Part 65 (1/2)

saying. And didn't want to. She preferred listening to the humming

gra.s.s and the monotonous lowing of the cattle on the hill beyond the

gravesite.

Darren was to have his farm at last, in Ireland, though he would never

ride a tractor or chase the lazy spotted cows.

It was a lovely place, with the gra.s.s so green it looked like a

painting. She would remember the emerald gra.s.s and the fresh, vital

scent of earth newly turned. She would remember the feel of the air

against her face, air so moist from the sea it might have been tears.

There was a church nearby, a small stone structure with a white steeple

and little windows of stained gla.s.s. They had gone inside to pray

before the little glossy casket had been carried out. Inside it had

smelled strongly, and too sweetly, of flowers and incense. Candles had

been burning even though the sun ran through the stained gla.s.s in

colorful streams.

There had been painted statues of people in robes, and one of a man

bleeding on a cross. Brian had told her it was Jesus who was looking

after Darren in heaven. Emma didn't think anyone who looked so sad and

tired could take care of Darren and make him laugh.

Bev had said nothing at all, only stood, her face pale as gla.s.s. Stevie

had played the guitar ajain, as he had at the wedding, but this time he

was dressed in black and the tune was sad and quiet.

Emma didn't like it inside the church, and was glad when they stood

outside in the sunlight. Johnno and P.M., whose eyes had been red from

weeping, had carried the casket, along with four other men who were