Harold Gates slowed the snow-topped yellow taxi and edged it along the slushy curb to a stop where she stood, shivering in a tattered wool coat in a January blizzard on the steps of her unlit ... [+]
I watched as one wave of people flowed off the train and another wave flowed on—just like the waves at the beach pushing and pulling on my toes. I wagged my feet as I remembered the sensation. I looked up at Momma. I could see her eyes drooping. Her fingers twitched on my shoulder as she fought sleep. It had been a long day. I was glad we were going home. I scooted closer to her.
A woman came and sat across from us. She was clinging to a big, colorful bag, and her eyes were wide, darting everywhere around her. She glanced quickly at me and smiled a toothy grin. "Hello there," she said qu