Three Fates

risk of a potassium dip.
    To relieve her guilt for not phoning her family, not stirring herself to travel the few blocks to see her mother, she sent her parents an e-mail. Then she confirmed her next appointment with Dr. Lowenstein the same way.
    She loved e-mail, and offered thanks that she lived in an age in which it was possible to communicate without speaking.
    Despite all her travel precautions, she was pretty sure she was coming down with a cold. Her throat was a bit scratchy, her sinuses a little stuffy. But when she took her temperature—twice—it was dead normal.
    Still, she took some extra zinc, more echinacea and made herself a pot of chamomile tea. She was just settling down with it and a book on homeopathic remedies when her doorbell chimed.
    She nearly ignored it. It was guilt that had her setting cup and book aside. It could very well be her mother, who tended to drop by unannounced. And who would, certainly, let herself in with her key if Tia didn’t answer.
    It was guilt as well that had her glancing around and wincing. Her mother would see that she’d been lounging around like a slug for days. She wouldn’t criticize—or she would mask her criticism so expertly in indulgence that Tia would, she knew, end up feeling like a self-centered, lazy child.
    Worse, if she sniffed out even a hint of the cold Tia was sure she was brewing, she would make a terrible fuss.
    Resigned, Tia peered out the peephole. And squeaked.
    It wasn’t her mother.
    Flustered, she pushed a hand through her hair and opened the door to a man she’d nearly convinced herself she’d imagined.
    “Hello, Tia.” If Malachi thought it odd she was answering the door in her pajamas at three in the afternoon, his warm smile didn’t show it.
    “Um . . .” Something about him seemed to cross-wire the circuits in her brain. She wondered if it was chemical. “How did you . . .”
    “Find you?” he finished. She looked a bit pale, he thought, and sleepy. The woman needed some fresh air and sunshine. “You’re in the book. I should’ve called, but I was in the neighborhood. More or less.”
    “Oh. Well. Ah.” Her tongue wouldn’t cooperate on more than one syllable. She made a helpless gesture of invitation and had closed the door behind him before she remembered she was wearing pajamas. “Oh,” she said again, and clutched the lapels together. “I was just . . .”
    “Recuperating from your travels, I expect. It must be lovely, being home.”
    “Yes. Yes. I wasn’t expecting company. I’ll just change.”
    “No, don’t.” He snagged her hand before she could rush off. “You’re perfectly fine, and I won’t keep you long. I was worried about you. I hated leaving you so abruptly. Did they find who broke into your hotel room?”
    “No. No, they didn’t. At least not yet. I never thanked you properly for staying with me through all the questioning and paperwork.”
    “I wish I could’ve done more. I hope the rest of your trip went well.”
    “It did. I’m glad it’s over.” Should she offer him a drink? she fretted. She couldn’t possibly, not while wearing pajamas. “Did you . . . Have you been in New York long?”
    “I’ve just arrived. Business.” She had the drapes pulled over the windows, he noted. The place was dim as a cave but for the reading lamp on the table by the sofa. Still, what he could see was tidy as a church and quietly pretty. As she was, despite the prim cotton pajamas.
    He was, he realized, more pleased to see her than he’d expected to be. “I wanted to look you up, Tia, as I’ve been thinking about you the last few weeks.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes, really. Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
    “Dinner? Tonight?”
    “It’s short notice, I know, but if you’re not busy I’d love to have an evening with you. Tonight.” He moved in, just a little. “Tonight. Tomorrow. As soon as you’re free.”
    She’d have considered it all a hallucination, but she could smell him. Just a hint of his aftershave. She didn’t think she’d identify men’s aftershave in a hallucination. “I don’t have any plans.”
    “Brilliant. Why don’t I pick you up at seven-thirty?” He released her hand, wisely opting to retreat before she could think of an excuse. “I’ll look forward to it.”
    While she stood, staring at him, he let himself out.

    “IT’S JUST DINNER, Tia. Relax.”
    “Carrie, I asked you to come over and help, not advise me to do the impossible. What about