There’d been a hubbub about what to listen to in the clubhouse. George had wanted Robert Johnson’s “Hellhound on My Trail,” then realized he’d left Winston out in the wilderness to fend for himself and went very quiet. Deb wanted the Doors, something she could dance to as she put it. Molly Olsen wanted the Carpenters. Abigail didn’t care much what they listened to. She had missed her dinner though, and she was getting a blood-sugar headache. 

            She rolled herself away from the table. To think she resisted wheelchairs for so long. It was like gliding on the hardwood floor. 

            “Why don’t you put on the Carpenters and let it play th...

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