She leaves the house through the screen door that opens onto Ruth's back porch and stands there for a moment, taking in the evening, the joy she feels in her freedom to move through it. There is no wind. The night is crisp, the moon illuminates the pink ruffles of Ruth's peonies in the rock garden. The backyard catalpa tree she and her sisters climbed as girls has opened into a spectacular June bloom, and Sister hears owls calling back and forth in the canopy, though it seems too late in the season. She decides that it can't be wrong to want to act for this world while she's still in it.

She calls inside to her sisters, “Time for me to head home.” She hefts her tote bag over her shoulder and walks into the dark night. She is through the backyard and two houses down the alley when she hears Ruth and Mano. They are shushing each other and giggling, telling each other in loud voices to quiet down. They are louder than normal, the way drunks who are trying to be quiet are always louder than normal.

They are faster than Sister and soon Mano's arm is through her right elbow, Ruth's through her left. She tries to be severe, even though part of her heart kindles when they touch her. “You two go home,” she says, her voice landing somewhere between a whisper and a hiss.

The owls follow the sisters, their calls an alarm.

“Go home,” Sister says again. “You'll get in trouble.”

This sets Ruth and Mano into another fit of giggles.

“Hear that, Mano?” Ruth says. “Sister thinks we'll get in trouble.”

“And what about you?” Mano says. “Last I checked, that's a habit, not body armor.”

“Wonder Woman,” Ruth says, red-faced, still laughing.

“Super-Nun,” Mano says.

Sister humpfs. “You two,” she begins, but they finish with her, in unison, “are really snagging my knits.”

This only makes Ruth and Mano laugh louder, squeeze her more tightly between them. They have fallen into step with Sister, and the three of them move in tandem, like a marching band, on the sidewalk, on the newly greened tree lawns. They are approaching the playground now, the flare stack flame stretching toward the full moon, the chains on the swings knocking together in the chill, steady breeze.

They reach the swings and each sister takes one, sits for a moment. Ruth and Mano laugh like loons.

“Sober up,” Sister says, harshly. Ruth and Mano stop laughing. Sister reaches into her tote bag, pulls out the U-locks. Her joints ache so badly she almost loses her grip. “I'm going to lock myself to the machine.”

“Then we are too,” Mano says.

“Not enough locks,” Sister says.

Ruth rolls her eyes and points as she counts out loud. “One, two, three. Three locks, three sisters.”

Sister stands up and squares her shoulders. She tries to stretch herself to look tall. She smiles, shakes her head. “I'm going alone,” she says. “I want this for myself.”