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it: low gray clouds hovering above, the breeze warm
but strong enough to make the limbs of the sycamores
and oaks, willows and magnolias wave and bow along
the route. It was as if the whole world wanted to pay
its last respects to a fallen prince. Expensive cars lined
the streets in front of the church for blocks, and there
were droves of people, many forced to stand in the
doorway and on the church portico. Despite my anger
at Daphne, I couldn't help but be a little in awe of her,
of the elegant way she looked, of the manner in which
she carried herself and guided Gisselle and me through the ceremony, from the house to the church to
the cemetery.
I wanted so much to feel something intimate at
the funeral, to sense Daddy's presence, but with
Daphne's eyes on me constantly and with the
mourners staring at us as if we were some royal
family obligated to maintain the proper dignity and
perform according to their expectations, I found it
hard to think of Daddy in that shiny, expensive coffin.
At times, even I felt as if I were attending some sort of
elaborate state show, a public ceremony devoid of any
feeling.
When I did cry, I think I cried as much for
myself and for what my world and life would now be
without the father Grandmere Catherine had brought
back to me with her final revelations. This precious
gift of happiness and promise had been snatched away
by jealous Death, who always lingered about us,
watching and waiting for an opportunity to wrench us
away from all that made him realize how miserable
