To the Grave by Carlene Thompson

flannel pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt and she was still cold. She wrapped a towel around her hair with fingers that had puckered from their long exposure to water. She’d scrubbed her nails so hard, the skin around them burned.
    â€œI’ve built a fire!” Marissa called from downstairs. “I’ve also fixed you something to eat, whether you want it or not! Hurry before it gets cold!”
    Catherine closed her eyes and sighed. All she really wanted to do was curl up in bed. Instead, she tightened the belt on her robe, slid into some soft scuff house slippers, and descended the stairs. Marissa stood at the foot of the steps, beaming at her, obviously having worked to make the lovely cream, cinnamon, and dusky blue family room even more comforting and welcoming than usual. Behind the grate, a fire crackled cheerfully in the large stone hearth and Marissa had turned on two brass lamps and lit three cinnamon-scented candles.
    â€œDo you feel better?” Marissa asked.
    â€œI feel cleaner.”
    â€œWell, you should. I think that was the longest shower on record.” Marissa looked down at the medium-sized yellow dog sitting dutifully by her side holding a small stuffed tiger in her mouth. “Lindsay thought we’d have to come in and rescue you.”
    Catherine bent and patted the dog on the head. “I appreciate your concern, Lindsay.” The dog stood and wagged her tail, keeping a firm grip on the tiger. “I always feel safer when you’re around.”
    â€œYou should. She’s very loyal to you even though she’s officially my dog.” Marissa grinned. “Please sit on the couch. I’ve fixed a feast.”
    A feast, Catherine thought in dismay. God only knew what that could be. Marissa’s cooking ranged from bad to merely passable. Nevertheless, Catherine sat down and tried to look eagerly at the tray of food.
    â€œHold out your hand.” Catherine did as told and Marissa dropped a small blue pill onto her palm and handed her a glass of water. “You took aspirin for your headache when you got home. Now a Valium. I didn’t insist on it earlier for fear of you getting dizzy and falling in the shower. Don’t protest. You’ve always said there’s nothing wrong with taking a tranquilizer in an emergency.”
    â€œI wasn’t going to protest.” Catherine swallowed the pill. “I think everything inside of me is quivering.”
    â€œNo wonder.”
    â€œAnd I feel ridiculous for getting so upset because James called Renée his wife.”
    â€œWe were both freaked out,” Marissa said dismissively. “I’ve fixed a grilled-cheese sandwich—I used that Jarlsberg cheese you bought—and some tomato soup made with milk, and a pot of chamomile tea. Chamomile is supposed to be calming and you don’t need alcohol with a tranquilizer. How does all of that sound?”
    â€œWonderful. You didn’t need to go to such trouble.”
    â€œOf course I did. Still, don’t be complimentary until you’ve tasted it, although it’s hard even for me to mess up a grilled-cheese sandwich and soup. I’m having coffee and a piece of the German chocolate cake I bought at the bakery day before yesterday. There’s plenty of cake left for you, too.”
    Catherine laughed as Marissa spread a napkin over Catherine’s lap and poured her tea as if she were an invalid. “Don’t be insulted if I can’t eat everything, Marissa. I still feel a little queasy.”
    â€œDon’t worry. Lindsay and I will take care of any leftovers.”
    Marissa kept up a steady stream of light chatter about the doings of Hollywood celebrities as if they were all family friends. While she listened to Marissa’s dramatic account of an actor leaving his wife of two months for a supermodel, Catherine took the towel off her head, letting her hair fall to her shoulders and dry in the warmth from