Mary Margaret looked at the state-of-the-art walker parked by her desk. “A resurrection?”
“It is time, Pog. Get home.”
“I’m fine, Nann, really.”
“Who says we’re talking about you?”
The taxi driver lifted her bag out of the trunk as she shifted her weight onto the walker. “I’ll get this to the door for you,” he said, sprinting ahead of her. Her walker tilted over the frost-heaved sidewalk, and the wheels caught in the cracks. As she reached the front door, it opened, and a tall young man held it for her.