Kerrigan was moving backward. He kept moving backward until he bumped into the large vase. He reached back and gripped the edge of the vase. His fingers merged with the glazed stone and then his arms felt like stone and he wondered if his entire body were turning to stone. He was looking at his sister and telling himself she couldn’t be dead.
He heard Mooney saying, “Damn it, I tried to tell you. I didn’t want you to come here.”
“It’s all right,” he said. But the words meant nothing.
He looked at her up there on the wall and without sound said, Catherine, Catherine.
And then, without seeing Mooney’s face, he was hit by something coming out of Mooney’s eyes. He looked at Mooney and knew the way it was, the way it must have been for a long time, and the way it would always be. The knowledge of it came to him very slowly, going into him very deep and pushing aside all the shock and astonishment, causing him to understand fully that Mooney had worshiped her and would go on worshiping her.
For some moments he stood looking at Mooney and they were having a silent conversation. They were talking about her, telling each other what a special item she’d been, and all the kindness and sweetness of her nature, the gentle manner and the sincerity. In the quiet of the room she gazed down at them and it seemed she joined them in their soundless discussion, saying, Don’t give me such a build-up, I didn’t really amount to much, just another Vernon girl with very little brains and no looks at all.
Mooney spoke aloud. “She was quality. The real quality.”
Suddenly Kerrigan felt very tired. He looked around for a place to sit. Finally he sat down on the mattress on the floor. He folded his hands around his bent knees and lowered his head and his eyes were half closed.
He heard Mooney saying, “She never knew how I felt about her. I’m not sure if I can tell it to you now.”
“I think I know already.”