Excerpt of T.L.C. by Barbara Delinsky

Under normal circumstances, Karen Drew would have found
the article intriguing. She was a devoted armchair
traveler — the more exotic the locale the better — and the
tropical Seychelles, with their gentle breezes and sun-
tipped turquoise seas, sounded perfectly idyllic compared
to upstate New York in February.

Today, though, visions of coco-de-mer palms, giant
tortoises and white sand beaches just weren't doing it for
her. Her energies were concentrated on seeing the words on
the magazine page, speaking them aloud in a relatively
normal manner and, in the process, breathing as little as
possible on Rowena Carlin.

Karen was sick. She'd been fighting a cold for nearly
three weeks. It had flared up, died down, looked to be
going away, only to rear its stubborn head in renewed
bouts of sniffling and coughing. Now it had settled in her
chest. No battery of antihistamines, decongestants or
expectorants was budging it. Though Karen had fortified
herself enough to temporarily mask the symptoms, each
breath she took was an effort.

She couldn't afford to be sick. Thought of it sent her
into a tailspin. Midterms were coming. Even without those,
she had research to do for Professor McGuire and, even
beyond that, tables to wait at the Pepper Mill. Paychecks
weren't given for nothing, and Karen needed the money. So
she'd spent the last three weeks ignoring the germ that
plagued her. Unfortunately, it wasn't going away. It had
slowly but surely sapped her, leaving her fighting for the
tiniest shreds of energy.

On the tail of one such shred, she shifted the glossy
magazine from which she'd been reading onto the plaid
blanket that covered the older woman's small lap. "See,
Rowena?" she asked. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Rowena, who had been raptly studying Karen's face, lowered
her eyes to look at the magazine, but no sooner did they
reach their destination than they started right back up
again. The look they held made Karen brace herself. If
she'd learned one thing in the eight months she'd been
visiting Rowena, it was that the woman missed very little
and let even less pass without comment.

Rowena was eighty-one and sharp. A spinal injury had
hindered her mobility, a subsequent stroke had affected
her speech. Nothing, though, had affected her mind — or
her eyes, which said far more far faster than her tongue
could. Those eyes held concern even as the small, wizened
mouth went to work.

"S-s-something is…wrong," she announced. Her speech was
faltering, yet far better than it had been even three
months before. Karen was amazed at her improvement — both
in speech and movement. Rowena approached physical therapy
with a will to succeed, and she was doing just that. The
fact that her arms and legs were slowly coming back to
life was a tribute to sheer determination. Karen followed
her example and answered as confidently as she could.

"No, no. Nothing's wrong."

"Y-y-you're under the…w-w-weather."

Karen crinkled her nose and gave a quick shake of her
head, which was a mistake. When her head turned right, her
awareness stayed left, and when her head turned left, she
felt as though she'd bumped into herself at the pass. The
air in the small parlor seemed suddenly warmer.

It was a minute before she regained her equilibrium and a
minute after that before she quelled the urge to cough.
When she spoke, her voice was husky. "I'm just a little
tired. It's a busy time. Midterms begin in two weeks." She
paused when she saw Rowena's mouth working again.
Patiently she waited, giving the woman the time she needed
to form the words.

"Will y-y-you have a rest…then?"

If only, Karen thought. "A little," she said. "I'll have
two weeks without classes, so it'll just be a matter of
working."

"F-f-for…McGuire?"

"Uh-huh."

"And the…r-r-restaurant?"

"That's right."

"Karen?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Take a…v-v-vacation."

Karen's eyes held a wistful look. "I wish I could."

"Y-y-you…can if…you…want."

"No. My hours at the restaurant will be shortened since
most of the customers will be gone, but I'm committed to
working full-time for Professor McGuire during those
weeks."

"And visiting me. It's…t-t-too much."

"But I enjoy visiting you."

"D-d-do you enjoy…y-y-your work, too?"

Karen desperately wanted to say that she did, but she
couldn't do so unequivocally. While she found her work for
Professor McGuire to be intellectually rewarding, the only
reward she gleaned from her work at the Pepper Mill was a
pocketful of tips. The restaurant was heavily patronized
by students, and deep down, she had trouble dealing with
them. Some were in her classes; others she knew only in
passing. Theoretically, she might have shared in the
camaraderie.