I’d spent the entire funeral avoiding her and now her incestual hands were around my mother. Standing with a plate of baked-from-scratch cinnamon rolls, Kara rubbed my mom’s back as she cried. The picture of poise, her blonde hair hung in a loose waves from her shoulders. A boat necked black dress hugged her curves, the skirt stopped just above her knees. Her make up was a sheen of perfection. Mom was a mess. Couldn’t...