Finnegan
If Mother were at this funeral she would have been insulted. It was insultingly small.
I stood under a bright sunny sky and watched the sunrays gleam on the polished mahogany of her casket.
It had rained during my father's funeral as though the sky itself was in mourning but here the only person weeping was Victoria. The rest of us were simply here to get through it and put it behind us.
I stood between Angel and River while Abigail sat on Angel's other side. I had them flown in to pay their respects because crazy or not, Gina Wolfe was Angel's grandmother and she deserved that much.
My daughter wore the expression of someone who had somewhere considerably better to be.
Henry, Arthur and Eric attended too and the priest droned on about ashes and dust and a life well lived.
Mother had left a violent legacy behind I still didn't fully understand why.
Money? Power? Some wound none of us ever got close enough to see?
