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294 pages, Hardcover
First published November 1, 2015
The dreary guitarist came in and strummed a dreary hymn. There was a great hoop of white roses, lilies, mums, and snapdragons propped on an easel. No coffin. Only the pretty blue and white jar on the white satin-draped table.
"What d-do the ashes look like, Papa?" Moojie asked.
"I don't know, crushed seashells."
Father Grabbe and two altar boys appeared from the sacristy. The father incensed the altar, pink smoke causing a flurry of sneezing in the pews. He crossed the congregation. "In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti."
Moojie fidgeted with his bow tie. He couldn't follow the priest because of the horrifying image of boots crushing seashells falling through the Father's ringed fingers and waves lapping them up salty and wet, the cold wild sea closing its mouth. The wild sea coming and going. In out in out.
Moojie felt everyone's attention shifting between the Pretty Jar and himself, between the creepy vessel of Mamma-sand and her misfit of a son.