“Hey, Doc. How’s it hangin’?” I come to a dead stop in Sandra’s foyer, my jaw slack, my expression dumbfounded. Rose is surrounded by the Suture Sisters crochet group, her leg propped up on an ottoman and a backpack resting next to her on the floor. A sly grin spreads across Rose’s face as she watches me standing motionless like a malfunctioning robot, my brain seemingly detached from my body.
