For the next ninety minutes, I worked alongside several volunteers, arranging canned vegetables, pasta, fruit, and other supplies.
It felt surprisingly comforting.
Then, while carrying boxes into the storage room, I noticed something.
Against the far wall stood a gray metal cabinet.
Its door had once been broken.
Walter had spent two afternoons repairing it.
I remembered him proudly announcing, “Jo, that cabinet will probably outlive me.”
Someone had attached a paper snowflake to its front.
Beneath it, written on masking tape, were two words.
WALT’S CABINET.
My eyes filled with tears.
Clare appeared beside me.
“Gus put that label there,” she explained. “He said your husband deserved to be remembered.”
She guided me into her office for coffee.
On the wall hung a photograph of Walter laughing while carrying a folding table at a community picnic.
I’d never seen it before.
“He made this place better,” Clare said.
