Carol presses a crumpled tissue up against her pink nose, feeling sick with a non-threatening case of “spring fever flu”. The warm seasons were never her favorite. She couldn’t stand the pollen & ragweed. Even when she was little, she was most often put to bed rest while the rest of the neighborhood spent their summer breaks camping and canoeing.
In her fifties, she continues suffering through the changing of seasons.
“You don’t have to be here, Therese,” she says, hating the thickness and congestive sound of her voice.
Therese draws the curtains over, silencing the ongoing traffic of the city outside. She turns around to walk over to sit on the edge of the bed and reaches for the mug of ginger tea laid out on the nightstand.
“Don’t stop me from taking care of you,” the younger one replies.
“You’re no match for this kind of weather.” She holds out the drink.
Carol lets out a defeated sigh, but gives in, taking the tea.
“Knock, knock,” the voice of Abby comes from the doorway, rapping her knuckles against the woodframe. She stands by, holding up a brown paper bag she got from her trip to the drugstore. Stepping through, she pulls out a pack of Carol’s cigarettes and lays them on her floral comforter-lap.
“McKinley’s wish you well,” she tells her childhood friend, pulling out a bag of lemon drop lozenges and a stuffed miniature toy bear wearing angel wings and halo.
Carol’s raspy laughter upsets Therese as she takes the tea back to receive the shop counter gifts already in the process of slipping out an unlit Chesterfield.