Chapter 41: A Note for PapawPapaw was dressed in his blue suit—the only suit he owned, the one he wore to my father’s funeral many years ago when he’d been much younger and, it seemed now, taller and fuller somehow, more complete.
Papaw’s goatee had been tamed, hair neatly combed and swept back off his high forehead. He looked incredibly old, small and vulnerable, but the mortician had put a nice lifelike blush on his cheek. For once in his life, he seemed completely at ease. Mama had arranged rosary beads in his hands.
I stood in front of the coffin, hardly daring to breathe.
Oh, Papaw.
Tears that I had been trying not to cry came in a hurried, sudden rush, causing agony to explode across my face. Mama had told me not to come, not to risk it, but I had not listened. How could I miss m
