The nurse nodded. “That’s pretty good, given your injuries. Let’s try to give it another half hour before we administer more pain medication. Until then, are you hungry?”
Capri shook her head no.
“Okay, but we don’t want you to wait too long before you get some nutrition. I’ll alert dietary services to bring a lunch tray.” She lightly patted Capri’s shoulder. “We’ll do our best to keep you comfortable. If you need anything, just press the call button, okay?”
Capri gave a small nod and watched the nurse leave, her efficient movements leaving behind the faint smell of hand sanitizer. She turned her head to the side and winced, her ribs protesting the motion.
A bouquet of cheerful daisies and mums sat on the table beside her, along with a small card. She reached for it with her good hand, her fingers trembling as she read the neat handwriting: Get well soon – Jake.
Her breath hitched, and she set the card down.
Jake. He’d saved her life.
He’d also seen her at her worst, and the thought twisted her stomach. She hated being vulnerable, hated that her carelessness had led her here.
As she lay back against the pillows, another memory began to surface, the fog in her mind lifting just enough for her to piece it together. Her mother had been here—Capri could vaguely recall her sitting by the bed, holding her hand. But then she’d said she couldn’t stay.
Capri’s heart clenched as the words came back to her—her mother needed to return to Idaho to be with her new husband. The decision felt like a stab to her heart. Dick was gone, and now her mother—the only family she had left—had chosen a different life. She was like the wind, lost and aimless without a man to guide her.
Capri swallowed hard, the ache in her chest deepening. She really didn’t have any family anymore, at least none in Thunder Mountain.
The door creaked open, and a parade of voices filtered in before she saw them—the Knit Wit ladies, a whirlwind of brightly colored sweaters and sensible shoes. Betty Dunning, the de facto leader of the group, carried a large basket overflowing with hand-knit scarves, socks, and even a stuffed owl wearing a jaunty bowtie.
“Oh, Capri, honey!” Betty exclaimed, her warm voice filling the sterile room. She set the basket on the foot of the bed, and the other two women circled her like mother hens fussing over their chick. “We were so worried about you!”
“You gave us all a fright,” Dorothy chimed in. “But you’re looking much better already, dear.”
Capri managed a weak smile. “Thanks. I’m…still in one piece.”
“Barely,” muttered Oma, the group’s resident truth-teller, setting a plate of cookies on the bedside table. “But you’ll heal, just like my Earl did after he fell off the barn roof trying to rescue a raccoon he thought was stuck. Turned out, the raccoon was just fine—Earl, not so much. Took a while, but he was good as new. Well, except for the limp when it rained.” She shook her head. “That was years before he passed, bless his soul.”
Capri let out a small laugh that quickly turned into a grimace as her ribs protested. “Thanks for the perspective, Oma.”
Dorothy Vaughn reached for Capri’s hand, her own warm and steady. “We brought you some goodies. Knitted things for when you’re feeling up to looking fabulous again, and some of Betty’s banana bread.”
“That bread cures everything,” Betty added with a wink.
Capri looked at the basket, then at the women surrounding her. Something in her tightened, but it wasn’t pain. She felt the familiar lump rise in her throat—one she hadn’t felt since she was a child. Her walls, always so carefully maintained, started to crack.
She glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on the familiar faces of her friends, their concern woven into every gesture and word. Maybe family didn’t always share your blood—sometimes, they were the ones who showed up with cookies and stories about raccoons, reminding you that you weren’t as alone as you felt.
“I was so scared,” Capri whispered, the confession tumbling out before she could stop it. “I thought I…I thought I might die out there. And it was so stupid. I didn’t listen to anyone. I just had to prove something.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and unstoppable. “I don’t even know what I was trying to prove,” she choked out, shaking her head. “I just…I didn’t think.”
Immediately, the women were at her side. Oma wrapped an arm around her shoulders, careful not to jostle her injuries. “Oh, honey, it’s okay to cry. Let it out.”
“We’ve all done things we regret,” Dorothy said gently. “The important thing is that you’re still here. And you’ve got people who love you.”
“Life is all about learning, sweetheart,” Oma added. “Sometimes the lessons come hard, but they make us stronger.”
“You’re a fighter,” Betty said with a nod. “You’ve always been one. And this? This is just another chapter in your story.”
Capri sniffled, her tears slowing as she looked at the wise, older women around her. Their words weren’t just platitudes; they came from experience, from lives lived fully and messily. She nodded, wiping her eyes with the edge of the blanket. “Thank you. Really.”
“Anytime,” Oma said, squeezing her shoulder. “Now, let’s see if we can get you to eat a little something. Betty, where’s that banana bread?”
As the women bustled around her, Capri felt the tiniest spark of something she hadn’t felt since her accident—hope. It was fragile, but it was there, nestled among the hand-knit scarves and homemade cookies. And for the first time since the accident, she let herself believe she might be okay.
