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Kacey follows her and opens the door. Sophie, the renegade, flies from the house and sprints across the yard. Kacey shuts the door and turns back to the mess.

Newspapers clutter the coffee table, shoes litter the floor, and slacks hang from the back of a chair. A patchwork quilt lays crumpled on the couch, evidence that a daughter watched television late the night before.

Her husband, Pete, strolls from the kitchen into the family room, wearing pressed jeans and a neat, brown Polo shirt. "Morning, Pete. You look nice," Kacey says.

"Thanks," Pete says. He looks at Kacey and laughs. " What'd you do after you combed your hair today?"

" A little grumpy, Pete? " Kacey says.

"Not grumpy, honey. You ought to see yourself."

A blemish of toothpaste stands at attention on the front of her night shirt. Her hair sticks out both sides and is matted in the back. Kacey smooths her hair with her hands while shuffling to the kitchen. Pete follows. "Give me a break, Pete," she says. I just got up."

He grabs a jar of Skippy from the cupboard and jelly from the refrigerator. He places 4 pieces of white bread on the counter, slathers 2 slices with the peanut butter and two with the jelly. He slaps it all together, packages it in plastic bags, and prepares to leave for work.

"Pete, I just had the strangest dream," Kacey says. " A little plane"

"I'd love to listen, Kacey, but I'm running late. Can you go to the bank and get cash for the weekend?"

"I was hoping to stay in today. I want to write."

"That's fine," he says. He jerks around, grabs his keys from the table, and unlocks the door. "I'll try to work the bank into my lunch hour."

Kacey opens another cupboard and takes out a cup. "No, no, I'll take care of it." She closes the cupboard door harder than usual. "It won't take that long."

She picks up the stainless-steel tea kettle, fills it with water, and plunks it onto a burner. Pete backtracks to tell her goodbye. "You're my girl," he says. "Love you." He rushes out the door, leaving the peanut butter, jelly, and the sticky knife on the counter. Kacey mumbles, "I love you, too."

She rubs her shoulder and rotates her head while waiting for the kettle to whistle. The counter, cluttered with an empty soda bottle, dirty dishes, and a couple dishtowels, begs for attention. Raising the kitchen blinds reveals speckled window panes. "Later," she says to herself.

She puts a green tea bag into her cup, adds hot water, and reaches into the medicine cupboard, above the stove, to get a couple enteric-coated

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