Neala loomed over Grandma Aileen’s casket and stared at the waxy skin etched with makeup-filled crevices. Each line on the old woman’s face held a story. Frown lines told of times when she had scolded Neala for wearing shorts too short or bikinis too small; lip lines told of how many packs of Marlboro Reds she had inhaled over the years; crow’s feet had told tales of glaring at her husband when he would do things that went against what she considered moral.

But there were faint smile lines hidden underneath the pastel cream. Those lines told times of new babies, Christmas mornings, lavish gifts, and birthdays spent at the pub. The very pub where almost a hundred people currently gathered around the corpse of a woman with many stories.

“Aye, she will be missed. That woman was stronger than any lad I know.” Conor came up next to Neala and began to form his own frown lines as he looked down into the silk lined box. He had always been wary of Aunt Aileen. She had given off an air of falsity that made him question what she was like behind closed doors. She had been full of sunshine and smiles after mass, and always had cooked an award-winning roast beef for Sunday dinners, but there was still something that had told him to stay on her good side.

“Do you remember the time she tried to cook an authentic Korean meal for me? It was our first time meeting and I didn’t have the heart to tell her she had used a Chipotle paste in the Jiggae instead of an Asian chili paste.” Sherrie chuckled at the memory of the old woman sweating over the giant bubbling pot of kimchi and pork the night Conor had brought her over to meet his family.

Sherrie’s smile slowly faded. Even though she knew Aileen had meant to show that she had welcomed this stranger into the family, Sherrie couldn’t help but feel the covert racism that had snaked its way into their relationship. On her wedding day, Aileen had made a casual comment of how many more foreigners there were compared to the Irish side of the family. No one had corrected her that even though they had Korean faces, the majority of Sherrie’s family members were born and raised in America. There was an unspoken rule in Conor’s family–you never corrected an elder. Especially Aileen.

Sherrie placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder and ushered him toward the folding table bending under the weight of casseroles. The pub owner, Dale, had set up a homey wake for his most beloved customer. She had been a regular at his pub for over four decades and shared many memories with the aging Celt. As much as he loved her, he had also been witness to her nastier side. He glanced over at Séamus, who was lounging in a booth while feeling both lost and free simultaneously.

Dale knew Séamus loved his wife, but it was evident how she had held him back in a meaningful way. Séamus caught his eye and a reminiscent twinkle danced across both their clouding pupils. They shared something special that had to be locked away for decades, but now it was free to sashay out in the open again.

Neala watched the two old men share that mysterious look. She wondered if Dale knew. As far as she was aware, only her and her grandmother held her grandfather’s secret. Not even Neala’s own parents knew the mystery of their father.

The only reason Neala was a keeper of this secret was due to her finding a trunk concealed underneath blankets in her grandparent’s attic. She had been 10 years old at the time of her discovery. Back then, she had held the belief that all old people kept hidden treasure scattered around the house. So, during an exceptionally boring rainy day, she had begun her search.

Instead of gold and pearls, she had found something that bonded her and her grandfather and had impaled a spike of anxiety in her grandmother. Nearly every week after Sunday dinner for over a year, Aileen had begged her not to tell anyone what she had found.

“I’m not sure how your father is going to get over this. He loved his Mam so much.” Kathy tilted her head until it came to a rest on Neala’s shoulder. Kathy didn’t mind her mother-in-law too much, but had been put off by the amount of control Aileen had kept over her son long after his marriage.

Not a day went by that she hadn’t called the house to check on how Kathy was doing as his wife. Was she keeping the floors swept and the fridge stocked? If not, Aileen had been there with a broom and grocery bags. Was the laundry piling up? If so, Aileen had been there to pick up Kathy’s slack. When Neala was born, she had been over at least once a day to help with the chores. Kathy had appreciated having help with the newborn while her husband went to work, but once Neala entered elementary school Aileen still had found reasons to intrude.

Kathy sometimes felt as if Aileen had been there to keep the family in order. Appearances had been everything to her, and if one stray hair had been out of place on their heads during mass, Aileen had stared daggers at them until it was fixed. Never had a day gone by that she had not been pristine. Even in the hospital as she had laid on her death bed waiting for the cancer to claim her, she had the roots of her thin hair permed for volume and a deep red nightdress had adorned her frail body to look like a starlet from the 1920’s. It was no wonder that Séamus had fallen in love with her when he had first laid eyes on the foxy brunette.

It was a different era–a time when women could not do much other than look pretty and have a family. Aileen had set her eyes on a military man, someone who could provide her with benefits and constant traveling–she had wanted to see the world and all it had to offer. Séamus’s uniform had caught her eye as he left the bank across the street from her hair salon. With curlers still in her hair, she had made her way out the door to accidentally trip in front of him. Her giggle had come out soft as he had helped her up. All it took was one look into her blue eyes and he had become putty in her hands.

Séamus was already a well-molded man when he helped this damsel in distress. He had secured a new career in the army, been born into a large family, had formed supportive friendships, and had cultivated a passion that kept him engaged all night. He had barely any time to himself. But that giggling angel had wiggled her way into his life, pushing aside everything else so that she could take center stage. He had allowed it at first, entranced by the confident beauty that radiated off of her. His playful nights had turned into sensual ones and soon she had fallen pregnant.

That’s when the trunk had been packed upon her commands. His passion hadn’t been moral, it had caused side eyes and snickers from their peers. She never had wanted to know about the specifics of it and had used her harsh tongue to quiet any mention whispers. Never once had she attended to witness his passion in all its glory.

A heaviness had grown stronger in his chest every time he looked out at the crowd and never saw her face among the darkened bar. The stage lights had been bright and had burned his outlined eyes, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the shame that had begun to burn within.

He loved his angel, he truly did. He loved her so much he had put a part of himself away the night she had handed him the pregnancy test. His love was so loyal, he had decided to swap out stilettos and tight purple dresses for wedding bells and crying babies. Dale had continued with their passion, had faced the crowds solo for months until he, too, had decided to settle down and open a pub. Together they had found and lost a freedom unknown to ordinary men, with fashion and singing and lights bending time and space around them. The glitter. The music. The energy. It had fueled their passion and had kept them alive, living off the vibrance of joy and expression.

Art had been their passion.

Séamus stood up from the booth, his wrinkled hands spread out on the aged wooden table and he stared hard at the golden cuff around his finger. It could be removed now, but that felt more shameful than anything he had done before. Neala came over, curious what caught her grandfather’s attention. She thought that perhaps he was envisioning a different future if that wedding band never existed.

“Ready to go?” She asked him. “The funeral home called and are on their way to pick Grandma up for cremation. Did you want to say anything to her before they take her?”

He slowly rolled his head up toward his golden haired granddaughter. She was as breathtaking as his angel, but her unconditional love made her beauty radiate brighter. He thought of the red pumps she had secretly slid into his backseat when she had arrived at the wake. It was her way of providing hope for his future in such dark times.

“There’s nothing left for me to say. This chapter of my life had ended.”

“There’s a new one opening up for you, though. What will it look like?”

Séamus’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “It’s going to look like one of my earlier chapters.”