Chapter 74

The subtle sounds of sickness emitted from behind the bathroom door as I ventured down the hall to check on my sister. I turned around to see if my mother or Philip or even drunk Marshall could hear her vomiting, wrenching, and dry heaving her sins into the toilet.

My mother sat nursing her tea, mulling over the crossword and telling Philip where to store the groceries. Marshall was collapsed in the living room chair, glued to the football game.

I wasn’t prepared for the depth of her despair when I swung the bathroom door open and stared down at my sister, clutching the toilet, ribbons of vomit dripping from the corners of her mouth. She looked up at me, dazed, startled, shame shrouding her face, her eyes bloodshot and glossy, and mascara trickling down her cheeks.

She wore a short black skirt pulled high over her thighs, lace panties poking through, and a taut white blouse and bra exposing an emaciated midriff underneath. Nothing was left to the imagination.