It’s another bright, blistering day, and I’m visiting from the city. Mother and Aunt Phyl are fighting and I’m too hot to let them drag me into it, though it has pointedly got something to do with me.
I can see Aunt Phyl’s blood rise up her neck in cumulonimbus blotches. “Like it would kill you if I got to go away somewhere,” she says, “instead of slow roasting to death in here.”
