Chapter 27: A Saturday Morning

 Chapter 27 begins with Gina Drozler preparing for a nice relaxing Saturday morning.

Many Cones is a podcast novel based on true crime. The murders inspiring this crime fiction took place 30 miles from Chicago in Northwest Indiana, and captivated the area from the initial brutal crime scene all the way through and beyond discovery of a shockingly bizarre motive. 

Gina had promised herself a sleepy Saturday morning, but old habits prevailed. The persistent dawn shone through the bedroom’s sheer curtained windows, then raced its way to fill the dark corners. She felt the insignificant warmth of the rays somewhere deep in her comatose center, like a rosebud, poised to flower. Then the brightness drummed its presence through her fluttering, closed eyes. She stirred quietly, careful not to disturb her husband. 

Once fully alert, Gina listened intently for the sounds of children roaming. Satisfied all were still tightly tucked in, she soundlessly peeled back the soft sheet and wooly blanket that had held her through the night. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stood, and stretched. 

She was clad in a striped white pajama top. Nothing below. Her husband wore the counterpart. They had shared nightclothes since returning from their honeymoon. The arrangement assured neither went to sleep mad or hurt. You couldn’t carry a grudge, if you had to assign bottoms and tops before retiring. It was fun, too. 

A fluffy, pink robe was folded over a bureau chair, two giant steps from Gina’s side of the bed. She finished shaking the sleep from her bones, and reached between the mattress and spring. She grabbed her panties and slipped them on. The hiding place became necessary when the children were old enough to burst into the room, unannounced, and wise enough to ask about underpants on the floor. Two long strides to a nearby robe, and she was sufficiently dressed to retrieve the morning papers from the cold concrete porch. 

The aroma of coffee filled the downstairs. Gina sat at the rustic kitchen table and read through the news, intentionally avoiding reports of “Maricon” madness. After downing four cups of black stimuli and beating a semi-tough, patternless crossword puzzle, she heard her husband stumble around, upstairs. He was a horrid morning person. His bones and muscles refused to function until properly coaxed. A hot shower usually helped. 

Gina removed bacon and eggs from the refrigerator, sausage links from the freezer, and pancake mix from the pantry. Within a half hour, breakfast smells chased the sweet coffee presence. 

When the thumping sounds of the children announced their morning excitement, she began sizzling the bacon strips. The table was set with trays of steaming food and warm plates, as the balance of the family came down the stairs. They devoured the calorie laden repast. Gina’s husband, the slow starter, was finally able to converse. “I thought you were going to lay in bed all morning? Rest your weary bones.” 

“I was going to, but my mind wouldn’t cooperate. When you’re wide awake, you have to get up.” 

George flashed a contented smile and said, “Why don’t you come with us? You’re up. No reason to stay home.” 

“I haven’t made myself pretty yet. You know how long that takes.” 

“We’ll wait. It’s Saturday. No rush. And you don’t need to make yourself pretty. You always look beautiful. Right kids?”