Bunny and OPEN, 4:15PM
Thanksgiving, like every other special occasion on the calendar, was something that Bunny thought she left behind her long ago, when the world fell to pieces at her family’s cabin in the mountains of Kentucky. But pieces could be fitted back together again, she had always believed, even if the final picture was different. There was a dreamlike feel to the holiday celebration, taking place in a shelter Bunny had never been inside before, surrounded by more strangers than friends. Though if it were truly a dream, she felt certain the ratio would be flipped, and it would be familiar faces filling the LBJ, everyone from her parents and her brothers to her third grade teacher and the man who’d delivered their mail in her childhood.
But dream or reality, there was one piece still missing, a gaping hole in the midst of their patchwork puzzle: Bode. The absence of the officers was written on the countenance of every resident of the Dog Park, but it was the Chaplain more than any other that she looked for, as though part of her thought he still might saunter in the room at any minute. But he wouldn't be coming anytime soon, barring some miracle, and even Bunny’s indomitable spirits had begun to flag.
She had learned a long time ago how to smile even when her heart ached, and so her face rarely revealed the worry that dogged her. There were a few moments, though, when Nate was deep in conversation with another guest or otherwise occupied, that she lowered her eyes, distress creasing her brow. It had always passed by the time she looked up again, the expression erased and written over.
As she was passing through one such bout, the look of peaceful contentment just settling back over her features, Bunny’s elbow was jostled by her nearest neighbor in the auditorium seating. “Sorry,” she said, automatically, tucking her arm closer to her side. Then she turned a smile toward the person she'd bumped against, adding, “Happy Thanksgiving.”