"Are you at home?" I asked.

"Yep."

"Is it warm?" I checked the drift on the windowsil . It was stil growing.

"It's always warm in Houston."

Damn her.

"So why are you sel ing the business?"

Harry has always been a seeker, though her grail has never been in focus. For the past three years she'd been gung-ho buggers over bal ooning. When not floating safaris over Texas, she and her crew packed an old pickup and zigzagged the country to bal oon ral ies.

"Striker and I are splitting."

"Oh."

She'd also been gung-ho buggers over Striker. They met at a ral y in Albuquerque, married five days later. That had been two years ago.

For a long time no one spoke. I cracked first.

"What now?" I asked.

"I may go into counseling."

That surprised me. My sister rarely did the obvious.

"It might help you get through this."

"No. No. Striker's got Kool-Aid for brains. I'm not crying over him.

That just makes me puffy." I heard her light a cigarette, draw deeply, exhale. "There's this course I've heard about. You take it, then you can advise people on holistic health and stress relief and stuff. I've been reading about herbs and meditation and metaphysics and it's pretty cool. I think I'l be good at this."

"Harry. That sounds a little flaky." How many times had I said that?

"Duh. Of course I'l check it out. I'm not flat-ass stupid."

No. She was not stupid. But when Harry wants something, she wants it intensely. And there is no dissuading her.

I hung up feeling a little shaken. The thought of Harry advising people with problems was unnerving.

Around six I made myself a dinner of sauteed chicken breast, boiled red potatoes with butter and chives, and steamed asparagus. A glass of Chardonnay would have made it perfect. But not for me. That switch had been in the off position for seven years and it was staying there.

I'm not flat-ass stupid either. At least not when I'm sober. The meal stil beat the hel out of last night's soda crackers.

As I ate, I thought about my baby sister. Harry and formal education have never been compatible. She married her high school sweetheart the day before graduation, three others after that. She's raised Saint Bernards, managed a Pizza Hut, sold designer sunglasses, led tours in the Yucatan, done PR for the Houston Astros, started and lost a carpet-cleaning business, sold real estate, and, most recently, taken up riders in hot air bal oons.

When I was three and Harry was one, I broke her leg by rol ing over it with my tricycle. She never slowed down. Harry learned to walk while dragging a cast. Unbearably annoying and total y endearing, my sister offsets with pure energy what she lacks in training or focus. I find her thoroughly exhausting.