A blaring, bleating, shameful sound that made me want to find a baseball bat and beat the shit out of the fragile bit of plastic. Another ring and I groaned, the sunlight blaring like loud music through the window. One more ring and I heard the machine cut on. The shower was rushing and racing on the other side of the wall so I knew Gil was in there getting clean. I wanted to tiptoe in there and slip into the hot steam and water that would turn me bright red, I knew. I sat up to do just that when my mother’s voice rushed over me, felling me like a downed tree. “Gil? It’s Marian?” she said it like it was a question. Like she wasn’t sure if it was her or not. “Gil? Pick up.” I picked up. Fire and anger and rage growing in me like an uncontrollable force. “Mother?” “Jennifer! Oh, hello, honey. I was calling for Gil.” “I know that mother.” The indignation in my voice swelled like a red wave. “He called--” “I’m in his bed, mother.” My voice was a slide of brittle words.
