Agnes 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 at Granny. 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.
The front door opened and startled Agnes. She turned to see Patrick. One at a time, they followed him inside. Wearing the same black suit she’d seen him wear back in March, her brother came over to her and took her hands. “Thank you for coming," Patrick said. "I know this might be awkward at first, but you won’t regret it.”
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