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I remember once, when my grandmother died, we went ten miles and hour home from the funeral place. Fury, was my mothers undoing, and guilt my fathers....My father, the divine extrovert, became silent, his innermost thoughts collapsed in on himself and the voice of despair overtook him. His job left him to his solace (though his boss let me know when my father had returned that he was welcome to reapply), and his family departed after the funeral (save myself). So my father sat, a shell staring at. ” She pushed herself off the door frame and slowly walked towards me, one foot stepping directly in front of the other which had the effect of exaggerating the swing in her hips. She stopped just out of my reach and gently tugged at the bow in the belt which held the robe closed. It undid easily, letting the two sides of the kimono fall open to reveal that underneath she wore a slinky night dress, also vivid Valentine’s red, with a strip of lace at the short hem and low-cut neckline.I took a. More

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