While My Sister Sleeps. Barbara Delinsky

begonia, and ivy. In the midst of these soothing mementos, Marjorie looked totally sweet and, in a cruel twist, more like a woman ten years her junior. Her hair was gray but remained thick, styled in a bob much like Kathryn’s. Always a pastel person, she wore a pink robe, and she was reading a book–such a familiar activity for a long-time reader that Molly could pretend she was mentally there.

      ‘Nana,’ she whispered, hunkering down by the chair.

      Marjorie looked up from her book and studied her quizzically. And here was another cruel twist: though they had been warned she would lose facial expressions, she hadn’t yet. She appeared to be totally aware, which made some of her behavior seem even worse.