Ten minutes later, Mrs. Stein was still chattering, but Agnes wasn’t listening. She saw the men leave the parlor and the women go inside. Ten minutes later, the women left. Was Granny alone in there? That was forbidden at an Irish wake. Agnes rushed in.
She saw Mrs. O’Toole sitting on a chair in the distance. “Good, Agnes, you’re here. I’ll leave you alone with Annie Kate. Your family will be back shortly and you can have time with her before we close the front window.”
She stood by the coffin a moment, feeling the cold breeze rush in from the window. Granny was dressed in white lace, holding her red rosary beads with her hands, her gold crucifix around her neck – all white, like Granny’s face, except for her red hair. She’d kept her hair red right up to the end. But the face shocked Agnes. Its right half seemed turned up at an angle, the chin, mouth, eyes, even the eyebrows, all of it. The hemorrhage must’ve occurred on that side. It pained Agnes to realize friends would see Granny with that frozen expression on her face. All at once she hated the tradition of allowing people to view the body. She touched Granny’s fingers and pulled them back, guilt washing over her. She should’ve first kneeled to pray for Granny’s soul.
Two minutes later, she rose from her prayer and looked again. She felt the tides shifting inside and knew she’d have to cry. Thank God. She wanted to sob until she could sob no more. She forced herself to touch Granny’s hands and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. Ah, Granny, she thought, expecting the sobbing to start at any moment, what a lovely treasure you’ve been. But the tears didn’t come.
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