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He stopped in the middle of his explanation and smirked. "I'm not making any excuses for them. My father doesn't like your grandpere," he said.

I wanted to tell him why; I wanted to go on and on and give him all the details Grandmere Catherine had given me, but I thought enough was enough. Let him discover as much of the truth as he was able to himself, as much of it as he was able to face. For truth was a bright light and just like any bright light, it was hard to look into it.

I nodded. He hurried to join me, to thread his arm through mine, and return to the wake to sit beside me where he didn't fully realize or yet believe he belonged. After all, it was his grandmother, too, who had died.

8

It's Hard to Change

.

Grandmere Catherine's funeral was one of the

biggest ever held in Terrebone Parish, for practically all of the mourners who had come to the wake and then some came to the services in church and at the cemetery. Grandpere Jack was on his best behavior and wearing the best clothes he could get. With his hair brushed, his beard trimmed, and his boots cleaned and polished, he looked more like a responsible member of the community. He told me he hadn't been in church since his mother's funeral, but he sat beside me and sang the hymns and recited the prayers. He stood at my side at the cemetery, too. It seemed like as long as he didn't have any whiskey flowing through his veins, he was quiet and respectful.

Paul's parents came to the church, but not to the cemetery. Paul came to the graveside by himself and stood on the other side of me. We didn't hold hands, but he made his close presence known with a touch or a word.

Father Rush began his prayers and then delivered his last blessing. And then the coffin was lowered. Just when I had thought my sorrow had gone as deeply as it could into my very soul; just when I had thought my heart could be torn no more, I felt the sorrow go deeper and tear more. Somehow, even though she was dead, with her body still in the house, with her face in quiet repose, I had not fully

understood how final her death was, but now, with the sight of her coffin going down, I could not remain strong. I could not accept that she would not be there to greet me in the morning and to comfort me before bed. I could not accept that we wouldn't be working side by side, struggling to provide for ourselves; I could not accept that she wouldn't be singing over the stove or marching down the steps to go on one of her treater missions. I didn't have the strength. My legs became sticks of butter and collapsed beneath me. Neither Paul nor Grandpere could get to me before my body hit the earth and my eyes shut out the reality.

I awoke on the front seat of the car that brought us to the cemetery. Someone had gone to a nearby brook and dipped a handkerchief into the water. Now, the cool, refreshing liquid helped me regain

consciousness. I saw Mrs. Livaudis leaning over me, stroking my hair, and I saw Paul standing right behind her, a look of deep concern on his face.

"What happened?" "You just fainted, dear, and we carried you to the car. How are you now?" she asked.

"I'm all right," I said. "Where's Grandpere Jack?" I asked. I tried sitting up, but my head began to spin and I had to fall back against the seat.

"He went off already," Mrs. Livaudis said, smirking, "with his usual swamp bums. You just rest there, dear. We're taking you home now. Just rest," she advised.

"I'll be right behind you," Paul said, leaning in. I tried to smile and then closed my eyes. By the time we reached the house, I felt strong enough to get up and walk to the galerie steps. There were dozens of people waiting to help. Mrs. Thibodeau directed I be taken up to my room. They helped me off with my shoes and I lay back, now feeling more embarrassed than exhausted.

"I'm fine," I insisted. "I'll be all right. I should go downstairs and--"

"You just lie here awhile, dear," Mrs. Livaudis said. "We'll bring you something cool to drink."

"But I should go downstairs . . . the people . . ."

"Everything's taken care of. Just rest a bit more," Mrs. Thibodeau said. I did as they ordered. Mrs. Livaudis returned with some cold lemonade. I felt a lot better after I had drunk it and said so.

"If you're up to it then, the Tate boy wants to see how you are. He's chomping at the

bit and pacing up and down at the foot of the stairs like an expectant father," Mrs. Livaudis said, smiling.

"Yes, please, send him in," I said, and Paul was permitted to come upstairs.

"How are you doing?" he asked quickly.

"I'm all right. I'm sorry I was so much trouble," I moaned. "I wanted everything to go smooth and proper for Grand m e re."

"Oh, it did. It was the most. . . most impressive funeral I've ever seen. No one could remember more people attending one, and you did fine. Everyone understands."

"Where's Grandpere Jack?" I asked. "Where did he go to so quickly?"

"I don't know, but he just arrived a little while ago. He's downstairs, greeting people on the galerie."

"Was he drinking?"