Page 18 of Your Soul to Keep

Exactly like one of Nan’s quilts.

The priest walked over, his low voice for our ears only. “Let me know when you’re ready. There’s no rush.”

Seeing him now, with Gabe in the vicinity, there was no contest.

There was never any contest when it came to Gabe.

Why didn’t you get in touch?

I gave my head a shake and pulled myself together.

With a nod to me, Father Donnelly stepped forward as per Nan’s wishes and laid a cross atop Nan’s casket to ‘scare away the devil.’

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…”

I drew in a shuddering breath.

This was Nan’s world where faith and faeries co-existed harmoniously, and God held every one of us in the palm of His hand.

Nan who would never again tell me to dress for my ‘bosoms.’

I sniffed.

Nan who would never again flirt with Rudolpho.

Silent tears paraded down my face.

Nan who would never again darken the doorway of the restaurant she had somehow run with both love and military precision.

Bridge took off her sunglasses and slipped them onto my face.

Her eyes were red and swollen. For me.

My lip trembled.

She took my hand in hers and held on tight.

When I sent everyone else away for my final goodbye, Bridge waited on the outskirts with Gabe until I finished.

And before I could even think of driving my car, she sent Noelle and Hawkley on without her and climbed into the driver’s seat, Gabe following in his truck.

Throughout the burial and the luncheon, my girls stuck to me like glue. The entirety of Nan’s congregation had seemingly shown up, and every single one of them wanted to talk to me.

Your nan, she loved you so much.

Your nan said you were a beauty, and she did not lie!

Your nan, God love her, was the best friend I ever had.

When I flagged under the strain of conversing with the endless stream of mourners, my girls stepped in.

But when the ladies of the church circled with shot glasses of Irish whiskey signaling my time to say a few words, it was Gabe whose eyes I sought.

Crossing to the front of the room, I stood and waited with my knees knocking. Soon enough, the crowd of mourners turned to face me, glasses in hand.

“I could thank you all for coming, but as Nan used to say, ‘if you want praise, die.’”

A few startled laughs broke out.

---