Praying for Sleep

one by blood and one by law, and put her arms around Owen. “See why he’s such a rainmaker?”
    “Can’t make much rain if he doesn’t charge.”
    “I didn’t say I’m free.” Owen looked at Portia. “I just said I’m not expensive. You always have to pay for quality.”
    Lis walked to the stairway. “Portia, come here. I want to show you something.”
    The sisters left Owen stacking the papers and climbed upstairs. The silence again grew thick and Lis realized that it was her husband’s presence that had made conversation possible between the sisters.
    “Here we go.” She stepped in front of Portia and then pushed open the door to a small bedroom, sweeping on the overhead light. “Voilà.”
    Portia was nodding as she studied the recently decorated room. Lis had spent a month on the place, making dozens of trips to Ralph Lauren and Laura Ashley for fabrics and wallpaper, to antique stores for furniture. She’d managed to find an old canopy bed that was virtually identical to the one that had been Portia’s when this was her room years ago.
    “What do you think?”
    “Taking up interior decorating, are we?”
    “That’s the same curtain material. Amazing that I found it. Maybe a little yellower is all. Remember when we helped Mother sew them? I was, what, fourteen? You were nine.”
    “I don’t remember. Probably.”
    Lis looked at the woman’s eyes.
    “What a job,” Portia offered, walking in a slow circle on the oval braided rug. “Incredible. Last time I was here it looked like an old closet. Mother’d just let it go to hell.”
    Then why don’t you like it? Lis wondered silently.
    She asked, “Remember Pooh?” and nodded at a mangy Steiff bear, whose glassy eyes stared vacantly at the corner of the room, where a shimmery cobweb had emerged since Lis had last cleaned the place, twenty-four hours ago.
    Portia touched the bear’s nose then stepped back to the door and crossed her arms.
    “What’s the matter?” Lis asked.
    “It’s just that I’m not sure I can stay.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I wasn’t really planning on it.”
    “You’re talking about tonight ? Portia, really . . . It’s too late to go.”
    “There’re trains all night.”
    Lis’s face grew hot. “I thought you’d be here for a couple of days.”
    “I know we talked about it. I . . . I guess I’d really rather just get the train back. I should’ve told you.”
    “You don’t even call and say you’ll be late. You don’t even tell us you’ve gotten a ride. You just show up, get your money and leave?”
    “Lis.”
    “But you can’t just sit on a train for two hours and then turn around and go back. It’s crazy.” Lis walked to the bed. She reached for the bear then thought better of it. She sat on the chenille spread. “Portia, we haven’t spoken in months. We’ve hardly said a damn word since last summer.”
    Portia finished her champagne and put the flute on the dresser. A questioning look started to cross her face.
    “You know what I’m talking about,” Lis said.
    “Right now’s tough for me to be away. Lee and I’re going through a hard time.”
    “When’ll be a good time?”
    Portia waved her hands at the room. “I’m sorry you went to all this work. Maybe next week. A couple weeks. I’ll come out earlier. Spend the day.”
    The silence was suddenly broken by Owen’s voice, calling sharply for Lis. Startled, she looked toward the door then back to her lap and found that she’d picked up the bear after all. She stood abruptly, setting the toy back on the pillow.
    “Lis,” came Owen’s urgent voice, “come down here.”
    “Coming.” Then Lis turned to her sister. She said,
    “Let’s talk about it,” and before Portia could open her mouth to protest, walked out of the room.

    “This smells of being whipped.”
    “Well, I’d guess.”
    Before the two men lay a sharp valley that rose fifty feet above them, filled with black rocks and tangles of vine and barkless branches, many dead and rotten. Moisture glittered on undergrowth like a million snake scales, and the dew stained their jumpsuits the same dark blue the uniforms turned when they worked the Piss ’n’ Shit Ward.
    “Look at that. How d’we even know it’s his footprint?”
    “Because it’s size fourteen and he’s barefoot. Who the hell’s do you think it is? Now shut up.”
    The moon was fading behind clouds and in the growing darkness each man thought the scene before him was straight out of