Chip couldn’t escape her voice, the one voice that should feel like home, his mother’s voice. The only time that it was even muffled a little bit was when he was playing football. Even then, at the end of each play, he could hear her voice. “Nice play.” “Why can’t you be a real man?” she would ask. “What woman would ever marry you?” she would ask. “How do you ever think you will make it in this world?” she would ask. “I should have stopped with your brother,” she would say. No amount of noise or quiet would drown out her voice. Chip just wanted to run.