“Stay in bed tomorrow,” her mother warned her. For the moment, she sounded too sick to fly home.

“I can't, I have finals,” Ginny said, and promptly burst into tears.

“Can you ask them to give you makeup exams?” Olympia suggested. “You sound too sick to go out.”

“Makeups are on Friday. If I do that, I won't be home till Friday night.” She sobbed miserably. She felt awful, and didn't want to miss the ball that weekend.

“You may not have any other choice than to take makeup exams.”

“What if I have a red nose?”

“That's the least of it. Go to the infirmary tomorrow, and see if they'll put you on antibiotics so you don't wind up with an infection and get really sick. That should help.” She had gotten them both meningitis shots before they went off to school in September, so at least she knew it wasn't anything worse than a bad cold or at worst bronchitis, and antibiotics would keep it from turning into pneumonia. Ginny sounded just terrible. So far, Veronica hadn't caught it, but sharing a tiny room with her sister, it wasn't going to surprise Olympia if she got sick, too. “Max has chicken pox,” her mother said mournfully. “Thank God all of you have had it. That's all we'd need. The poor kid feels awful, too. We're a mess,” Olympia said ruefully. It was turning into a hell of a week, with invalids everywhere.

On Monday, she felt better, Max felt worse, and Ginny called to say they had given her antibiotics, so Olympia was hopeful she'd feel better by the end of the week. She'd gone to take her exams and burst into tears when she called her mother, and said she was sure that she had failed. She managed to squeeze in the information that her hot new romance, Steve, was being a jerk, but he said he was still coming to the ball. It sounded like a mixed blessing to her mother, but she didn't have time to ask for the details. The sitter had just come for Max, and sick or not, she had to go to work.

Olympia sat at her desk blowing her nose all day. The stomachache was better, her nose was running, she had a headache, and she had ordered containers of chicken soup from a nearby deli throughout the day. She called the sitter every hour, who told her that Max was all right, but by the end of the day, he was covered with spots. Clearly, it was going to be a challenging week.

It had started to snow that morning, and by afternoon, there were five inches of snow blanketing the city. It said on the radio that the schools would be closed the next day. They were expecting ten more inches during the night, and declared it a blizzard by five o'clock. Olympia thought briefly about calling her mother-in-law to ask her if she needed anything. She didn't want her to go out and fall on the ice as the temperature dropped that night. She dialed her number, there was no answer, and Olympia didn't get out of the office herself till after six that night. She nearly froze to death looking for a cab, and by the time she got home she was soaking wet, and chilled to the bone. Max was propped up in bed, watching videos, and covered in calamine lotion.

“Hi, sweetheart, how's it going?”

“Itchy,” he said, looking unhappy. His fever had gone up again, but at least Olympia's hadn't. She had had a miserable, stressful day in the office. And Harry had left a message at the house that he had an emergency at work, and wouldn't be home till at least nine. She couldn't wait for Charlie to come home the next day, and at least give her a hand in cheering up Max, who looked sick, feverish, and bored. Charlie was terrific with him, and Olympia was feeling overwhelmed. It didn't help that Harry was out when she felt sick herself.

She made chicken soup for herself and Max, put a frozen pizza in the microwave for him, and blew her nose about four hundred times. She had just tucked him in for the night, turned off his light, and walked into her bedroom, longing for a hot bath, when the phone rang. It was still snowing heavily outside. It was Frieda, who apologized for calling her. She knew Max had chicken pox, and inquired how he was.

“Poor kid, he looks awful. He's covered with calamine. I didn't think that many spots could fit on one child. He even has them inside his ears, nose, and mouth.”

“Poor thing. How's your cold?”

“Miserable,” Olympia admitted. “I hope I get rid of it by Saturday night.”

“Yes, so do I,” Frieda said, sounding vague. And for the first time ever, Olympia had the impression that her mother-in-law was drunk. She hadn't noticed it at first, but she was definitely slurring her words. For an instant, Olympia was afraid she'd had a stroke. She'd had a heart attack five years before, but had been fine ever since.

“Are you all right?” Olympia asked, sounding worried.

“Yes…yes…I am…” She hesitated, and her daughter-in-law could hear a tremor in her voice. “I had a little mishap this afternoon,” she said, sounding embarrassed. She loved her independence, managed well on her own, and never liked to be a burden to anyone. She rarely told anyone when she was sick, but only reported on it days or weeks later.

“What kind of mishap?” Olympia asked, blowing her nose.

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Olympia was afraid she'd fallen asleep. She definitely sounded drunk.

“Frieda?” Olympia roused her, and heard her stir at the other end.

“Sorry… I'm feeling a little drowsy. I went to get some groceries before the storm got worse. I slipped on the ice. But I'm fine now.” She didn't sound it.

“What happened? Did you get hurt?”

“Nothing serious,” Frieda reassured her. “I'll be fine in a few days.”

“How fine? Did you see a doctor?”

There was another long pause before she answered. “I broke my ankle,” she said, sounding chagrined and feeling foolish. “I fell on a patch of ice on the curb. It was such a stupid thing. I should know better.”

“Oh my God, how awful. Did you go to the hospital? Why didn't you call me?”

“I know how busy you are at work. I didn't want to bother you. I called Harry, but I couldn't get through. He was in a meeting.”

“He still is,” Olympia said, obviously distressed over her mother-in-law's accident, and that she hadn't been there to help. “You should have called me, Frieda.” She hated the thought of the older woman negotiating the emergency room alone.

“They put me in an ambulance and took me to NYU.” It had been quite an adventure, and she had been there all afternoon.

“Are you in a cast?” Olympia was horrified. What had happened to Frieda was far worse than Max's chicken pox, Ginny's cough, or her cold.

“Up to my knee.”

“How did you get home?”

“I'm not.”

“You're not ? Where are you?” The story was getting worse by the minute.

“I'm still at the hospital. They didn't want me to go home alone. I'll be on crutches for a few weeks. I'm just lucky I didn't break a hip.”

“Oh my God! Frieda! I'm coming to get you. You can stay here with us.”

“I don't want to be a burden. I'll be fine tomorrow. And I'm still coming to the ball!”

“Of course you are. We'll get you a wheelchair,” Olympia said, suddenly thinking of the logistics of getting her there. Nothing in life was easy, particularly at this time of year.

“I'll walk,” Frieda said staunchly, although they had already told her that she wouldn't be able to put weight on her left foot for several weeks. She was going to have to hop around, with the crutches. But she was still determined not to be a problem for anyone. As always, she was sure she could manage on her own.

“You can stay here tonight. You've had chicken pox, right?”

“I think so. I'm not worried about that.” Olympia knew that for elderly people, exposure to chicken pox could sometimes result in shingles. But they couldn't leave her alone at home. She might fall and break something else. She had to stay with them. “I don't want to bother you and the children,” Frieda said, and as Olympia listened, she realized they must have given her something for the pain.

“You're not a bother, and there's no reason for you to stay there. Will they let you leave tonight?”

“I think so,” Frieda said vaguely.

“I'll call and ask the nurse, and call you back.” Olympia took down the details of her room number, the section of the hospital she was in, and the nurses' station that was nearest to her. Although she had obviously been sedated, she was remarkably coherent, and kept apologizing for being a pain in the neck. “You're not,” Olympia assured her, and hung up. She tried calling Harry at the office, but his private line was on voicemail, and his secretary had left. It was after eight o'clock.

She called the hospital, and they assured her that Mrs. Rubinstein was doing fine, they had only kept her there for the night so she wouldn't be alone at home. They had given her Vicodin for the considerable pain she was in, but there was no medical reason why she couldn't leave. For a woman her age, she was in remarkably good health, and had been fully coherent when she came in. The nurse on duty said she was a dear. Olympia agreed, and then called the sitter and asked her if she could come back for an hour. Fortunately, she lived nearby, and twenty minutes later she was back. Olympia had told her what had happened, and while she waited for the sitter, she turned the den on the main floor into a bedroom for Frieda. It had a bathroom, TV, and a pull-out bed, as they occasionally used it as a guest room. For as long as was necessary, Frieda could stay with them. She was sure it would be what Harry wanted, too. By eight-thirty, she was out the door, and an hour later they were back. Harry was still out.

She settled Frieda comfortably in the den-turned-guest-room, brought her something to eat, turned on the TV, fluffed up her pillows, took her to the bathroom, supporting most of her weight as she navigated the crutches, and settled her into bed. By ten o'clock, Olympia was upstairs in her own room, when Harry came home. He walked into their bedroom, looking exhausted. He had had an incredibly difficult day, with a case that had attracted national press, a headache he and the other judges involved didn't need.