him to watch the blue hour twilight before dawn. His wife's sister, Nisha, lost her job and came to his home, fixed meals for him, talked constantly, filled his house with cooking smells and sound. Late one night he found her weeping in his daughter's nursery. They hugged and kissed and told each other that they would watch out and care for each other. And then they were in bed.
    At dawn he dressed and stole away, hands trembling as he packed a duffel bag and carried it to his car.
    He left everything plus a note, asking Nisha to move into his home.
Pulling into the parking lot of the Buffalo Head Inn, he realizes this is home in his new lifeâ a motel room with a toilet that won't stop running, bad cable TV, free beer at happy hour, and a Jacuzzi by the pool, closed for repairs.
R u b y  w a k e s  in a dark room. A clock ticks somewhere nearby. She blinks, feeling unmoored, adrift in an oily black sea. The sound of high- pitched barking in the distance. The smell of wood smoke. Her skin burns and her mouth feels parched and raspy, her lips cracked and chapped. She's sweating, the sheets wet against her body. Her eyeballs burn and she can keep them open only for a moment. As her sight adjusts to the dimly lit room, she focuses on the wall across from the bed. The wallpaper looks familiar: cowgirls with buckskin skirts and lar iats. Longhorn steers and prickly- pear cactus.
    She comes to realize she's back in the house of Lord God, back in her old room, and feels a sense of drowning, of seeing the surface of the water high above her, a glimpse of sunlight she will never feel upon her face. Here the room is dark, only a thin blade of light at the base of a closed door.
    In the musty- smelling bed she lies and listens to coyotes howling on the prairie that stretches beyond the broken fence, the stony fields of juniper and sagebrush. The coyotes yap and bark, high- pitched and playful. Yard dogs join in el coro , sounding more like wolf howls than barks, envious and mournful.
    Beyond the closed door she hears Lila crying. Her nipples begin to leak, the wetness sudden as an adrenaline rush. She tries to raise herself out of bed. The sheets cling to her, sodden with sweat, the blankets heavy as a funeral pall.
    She stands and wobbles, her skin tingling and tensing into goose bumps. She moves to the door and each step reverberates in her head, soft explosions in her skull. She makes it to her door and finds it locked. She struggles for the words, the words she needs to say. How to phrase them? What can she say? What can she call him now? Lord God? Sir? Daddy? Father? You bastard? She never knows what to call him anymore.
    Lord God he is but you do not take the Lord's name in vain. Not in this house. One of the commandments. The numbered sins.
Papa? she calls. The door is locked. Let me out.
    She pounds on the door, pleading for help in a weak voice. A wave of dizziness washes through her. After moments in which she feels as if she's falling, huddled against the doorjamb, she hears the thump and hiss of his prosthetic leg approaching. The click of the door. He opens it wide, his face like that of a prophet watching his predictions made real.
    See? he says. I knew you'd be coming back. I knew you'd need me.
    Please, she says, can I have something to eat? I'm hungry.
    You still have the fever. Get back in bed.
    I'm weak. I need something.
    Do you want Lila to catch your sickness?
    Where is she?
    She's fine. No thanks to you. He shakes his head. You're shameless, you know that?
    I want my baby.
    He tells her again that she's sick, and her baby will die if she catches the infection. Doesn't she have any sense?
    Look at you, he says. What
    At dawn he dressed and stole away, hands trembling as he packed a duffel bag and carried it to his car.
    He left everything plus a note, asking Nisha to move into his home.
Pulling into the parking lot of the Buffalo Head Inn, he realizes this is home in his new lifeâ a motel room with a toilet that won't stop running, bad cable TV, free beer at happy hour, and a Jacuzzi by the pool, closed for repairs.
R u b y  w a k e s  in a dark room. A clock ticks somewhere nearby. She blinks, feeling unmoored, adrift in an oily black sea. The sound of high- pitched barking in the distance. The smell of wood smoke. Her skin burns and her mouth feels parched and raspy, her lips cracked and chapped. She's sweating, the sheets wet against her body. Her eyeballs burn and she can keep them open only for a moment. As her sight adjusts to the dimly lit room, she focuses on the wall across from the bed. The wallpaper looks familiar: cowgirls with buckskin skirts and lar iats. Longhorn steers and prickly- pear cactus.
    She comes to realize she's back in the house of Lord God, back in her old room, and feels a sense of drowning, of seeing the surface of the water high above her, a glimpse of sunlight she will never feel upon her face. Here the room is dark, only a thin blade of light at the base of a closed door.
    In the musty- smelling bed she lies and listens to coyotes howling on the prairie that stretches beyond the broken fence, the stony fields of juniper and sagebrush. The coyotes yap and bark, high- pitched and playful. Yard dogs join in el coro , sounding more like wolf howls than barks, envious and mournful.
    Beyond the closed door she hears Lila crying. Her nipples begin to leak, the wetness sudden as an adrenaline rush. She tries to raise herself out of bed. The sheets cling to her, sodden with sweat, the blankets heavy as a funeral pall.
    She stands and wobbles, her skin tingling and tensing into goose bumps. She moves to the door and each step reverberates in her head, soft explosions in her skull. She makes it to her door and finds it locked. She struggles for the words, the words she needs to say. How to phrase them? What can she say? What can she call him now? Lord God? Sir? Daddy? Father? You bastard? She never knows what to call him anymore.
    Lord God he is but you do not take the Lord's name in vain. Not in this house. One of the commandments. The numbered sins.
Papa? she calls. The door is locked. Let me out.
    She pounds on the door, pleading for help in a weak voice. A wave of dizziness washes through her. After moments in which she feels as if she's falling, huddled against the doorjamb, she hears the thump and hiss of his prosthetic leg approaching. The click of the door. He opens it wide, his face like that of a prophet watching his predictions made real.
    See? he says. I knew you'd be coming back. I knew you'd need me.
    Please, she says, can I have something to eat? I'm hungry.
    You still have the fever. Get back in bed.
    I'm weak. I need something.
    Do you want Lila to catch your sickness?
    Where is she?
    She's fine. No thanks to you. He shakes his head. You're shameless, you know that?
    I want my baby.
    He tells her again that she's sick, and her baby will die if she catches the infection. Doesn't she have any sense?
    Look at you, he says. What
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