She was perhaps twenty-three.
Never met Margaret.
No recognition crossed her face.
“Good evening,” the young woman said. “Welcome to the Aurelia. How can I help you?”
Margaret smiled.
“I was wondering whether you have a room tonight.”
The receptionist checked.
“We do.”
“What is the least expensive option?”
“Three hundred and twelve dollars before tax.”
“No eight-thousand-dollar special?”
The receptionist looked horrified.
“I hope not.”
Margaret laughed.
“I'll take the three-hundred-and-twelve-dollar one.”
“Of course.”
The receptionist noticed Margaret's cane leaning against the desk.
“Would you prefer something closer to the elevator?”
Margaret paused.
“Yes.”
“Higher floor or lower?”
“Lower.”
“I have 214 available.”
Margaret stared at the screen.
Of all rooms.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
Margaret smiled.
“That one will be fine.”
A bellman approached.
Different young man.
He lifted her bag.
“May I?”
“Thank you.”
As Margaret crossed the lobby, she passed the chair near the wall where she had once been told to sit and not touch anything.
The sculpture beside it had changed.
The chair had not.
She stopped.