The room where my momma had died. It was July of 1987. Caroline Wyatt was only 55-years-old. She looked to be asleep, only that. But there was no move...ent or breathing. Penelope pulled a chair up next to the bed. I sat in it.I don’t know how long we were there, but it was a while. Eventually, somehow, she got me home. We didn’t talk much. We would be, maybe tomorrow, but today, no.Everyone from the salon from where she had worked for so many years attended the funeral, even some long-time. It seems strange that a reader can take 30 minutes to read 14 pages of erotic literature but not 3 seconds to vote or 1 minute to jot a few words of feedback down. Please vote and as much as I am sure you may enjoy reading my stories I would be doubly pleased to read your comments. Anyway here is Chapter 3 – Again based on fact (just a few embellishments as I am sure you will identify). The last Chapter ended……Quickly you turn and pad out of the kitchen towards the bathroom feeling the. More

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