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down and hopped out of bed. The wood floor was cold on her bare feet as she crossed the room and opened her door.
    The living room was also bathed in sunlight. Sun shone through the windows onto her mother who was still sleeping on the old couch. Clarissa tiptoed over and sighed with silent relief to hear the gentle breathing of a normal sleep. She glanced at the clock on the table next to the couch. It was 7:30. Her mother must be working the late shift today or she would already be up and getting dressed.
    She padded down the hall to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Other than a small jar of grape jelly, another jar of peanut butter and some small packets of condiments from fast food places, white Styrofoam boxes lined the shelves.
    “Let’s see what mommy brought home last night,” Clarissa whispered.
    She opened a box that held the remainder of the special of the day, spaghetti and meatballs. Another box contained macaroni and cheese, and still another contained fat congealed pot roast and vegetables.
    “Gross,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Didn’t you bring home anything for breakfast?”
    The last container held some rolls, a pile of bacon and two slices of cherry pie. “Yes,” she whispered, “pie for breakfast!”
    Climbing up on a chair, she retrieved two plastic plates from the cabinet. She put the bacon on one plate and put it into the old microwave on the counter. Pressing the “HIGH” button for 10 seconds, she let the microwave work while she made a breakfast plate for her mother. Breaking open a roll, she emptied a container of mayonnaise and ketchup onto it. Once the bacon was reheated, she broke it into roll sized pieces and placed them on the roll. “BLT’s just the way Mom likes them,” she said.
    She slid the bigger piece of pie onto her mother’s plate and, with a fork and napkin in hand, carried breakfast into her mother.
    Becca lay on the couch, her eyes open, her body aching, trying to get the strength to get out of bed. She had run out of theophylline, her medicine, two days earlier and she felt as if her lungs were closing up on her. If she was going to keep working she had to get more medicine. She slowly inhaled, trying to fill her damaged lungs as full as possible, and then exhaled, wincing at the pain. She started to inhale again when she heard Clarissa coming down the hallway. She took a quick gasp of air, pasted a smile on her face and turned towards her daughter.
    “Oh, my, what has Chef Clarissa prepared for us this morning?” she asked brightly, though her words came out in a weak wheeze.
    Clarissa smiled, pretending she didn’t notice the weakness. “I made you BLT’s just the way you like them,” she said, putting the plate on the table next to the couch. “And there’s delicious cherry pie for dessert. But you have to eat your breakfast first.”
    “Since when do we have dessert with breakfast?” Becca asked.
    “Since today,” Clarissa answered. “Because it’s a sunny day and it’s Sunday. Do you have to go to work today, Mommy?”
    Becca nodded. “Yes, but not until this afternoon,” she said, reaching for the sandwich and taking a small bite. “This is just delicious, sweetheart.”
    “It’s ‘cause I’m a chef,” Clarissa said, then her smile left her face and she sighed. “Do I have to go to Mrs. Gunderson’s house today?”
    Becca lifted her hand and stroked Clarissa’s cheek. “Yes, sweetheart, I’m afraid you do,” she replied. “But what if we go to the nursing home and talk to the grandmas and grandpas this morning first?”
    “But, the last time we went there, you got sick,” Clarissa said.
    Becca closed her eyes for a moment; she hated to see that worried look in her little girl’s eyes. She opened her eyes and turned back to Clarissa. “I wasn’t sick,” she said. “I was just a little dizzy. Sometimes the smells at the Nursing Home make me feel that way. It will probably happen again, but don’t worry. You