The stoop-shouldered priest departed flanked by altar boys in white muslin surplices. (And now I saw that yes, he was Father Greavy after all, grown older and stouter.) Mourners were moving into the aisles. Gravely they spoke together. All were Kerrigans or Kerrigan in-laws like my mother. All had known Joseph Gabriel Kerrigan though probably few had glimpsed him in recent years since he’d left Niagara Falls to live with my father. Their sorrowful faces had to be for themselves—their mortality. Not his.

Daringly, I stood in the aisle. I could not bring myself to approach my parents but I would remain where I stood, they would have to pass by me on their way out of the church.

And now I saw, or thought I saw, my father glancing in my direction. In gatherings like this Daddy was likely to be restless. Impatient to get away from people who yammered at him. Old age and illness had always discomforted him. Weakness in others and in himself. His sympathy for you if you were sick would quickly burn out.

He hadn’t seen me, I thought. Not yet.

Others came between us. Grandpa’s surviving sisters, a younger brother. Moving with care as if their bodies hurt them. Canes, walkers. Katie had said that Daddy had arranged for them to be brought to South Niagara for the funeral. Probably they were staying at the house. Distracted and anxious, Mom would have made up beds for them.

Waiting in the aisle dry-mouthed. People were passing me, exiting the church. Did I look familiar to them? Did they recognize me? No one did more than glance at me. I saw familiar faces—friends of my father’s from work. Neighbors, relatives. My heart was beating rapidly as I anticipated my parents seeing me—confronting me—and then it would be too late to turn away . . . But there suddenly was my brother Rick, staring. Seeing me. His face registered shock. Rick was older than I recalled, his features coarser. His hair combed in a different style. And then Katie turned, and Katie saw me too. And Katie too registered shock, and a kind of chagrin. Eagerly I waited for her to smile at me, to wave at me, but Katie did not smile, and Katie did not wave at me except to make a frantic, unmistakable gesture—Not now! Not now!

For a moment I stood stunned, unmoving. But Katie continued to gesture at me, shaking her head, frowning in alarm and exasperation—Go away! Go away! This is not the right time, you are not wanted here.

Blindly I turned away. Blindly stumbling from the church.

Such a coward! Fled.

Dirty Girl

GRADUALLY IT HAS HAPPENED. AT FIRST YOU THOUGHT IT had to be an accident.

Brushing against you on the stairs, grunting what sounds like Sorry!

Pushing open the door, surprising you in the bathroom. When he has just seen you step inside . . .