Then, she marched out of her bedroom, across the hallway to her bathroom. Even leaving her bedroom unclothed felt exhilarating. Clara would have fussed at her; a lady never leaves her bedroom without being properly attired.
She certainly would not travel down the stairs, towel draped over her bare shoulder, wearing nothing but a smile and flip flops. Celeste giggled at her brazenness, her daring as she approached the rear sliding glass doors of her grandmother's home.
"My home now, I guess," she said, wondering why she did not feel more somber, more devastated over the loss of her last living relative.
"Because she was a b***h," Celeste decided, hand automatically reaching for the switch for the pool light.
"She wasn't a b***h; she just didn't know how to express love," Celeste chided
