Chapter 16: Coffee Hour

St. Brendan's hall smelled of burnt coffee and powdered sugar.

Sixty people stood around folding tables in their church clothes, holding paper cups.

Dad and I came in at ten past eleven, and the room went quiet in a ripple.

Grandma sat at the head table in her good navy dress, with a priest on one side and Dennis on the other.

Her hair was set. She had put on her pearls.

She was staring at the wall.

"She's had a very bad week," Dennis told the room. His voice carried. "Some of you have noticed. She's not herself."

Women at the next table put their hands to their chests.

I had my father's old work jacket on, with a folded sheet of paper in the inside pocket.

Dad had given it to me in the truck without a word.

"Frank," said Dennis. He crossed the floor with his folder open.

"I'm glad you came. Everybody's here. Ma needs someone to sign for her, and I can't do it alone."

"Ma," Dad said, loud enough for the room. "Do you know who I am?"

Grandma turned her head slowly.

"Are you the boy who fixes the furnace?"

A woman gasped.

I counted three people wiping their eyes.

"She called Dad the furnace boy," I whispered.

"Wait," Dad whispered back.

Dennis held out the pen.

"It's one signature, Frank. In front of Father. In front of all of us. Don't make her suffer."

Dad took a breath.

He did not take the pen.

"Jo," he said. "Go ahead."

I walked to the head table.

Sixty cups of coffee stopped moving.

"Grandma," I said. "I'd like to read you something. It's a hospital form from eight days ago."

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