Eight in the morning.
Holly Winslow was sneezing as she washed her face. Hearing her from the living room, Wyatt Winslow walked over. "Caught a cold?"
Holly waved her hand. "Dad, I'm fine." The words were barely out of her mouth before she sneezed again.
Wyatt frowned. "I'm taking you to the hospital to get checked out."
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Wyatt went to open it. Mortimer Quincy stood at the entrance, holding a bag of medicine. The words "cold medicine" were faintly visible through the plastic.
Mortimer said, "Uncle Winslow."
"Mm."
Wyatt stepped aside to let him in. Holly was in the living room now, and before she could even speak, she let out two consecutive sneezes. Mortimer's face was taut, his voice a bit stern. "Did you eat something cold?"
Every year around April or May, Holly was prone to catching a cold if she ate anything cold.
Holly touched her nose guiltily and shuffled her feet. "No."
