Chapter 34
Susan balanced the insulated carrier against her hip as she pushed through the hospital’s main entrance. Beside her, Kathleen held two bags of homemade sandwiches while Isabel carried a box with a thermos of soup and fresh bread.
“ICU is on the third floor,” Isabel said, pressing the elevator button with her elbow.
The doors opened, and they stepped inside. Susan watched the numbers climb, her chest tight with a mixture of emotions she couldn’t quite name. It was December twenty-fourth. Lynda should have been standing in the barn today, wearing her wedding dress and promising to love Matt forever.
Instead, she’d spent the last four days camped in a hospital room, willing Matt to wake up.
The elevator dinged, and they walked toward the waiting room.
“I’ll ask the nurse to let Lynda know we’re here,” Susan said, setting down the carrier. She approached the nurse’s station and spoke to a woman wearing navy scrubs.
“Excuse me, we’re here to see Lynda Morth. She’ll be with Matt Reynolds. Could you let her know her friends have arrived with lunch?”
The nurse glanced up and smiled. “Of course. I’ll tell her right away.”
Susan returned to the waiting room, where Kathleen and Isabel had claimed seats near the window.
They didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes, Lynda appeared in the doorway, her hair pulled into a messy knot at the base of her neck.
She looked thinner than she had four days ago, but her eyes were brighter than Susan had seen them since the accident.
“Hey,” Lynda said, her face brightening when she saw them. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”
“Of course we did.” Susan stood and pulled her friend into a hug. “We brought lunch. Real food, not whatever they’re serving in the cafeteria.”
“I made roasted chicken sandwiches,” Kathleen added, gathering the bags. “And Isabel made her minestrone.”
Lynda sighed. “You don’t know how good that sounds.”
Susan pulled a small table closer and took a pink tablecloth out of the cooler she’d brought with her. “I thought we needed a little color to brighten up the room.”
Isabel unpacked the food and smiled. “It looks pretty. How’s Matt doing?”
Lynda settled into a seat. “The neurologist just left. Dr. Davies is thrilled with his improvement. This morning, Matt squeezed my hand when I asked him to. On purpose, not just a reflex.”
“That’s wonderful,” Susan said, relief flooding through her as she handed Lynda a plate.
Kathleen began ladling soup into bowls. “Has he opened his eyes?”
“Twice yesterday. Just for a few seconds, but he followed Dr. Davies when he walked across the room.” Lynda accepted the bowl Kathleen handed to her. “Matt’s brother went home this morning, but he’ll be back in a couple of days. I promised I’d text updates every few hours.”
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.”
“You’ll wear that dress,” Susan said firmly. “And we’ll get you more flowers.”
Kathleen nodded. “And we’ll make sure everything is perfect.”
Lynda placed the frame on the table beside her soup bowl. “I know I should probably be thinking about when, not if, we get married. Everyone keeps telling me Matt’s going to recover.”
“But you’re scared,” Isabel finished.
“Terrified.” Lynda stared at the ICU doors. “What if he wakes up and he’s changed? What if the man I love isn’t there anymore?”
Susan understood that fear. Loving someone meant risking everything on their continued presence, their unchanged heart. It meant believing the person you chose would still be there tomorrow, next week, and next year.
It meant trusting that your love was strong enough to weather whatever came.
“Then you’ll love who he becomes,” Susan said simply. “Because that’s what love does. It adapts. It grows. It finds ways to hold on even when everything shifts.”
“Paul told me something similar,” Lynda murmured. “He said love makes you braver than you ever thought possible.”
The four women sat together silently in the waiting room. Words could never make Lynda’s day any brighter, but Susan knew they’d done their best.
She glanced through the window at the snow-covered parking lot.
At the Connect Church, Pastor John would be preparing the Christmas Eve service.
Volunteers would be stringing fairy lights around the church’s entrance, making it festive and bright.
People would be celebrating the holiday season with the family and friends who were dear to them.
And here, in this sterile waiting room, they were celebrating too. It was different from what they’d planned, but just as meaningful.
“Thank you,” Lynda whispered, looking at each of them. “For remembering. For coming. For this.” She touched the frame again.
“Always,” Kathleen promised.
They stayed another hour, telling stories and eating food until the containers were empty. When visiting time ended, they reluctantly gathered their things.
“Call if anything changes,” Susan said, hugging Lynda at the door.
“I will.” Lynda squeezed her tight. “Drive safe.”
In the elevator, Isabel leaned against the wall and sighed. “I hate leaving her.”
“Me too,” Kathleen agreed. “I’ll come back tonight, just to make sure she’s okay.”
Susan nodded. “I’ll stop by tomorrow morning and try and get her to have lunch with Paul and me. The hospital can call her if anything changes with Matt.”
Isabel frowned. “I don’t think she’ll come, unless we all get together for Christmas. Why don’t you and Paul join Frank, Tommy, and me for lunch? What have you and Patrick got planned, Kathleen?”
“We’ve been invited to Noah’s house for the day. Patrick’s looking forward to spending time with his grandsons and their families. But I can join you. Given the circumstances, Patrick won’t mind if I slip away for a couple of hours.”
Isabel grinned. “That’s settled, then. I’ll come with Susan to the hospital in the morning. We’ll collect Lynda from where she’s staying and bring her home.”
“And while we’re gone,” Susan added. “Paul can help Frank and Tommy prepare a Christmas feast.”
With Christmas lunch sorted, Susan felt happier than when they’d arrived. Lynda needed them, and regardless of what else was happening in their lives, they would always be there for her.
As they walked to the parking lot, Susan pulled out her phone and texted Paul: On our way home. Lynda’s doing okay. Matt’s getting stronger.
His response came immediately: I’ll have dinner waiting. I love you.
She smiled and typed back: Love you, too.