I met every employee and learned their names.

I also discovered that Margaret had quietly donated leftover bread to a nearby community center for years.

That discovery stayed with me. I wanted a way to honor my late wife, but I hadn’t expected her to surprise me again from beyond the grave.

Our church had been discussing a community meal program, but we hadn’t found a practical way to organize one.

Suddenly, I wondered whether Margaret’s bakery could help.

I met every employee.

***

I met with Denise one morning. “What if we prepared meals for older people living alone?”

She considered it. “We could use the kitchen during quieter hours. But we’d need volunteers, supplies, and a proper budget.”

So I started making calls.

I met with our church board.

I recruited volunteers.

She considered it.

Wade helped calculate costs, while Denise worked out a simple menu.

It wasn’t easy. Some volunteers couldn’t commit regularly.

Our first proposed meals were too expensive.

And I discovered that feeding 30 people required considerably more planning than telling everyone to bring a casserole.

But we kept working.

It wasn’t easy.

***

The church raised money for ingredients.

Denise arranged kitchen schedules.

I organized deliveries.

We named the project “Margaret’s Table.”

Our first community lunch was scheduled for what would’ve been Margaret’s 64th birthday.

I organized deliveries.

***

On opening day, I arrived wearing an apron.

Denise looked horrified. “You’re not cooking, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thank goodness! We don’t have enough insurance.”

I laughed.

“You’re not cooking, are you?”

We served 32 meals that afternoon.

One elderly gentleman named Frank told me he hadn’t shared lunch with anyone in three weeks.

A woman named Dorothy said she’d come for the company but planned to return for the cinnamon rolls.

Wade helped carry trays.

When everything was finished, I found him studying Margaret’s photo.

We served 32 meals.

“You okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “Mom would’ve loved this.”

I smiled. “She would’ve complained about my apron.”

Wade laughed. “Definitely.”

Then, Denise approached us, carrying a small wooden box.

“Margaret asked me to give you this when the time was right.”

“Mom would’ve loved this.”