It’s almost eight o’clock; the boys will be here anytime now.” “All right, already. Relax a minute, will ya. I’m just gonna have a quick shower.” “Bobby! You can’t have a shower, they’ll be—” The roar of water crushed her protest mid stream. Tears stung in her eyes as she whirled around, clenched fists powerless to stop him. Shit! He could be such a jerk. He knew how much she hated it when he came home late on Saturday nights. Hated having to fend off the abrasive, arrogant John Jr., who amused himself while waiting for his friend by tormenting his friend’s wife. Frustration burned up into her throat and spread out to her limbs. She wanted to punch something, break something. Yell. Scream. But she turned her fury in on herself, swallowed her rage as clenched fists drove hard nails into tender palms. Saturday was poker night. No one had planned it that way, it just was. Started the Saturday night of their wedding. Started as a big drunken joke: the boys thinking it would be immensely funny to barge in on the newlyweds at three o’clock in the morning and haul Bobby out of bed to drink whiskey and play poker.
