She opened her eyes, but continued to stare at the front of the church as she whispered, “What are you doing here?”
It took a long moment for a response, but when it did it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “I’m here to see ma daughter. But I could ask ya the same thing. Ya know, darling, God doesn’t really approve of homosexuality.” Irate, Kate turned her head and stared into the eyes of Gloria Westwood. Dressed in her light pink, pressed Chanel skirt suit with satin low heels to match, Gloria was the only woman Kate knew who would wear nylon stockings in Florida. The short, auburn hair was sprayed together with a can of hairspray, and her makeup was perfectly thick enough to cover the years of bigotry and hate that she supported while her husband preached it to the masses. The “click, click” sound of her perfect manicured nails on the set of pearls that she wore every day of her life drove Kate mad.
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