Carla waited in the car while Tiff brought Jenny and her stuff into their mother's house. Tiff had asked her to wait here.

Carla had said her goodbyes to Jenny before the girl had gotten out of the car, had given her a toy left in the glove compartment from a previous outing, several hugs, a plethora of kisses, and assured her that she'd have lots of fun at Grammy's. Jenny would be okay. Never mind that Carla had just quite swiftly broken the marriage of Jenny's parents. That sweet little girl would be okay, and that's what mattered. That's what Carla told herself, anyhow.

Through the screen door she could see the blurred figures of Tiff and their mother finishing up a last bit of conversation. The former was crying, the latter giving hugs and reassurances. Tiff came out a moment later, more teary-eyed than when she'd gone in, but holding it together.

Carla's mother gave her a brief wave, closed the door, and went inside. The drive back to Carla's was eerily silent.

At Carla's, after lugging in Tiff's ungodly amount of clothing and supplies, they settled into the living room. They talked about Jay's infidelity, about all those years, whether they were wasted years or not, all their ups and downs, about a rage and a love of equal intensity, about marriage in general--not the constitution of it, but the reality.

Later in the day, the sisters exhausted from the stampede of emotions brought about by their often passionate conversation, they decided to take a nap. Carla laid out the futon for Tiff then went upstairs. Each of them slept deeply and didn't wake until nearly midnight.

Carla woke to a sore, sour stomach. Her throat was burning and a terrible taste pervaded her mouth. She rolled over to look at her alarm clock then sighed. So much for an afternoon nap.

A touch of nausea unsteadied her so Carla clung to the rail as she made her way down the stairs. Her progress was slow, nearly keeled over as she was. She needed to drink something, to rinse this taste from her mouth, to sooth the burning in her throat.

Finally she made it downstairs. Tiff was still passed out on the futon. None of her things had been put away or even moved to somewhere less in the way. Lazy @%!^&. And why couldn't she have gone inside her mothers place with Tiff earlier? Carla eyed her with contempt then went into the kitchen. She was on auto-pilot now and everything was becoming muddled and unclear. Her tongue felt swollen. She began moving about quicker, desperately trying to fix her drink. She needed it now, needed it badly before she choked on her tongue. Finally she'd managed to fill a glass and was about to down it greedily.

"Carla. You're going to kill yourself!"

She looked over and saw Tiff, lying on her front on the futon, craning her neck.

"Excuse me? No I am ^@*@ing not, you %!$!*i"

"Carla that's glass cleaner! What are you doing?"

She looked at the cup in her hands, then to the counter where the uncapped bottle of blue fluid was.

"I--sorry. I'm sorry for freaking out on you. There was this woman--" she started. She'd forgotten all about (had she really?) the fortune teller. "I've just been ill lately."

"No @*$#, if that's what you hydrate yourself with! Christ, Carla!"

"I've just been overtired this last week."

Tiff put on a skeptical expression. "What woman?"

"Nothing. That's just--nothing," Carla said.

Tiff tilted her head.

"You know what? I probably put it there by accident after cleaning and forgot about it. I was so sleepy I didn't notice it, and I needed a drink really badly."

Carla remembered the stomach ache she'd woken to this morning. This makes twice, almost three times, or rather the second time would have gotten much worse if Tiff hadn't been there. Had she been drinking glass cleaner? Did she drink some last night, too? She tried to remember how much had been in the bottle before, but couldn't.

She didn't even know why the fortune teller had come to mind. Even the notion of it was ludicrous. The notion of what? Nothing. Never mind. The silly %^&#& doesn't deserve another thought, and we don't believe in magic.

It was scary how simple household products could become deadly to a person overtired. She'd just have to be more careful, that's all.

Carla rinsed her cup, rinsed it again, then set it in the sink. She grabbed a new one from the drying rack and poured a glass of water, then opened the fridge and took a swig of bismuth.

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