The Right Wrong Number
Taxi service, the flyer read. I breathed a sigh of relief. After several months living without a car in this lit-tle town in central Vermont, I had some hope of independence.
“I’ve got a piece of paper to write down the number,” my daughter, Pat, said, digging in her purse. “They could take you to church.”
Pat had been driving me just about everywhere since I moved back to Vermont after 20 years in Canada, sharing the job with my son. She’d driven me over to the
