwined as they stared at the television mounted on the wall. Neither seemed to be actually watching the program. Their children, Lily and Ethan, were sprawled on the floor with a coloring book between them.
Amy, Lynda’s daughter, was typing on her laptop, catching up on work to distract her from what was happening on the other side of the doors.
Lynda hadn’t emerged from Matt’s room in over an hour.
Susan rubbed her temples, fighting the headache that had been building since dawn.
When Isabel and Kathleen had suggested that only one person stay with Lynda at the hospital today, she’d volunteered immediately.
Too many visitors crowding the waiting area would create additional stress during what was already an agonizing situation.
But now, surrounded by Matt’s family while Lynda kept vigil beside his bed, Susan wondered if she’d made the right decision.
“Mrs. Timms?” Ethan looked up from his coloring book, his dark eyes serious beyond his years. “Is Grandpa going to wake up today?”
Susan met the boy’s gaze. “The doctors are working hard to help him,” she said carefully. “He isn’t being given anything to keep him asleep, so his body can start waking up on its own. But we don’t know when that will happen.”
“My mom says sometimes we need extra time to heal,” Lily added, selecting a green crayon. “Like when I had my tonsils out. I felt yucky for a long time.”
“That’s true.” Susan managed a genuine smile. “Your grandpa was badly injured in the accident. It will take him a long time to feel better, too.”
Mark cleared his throat, drawing Susan’s attention. “We appreciate your being here. It helps to know Lynda has friends who are looking after her.”
“Your family’s been wonderful, too,” Susan replied. “When Stephanie called Lynda that first night, it meant she could go straight to the hospital and be there for Matt.”
“Dad would do the same for any of us.” Stephanie’s voice was steady, but Susan noticed how tightly she gripped her husband’s hand. “He’s always been the person who shows up when people need him. It’s time for us to show up for him.”
The automatic doors whooshed open, and Dr. Davies, Matt’s neurologist, stepped into the waiting area. Everyone straightened instantly. Stephanie rose from her chair, gathering her children close.
“I’m heading in to re-examine Matt now,” Dr. Davies said.
His expression was neutral in that careful way doctors had when they didn’t want to raise false hope.
“We’ve reduced the sedation significantly over the last six hours.
His brain activity looks promising, but I want to check his reflexes and response to stimuli. ”
“Can we see him?” Stephanie asked, already moving toward the ICU doors.
Dr. Davies held up a hand. “Let me do my assessment first. Lynda is with him, and I don’t want to overwhelm him if he does start responding. Give me twenty minutes, and then I’ll come back with an update.”
After he disappeared through the double doors, silence settled over the waiting area like snow.
Susan checked her phone for the hundredth time.
Paul had texted earlier asking if she needed anything.
Isabel had sent photos of the Christmas decorations at the Welcome Center, trying to provide some normalcy.
Kathleen’s message simply said, “Praying.”
“I keep thinking about Thanksgiving,” Stephanie said suddenly. “Dad was so happy. He kept talking about the wedding, about their plans for the house. He told me Lynda made him feel like himself again.”
“Mom said the same thing about your father.” Amy said softly. “She told me Matt reminded her what it felt like to be seen, really seen, for who she is.”
Susan’s throat tightened. That’s what she’d been feeling with Paul—that sense of being truly known and accepted. Matt’s accident had made her realize how easily it could all vanish, how quickly joy could transform into grief.
The minutes crawled by. Ethan abandoned his coloring book and pressed his face against the window, watching snow fall across the parking lot. Lily dozed against her mother’s shoulder. Mark stepped outside to make phone calls to family back home. Amy sat motionless, her eyes fixed on the ICU doors.
Susan silently bargained with whatever forces might be listening. Let Matt wake up. Let him be okay. Let Lynda have the future she’d been brave enough to reach for.
Her phone buzzed. It was Paul. Thinking about you. The kitchen feels empty without you here.
She typed back quickly: Still waiting. No news yet.
His response came immediately: Call me if you need to talk. I’m here.
Three simple words that meant more than he probably realized. I’m here. That’s what Matt had been for Lynda—someone who was simply there, present and solid and reliable. That’s what Paul was becoming for her.
If Matt woke up.
No, not if. When.
Susan refused to let herself think otherwise.
The ICU doors swung open, and Lynda emerged, followed by Dr. Davies. Stephanie jumped to her feet so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor. Amy and Susan moved forward, forming a tight semicircle around them.
Lynda’s eyes were red-rimmed but bright. She was smiling.
“He squeezed my hand,” she said, her voice breaking. “Dr. Davies was doing the exam, and I was talking to him like I have been, and his fingers moved. He squeezed my hand.”
Stephanie pressed both hands to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks. Amy let out a sob of relief. Even the children seemed to understand that something important had happened.
“Matt’s showing definite signs of emerging from the coma,” Dr. Davies confirmed. “His brain activity has been increasing steadily, and now we’re seeing physical responses. This is very encouraging.”
“Can we see him?” Stephanie asked again.
“One at a time for now,” Dr. Davies said. “And keep visits brief. His system is still recovering. Stephanie, why don’t you go first? Five minutes, then someone else can take a turn.”
Stephanie nodded, already moving toward the doors. Lynda caught her arm, pulling her into a quick embrace.
“Talk to him,” Lynda whispered. “He might not open his eyes yet, but I know he can hear you.”
After Stephanie disappeared into the ICU, Lynda sagged against Susan, who wrapped an arm around her friend’s waist.
“He’s coming back,” Lynda said. “I was so afraid, but he’s coming back to me.”
“Of course he is.” Susan blinked back her own tears. “He loves you. That’s stronger than anything.”
Dr. Davies excused himself to check on other patients, promising to return in an hour for another assessment. Mark came back into the waiting room, his face transforming when he saw Lynda’s smile. Amy explained what had happened, and he pulled her into a bear hug that lifted her off her feet.
“Maria would be so proud of him,” Mark said thickly. “Fighting this hard to come back.”
The mention of Matt’s late wife hung in the air for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was simply true. Maria would have wanted him to survive, to have the second chance at happiness he’d found with Lynda.
Lily tugged on Susan’s sleeve. “Does this mean Grandpa will wake up all the way?”
“It means he’s getting better,” Susan answered. “But it might take a little more time before he can talk to us.”
“That’s okay,” Ethan said seriously. “We can wait. Grandpa’s worth waiting for.”
Susan’s heart swelled at the child’s simple faith.
She thought about Paul. He was probably working in his kitchen and checking his phone for updates.
She thought about Isabel and Kathleen, who would want to know about Matt’s progress.
She thought about the whole community that had been holding its collective breath, waiting for news.
Most of all, she thought about Lynda and Matt, about the love they’d built despite their fears and reservations. About choosing to risk your heart even when you knew how much losing hurt.
When Stephanie returned, her face was blotchy but peaceful. “He moved his head when I spoke to him. Just slightly, but I saw it. He knows we’re here.”
“My turn,” Mark said, straightening his shoulders. “I’ve got some things to say to him about scaring us all like this.”
As he headed into the ICU, Stephanie settled back into her chair with Lily while Ethan returned to his coloring. Amy sat beside Lynda, both women quiet but no longer gripped by that terrible waiting tension.
Susan pulled out her phone and texted Paul: Good news. Matt’s responding. He squeezed Lynda’s hand.
The reply came within seconds: Thank God. How’s Lynda holding up?
Better. Amy’s still here, and Stephanie and her family are here, too. It’s helping.
And how are you holding up? Paul asked.
Susan paused, considering the question. Her back hurt, she was exhausted, and the hospital’s fluorescent lights were making her headache worse. But beneath all that was something else—a deep gratitude that they’d reached this moment, that Matt was fighting his way back.
I’m okay, she typed. I’ll call you later tonight.
I’ll be waiting. I love you, Susan.
She stared at those last four words, feeling their weight. He’d said it before, in response to her raw confession the night of the accident. But seeing it again, stated so clearly and simply, made something settle in her chest.
I love you too, she typed back.
Around her, Matt’s family continued their vigil, taking turns sitting with him, bringing him back with their voices and their presence. Susan looked at Lynda, who was watching the ICU doors with hope written across every line of her body.
Matt was coming back. And when he fully woke up, he’d find himself surrounded by everyone who loved him, ready to help him heal and move forward into the life he and Lynda had chosen together.