Sacred Sins

pocket. “See you tomorrow, about seven?”
    “Okay.” She had freckles, he noticed. A half dozen of them sprinkled over the bridge of her nose. And her wrists were slim and frail. He shifted the book again. “Thanks for the autograph.”
    Grace let him out the back door. He smelled good, she thought, like wood shavings and soap. Then, rubbing her hands together, she went upstairs to plug in Maxwell.
    She worked throughout the day, skipping lunch in favor of the candy bar she found in her coat pocket. Whenever she surfaced from the world she was creating into the one around her, she could hear the hammering and sawing from the house next door. She'd set up her workstation by the window because she liked looking at that house and imagining what was going on inside.

    Once she noticed a car pull up in the driveway next door. A rangy, dark-haired man got out and sauntered up the walk, entering the house without knocking. Grace speculated on him for a moment, then dove back into her plot. The next time she bothered to look, two hours had passed and the car was gone.
    She arched her back, then, digging her last cigarette out of the pack, read over a few paragraphs. “Good work, Maxwell,” she declared. Pushing a series of buttons, she shut him down for the day. Because her thoughts drifted to her sister, Grace got up to tidy the bed.
    Her trunk stood in the middle of the room. The delivery man had indeed carried it upstairs for her, and with the least encouragement from her would have unpacked it as well. She glanced at it, considered, then opted to deal with the chaos inside it later. Instead she went downstairs, found a top-forty station on the radio, and filled the house with the latest from ZZ Top.
    Kathleen found her in the living room, sprawled on the sofa with a magazine and a glass of wine. She had to fight back the surge of impatience. She'd just spent the day battling to push something into the minds of a hundred and thirty teenagers. The parent consultation had gotten her nowhere, and her car had begun to make ominous noises on the way home. And here was her sister, with nothing but time on her hands and money in the bank.
    With the bag of groceries in her arm, she walked over to the radio and switched it off. Grace glanced up, focused, and smiled. “Hi. I didn't hear you come in.”
    “I'm not surprised. You had the radio up all the way.”
    “Sorry.” Grace remembered to put the magazine back on the table rather than let it slide to the floor. “Rough day?”
    “Some of us have them.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen.

    Grace swung her feet to the floor, then sat for a minute with her head in her hands. After taking a few deep breaths, she rose and followed her sister into the kitchen. “I went ahead and beefed up the salad from last night. It's still the best thing I cook.”
    “Fine.” Kathleen was already lining a broiling pan with foil.
    “Want some wine?”
    “No, I'm working tonight.”
    “On the phone?”
    “That's right. On the phone.” She slapped the meat onto the broiler pan.
    “Hey, Kath, I was asking, not criticizing.” When she got no response, Grace reached for the wine and topped off her glass. “Actually, it crossed my mind that I might be able to use what you're doing as an angle in a book.”
    “You don't change, do you?” Kathleen whirled around. In her eyes, the fury was hot and pulsing. “Nothing's ever private where you're concerned.”
    “For heaven's sake, Kathy, I didn't mean I'd use your name or even your situation, just the idea, that's all. It was simply a thought.”
    “Everything's grist for the mill, your mill. Maybe you'd like to use my divorce while you're at it.”
    “I've never used you,” Grace said quietly.
    “You use everyone—friends, lovers, family. Oh, you sympathize with their pain and problems on the outside, but inside you're ticking away, figuring out how to make it work for you. Can't you be told anything, see anything without thinking how you can use it in a book?”
    Grace opened her mouth to deny, to protest, then closed it again on a sigh. The truth, no matter how unattractive, was better faced. “No, I guess not. I'm sorry.”
    “Then drop it, all right?” Kathleen's voice was abruptly calm again. “I don't want to argue tonight.”
    “Neither do I.” Making an effort, she started fresh. “I was thinking I might rent a car while I'm here, play tourist a little. And if I was mobile, I could do the shopping and