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The youngest of the three sisters nervously picked at her elbows, awaiting the conclusion of the ceremony.  Funerals reminded Cindy of every wrong decision she had ever made.  Of which, there were many in her twenty-eight years.  The largest of which was the man beside her, dancing in time with the feather-bedecked medicine man.  Every time the shaman whooped and hollered and raised arms to the sky in rejoice, Frank followed suit, bellowing drunkenly like a man at a Led Zeppelin cover band concert.  

He above all, Sandra would have happily kicked dirt on.  Unlike Eva, who at least had the decency to remain reclusive the last ten years, Cindy stayed in touch with Sandra.  Calling only when she needed money, of course.  Now the meth addicted bitch thought she could swoop in with her...

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