Angela laughed through tears.
“None of us wanted you to.”
Dr. Collins opened a folder.
“Every Thursday after afternoon rounds, anyone who was available gathered in this room.”
“You held meetings?”
He smiled.
“Not about blood counts.”
He looked toward Martha.
“They were about her.”
He unfolded several pages.
Then he began reading.
“What made Martha smile this week?”
Silence settled over the room.
“Who can make her laugh before Friday’s procedure?”
He turned another page.
“Does anyone have a new card game?”
“Can someone bring bubbles?”
“Who remembers that she becomes nervous before spinal procedures?”
I stared at him.
“You planned all of that?”
Mr. Howard scratched the back of his neck.
“Someone had to.”
Angela laughed.
“It became surprisingly competitive.”
Martha tilted her head.
“Competitive?”
One of the cafeteria workers raised her hand.
“The dinosaur pancakes.”
Martha’s eyes widened.
“What about them?”
“We argued over who was allowed to make them.”
Another cook nodded.
“I practiced at home.”
Martha gasped.
“They were not on the regular menu?”
“No,” the woman said. “They were only for you.”
My daughter’s mouth slowly fell open.
Johnny raised one hand.
“My turn.”
He grinned.
“I never forgot how to use the access doors.”
Martha blinked.
“You didn’t?”
“Not once.”
He tapped the badge inside his shirt pocket.
“I pretended because you smiled whenever you rescued me.”
Martha looked at me.
“Did you know?”
I shook my head.
“I honestly did not.”
Everyone laughed.
It was a soft, warm kind of laughter.
The kind that comes after people have survived something together.
