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I glanced up at the carved wooden ship’s figurehead Mike had hung from the ceiling. She was half human, half bird, and because of that I had dubbed her Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy. It was said that from the fertile union of Melpomene and the river god, Achelous, the marvelously sad and desperate Sirens had been born to endlessly sing the tormenting tune that lured unsuspecting sailors to their doom against the craggy shores upon which the Sirens were marooned. Sometime in my youth Melpomene had become my personal muse because I could in no other way put into perspective the tragedy that had befallen my family.

I looked up as the phone rang again. Mike gave me the eye while he listened to the voice at the other end of the line.

“If it’s my damn brother again tell him to kiss my white writer’s ass.

“It’s Ray,” Mike said, holding out the receiver.

I groaned as I took the phone. My accountant never called me unless he had a good reason. “Hey,” I said.

“Bill, I just got off the phone with your brother.” He sounded concerned. “He says you’re in a mood.”

“Does he, now? Let me see. It’s ten-forty of a Monday morning, I’m on my third mescal, and I don’t have a fucking thought in my head. So I’d say, yes, I’m in a mood.”

Ray sighed. “He needs to talk to you.”

“The rat bastard ran off with my wife, not to mention the proceeds of my pension plan, while he was what could be laughingly called my business manager. He doesn’t need to talk to me.”

“Listen,” Ray said patiently, “you sued him and got all the money back. You could have put him in jail if you’d pressed charges.”

“Don’t think it doesn’t eat at me.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“It would have broken Donnatella’s heart, that’s why,” I said. “God knows why but my ex-wife loves the jerk.”

“It’s a new millennium,” he said. “Bygones.”

“Bullshit.” I have to admit my teeth were clenched. “No fucking way, bygones.”

“Okay, be like that.”

I heard some suspicious noises in the background and said, “What, are you on the golf course?”

“Sixth tee,” he affirmed. “You should come out with me and try it sometime.”

“And have to make conversation with the deadhead bankers you play with? I’d rather be tortured by my termagant.”

“Your what?”

“Termagant. Know what a harpy is?”

“Sure. A woman who never shuts up.”

“A rose by any other name.” I laughed. “Except this one stinks to high heaven.”

“Didn’t you used to call Donnatella a termagant?”

“That would be an affirmative, good buddy.” I looked up at the wooden Melpomene. “And right now, my own personal muse has become one. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Who was it said we all get what we deserve?”

“I believe it was you. Just now.”

Ray sighed. “I assume you’re blocked.”

“Like a bowel full of bricks.”

“There’s still time to join me for the back nine. Get some gentle sport in instead of all that death-wish extreme stuff you go in for,”

he said. “The sun’s out, you know. The birds are chirping.”

“Some of those birds are on the endangered species list. Just make sure you don’t clobber one with your driver.”

“I’m not good with the driver,” Ray said. “Off the sixth I use a three wood.”

“That’s the difference between you and me, Ray. I’d use the driver and get to the green in two. Risk, old boy. Take the risk.”

“I’m an accountant, remember? That word is not in my vocabulary.” I could hear him say something to one of his deadheads and I wondered whether this conversation had lost him his turn. He didn’t like to lose at golf. “Listen, this time your brother really did have something important to tell you.”

“That would be a physical impossibility, like putting your head up your ass. Although in Herman’s case …”

“Bill, can the crap. Lilly’s dying.”

“Um hum.” I took another hit of mescal.

“Don’t—I mean, don’t for Christ’s sake fall apart or anything.”

“No chance of that, old boy.”

“So I see. Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You haven’t seen her in, what … ?”

“Thirty years,” I said.

“She’s your sister.”

“She was a