PART 12

Margo visited us on a Saturday in November.

She had driven all the way from her hometown with a little container of homemade muffins balanced on the passenger seat.

She insisted they weren’t anything special.

Colleen tasted one and said, “I’m never baking again.”

Seeing Margo while I was wearing ordinary clothes, sitting at a table, felt stranger than seeing her in the hospital.

She wasn’t a rescuer in a dramatic uniform.