“No, Kyra, you’re not,” he said, slipping into autopilot. He could have this conversation in his sleep. Once the alcohol or drugs took hold, his lovely sister degenerated into a volatile wreck prone to fits of melodrama and self-pity. After fifteen years of suffering through the seesaw battle he still hadn’t lost hope that one day she might emerge for good from the haze of addiction. But he knew his faith had been stretched closer than ever to the breaking point.

After a minute or two of listening to her rambling self-recriminations, Kilburn said in a firm tone: “Kyra, enough, okay?”

She was quiet in response.

“I’ll pick up Matt and Shayna tonight on my way home from the hospital,” he said. “They’re going to have to hang with their uncle for a while. They’ll be okay with that?”

“You kidding?” She sniffed, her voice steadying. “There’s no place they’d rather be.”

“You leave them with Corazón, okay?” Kilburn said of the Filipino nanny, who had bailed Kyra out as often as he had. “I’ll pay her when I pick them up.”

“Thanks, Gray,” she said softly. “I’m sorry … .”

“I’ve got to go, Kyra—”

“Gray,” she pleaded. “You know I never drink in front of them, right? You know that?”

“I know,” he said and hung up the phone.

He hadn’t seen his ten-year-old nephew and eight-year-old niece in more than a week. And they hadn’t stayed with him since Michelle moved out two months earlier. Thinking of the kids, Kilburn broke into a grin. He marveled at how well they had turned out, considering their turbulent lives. Shayna was prone to occasional sullen moods and Matt got himself into trouble from time to time with his impulsiveness, but the kids were never the problem. Their mother was.

Involuntarily, Kilburn’s memories drifted to the night a month before Michelle moved out, when Kyra, drunk to the point of incoherence, had awakened them yet again with a three A.M. phone call. He eventually hung up on her and left the phone of the hook.

Rather than roll over and go back to sleep, Michelle yanked the covers off her and sprung out of bed. Flicking on her lamp, she stood by the bedside in the weak light wearing only a long T-shirt, arms crossed over her thin chest and a glare chiseled on her angular face. Kilburn had seldom seen her as angry.

“When will this end, Graham?” Michelle said slowly, her voice trembling.

“What can I do?” Kilburn sat up and rubbed his eyes. “You heard me chew her out.”

“And you’ll spend tomorrow picking up the pieces,” Michelle snapped.

“She’s my little sister,” he said softly, avoiding her fiery eyes.

“Graham, you’re just enabling her!” she said, unrelenting. “Besides, there’s a limit to even what family can expect from you.”