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.