The reason we stood inside the church on Tuesday was so that Liz could sing one final song to a woman that she’d met only once. We were in an alcove...for the same reason that Liz rarely publicized any good deed. The day was about the departed and those that cared for her. It wasn’t about Liz Larimer.The song was called “Your Story Will Not End.” I had read the lyrics and heard portions of it on her discs but hearing her sing it in person – while I was standing right beside her – was entirely. ." I trail off, my voice barely a husky whisper as you take my hand in yours and walk towards the doors.As you drive out of the airport your hand rests on my thigh, the drive only takes about five minutes but your fingers are driving me mad, I have started squirming in my seat, absentmindedly trailing my long nails over my bra covered nipples making them peak and point out through my bra. The journey seems to take hours, but finally you pull into a driveway and the car slowly comes to a holt.I. More

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