"Cheer up Meg. This is a wake. 'I've come to praise Caesar' and all that."

Meg looked at her brother and wasn't sure if Billy realized he butchered the quote. She suspected he did. That was how good sons were supposed to react, after all.

They sat at the bar and sipped on the first round of drinks. Billy quickly finished and ordered a second round. He drank that one as quickly as the first, and so it was all night. Meg swirled her second scotch around the tumbler in a way that fooled those that didn't know her into believing she was drinking. Each time Billy turned away she would quietly slide her beer across the bar towards him. After every third beer or so Billy would call out a toast to their late father.

"To Collin Finney, a grand adventurer, a prince among men!"

~~~~~

When she was nine Meg's father packed them all into the brown and tan station wagon and headed for the coast. The drive itself was endless, the road stretching and growing even as they were on it. It was at least one thousand times the distance from her house to school she was sure. With pride she explained this thought to her father as he guided the giant automobile. He laughed at her in his deep rumbling way and asked how she'd ever gotten so smart.

When they finally rolled over the last bit of mountains Meg cried out at the sight of something so big. The deep blue of the Atlantic stretched out forever until it met the sky. Meg turned to Billy and babbled on and on about the ocean and beach and sky. All the while Billy stared at his older sister enamored of her like she was of the new landscape.

Her father stopped the car one hundred yards from the sea and hustled everyone out. He engulfed Meg's hand in his own and reached out on the opposite side for his wife. Meg watched as they clasp hands and marveled at how much whiter her mother was than him. Her mother had skin like alabaster, beautifully white and flawless, and flowing blond hair. Both traits she'd passed on to her son. Some mornings, as she looked in the mirror, Meg wished she were colored like that. Now, though, as she looked at her small arm against her father's she saw in the pattern of freckles something that told people, just by looking at her, that she was Collin's daughter. She looked up into his laughing eyes and realized she'd never have it any other way, she'd never want it any other way. Reaching out her other hand, Meg mimicked her father and grasped Billy's tiny hand in her own. Strung together like this they made their way to the ocean.

At the end of the week, on the last day, the wind came swiftly in off the sea stirring the water and creating monstrous white capped waves. Meg stood back among the dunes entranced by the violence with which the dark waves struck the sand. She watched the beach break the waves and then reappear, marred but still there, protecting the rest of the shoreline.

"Are you ready to go, honey?"

Her mother's voice caused her to turn. Looking up at her face Meg was not surprised to see a dark spot appearing on Mary Margaret's forehead. What surprised her was that her mother had gone this long without an accident.

"Did you fall mom?"

"Yes, honey," she laughed, the sound bouncing around her chest as though it were a hollow gourd. "Your mom's just a little clumsy."

They walked back to the car and piled in. The drive back seemed much shorter.

~~~~~

"To Collin Finney, a devoted husband, a friend to the graceless!"

~~~~~

They had an open casket at her mother's funeral. Mary Margaret Finney was laid out in her best Sunday dress and costume jewelry. The mourners all remarked how peaceful she looked. Meg found herself hoping that none of them noticed that the mortuary makeup did little to conceal the purplish green marks the stairs had left on her mother's body. Not for the first time Meg felt sorry for her mother. To be clumsy in life was one thing but to fall down the stairs and die would have been mortifying. Even now as she lay there it was all people could talk about.

"Poor woman, how horrible. You know her husband, don't you..."

They always stopped mid sentence when they saw Meg. Instead they told her how much she looked like a Finney. How Meg moved with her mother's grace.

Hours later, with the sun at midday, they walked the half-mile to the cemetery. Her hand lost in her father's and Billy replacing Mary Margaret on the other side.

The ceremony was small and quick. The minister was Protestant and spoke in clipped New England English. It surprised Meg when it came to an end and the mourners turned to go, leaving her mother there all alone.

Meg stayed long after they all left, long after her father led Billy away. She spoke softly the words of the Ave Maria because she was ten and it was the only Latin she knew. He mother used to come to her room before bedtime and show Meg how to properly kneel and clasp her hands. They said prayers to her Catholic God and his son and to The Virgin Mother. Meg knew these other prayers in English but even as she stumbled over the cumbersome sounds she knew the moment merited the effort, the beautiful language. So she prayed to The Virgin to forgive her mother's trespasses. And because she wasn't sure if it was a sin or not, she prayed forgiveness for Mary Margaret's clumsiness. When she was through Meg was confident she'd gone a long way in ensuring a spot in heaven for her mom.

~~~~~

"To my father, a force to be reckoned with!"

~~~~~

"Meg! Come show us how smart you are!"

Her dad had been waiting when she got home from school. She ran to the kitchen and handed him the report card. She loved these days; she was good at school, so much smarter than her brother.

"Ah, that's my girl."

He picked her up in a bear hug and swung around so her legs sailed out. Even at fifteen she felt dwarfed by his immensity. At moments like these she felt like the only person in the world that could make him smile.

"Tell you what my little genius," he said, reaching into his pocket. "Why don't you go see if that friend of your wants to go see a movie."

"Thanks dad," she kissed him on the cheek as she grabbed the ten-dollar bill and headed out the door.

"Mind you, be home by seven. I need you to look after your brother."

"Yeah, dad."

When she came home at 6:30 the house was already dark. Her dad had already left for the meeting apparently. She put the pot on for dinner and went upstairs to find Billy. His door was closed and no sounds were coming from his room. Carefully she pushed opened the door, cringing as the old hinges squealed in protest. The light was still on but Billy was curled up on the bed, his whole body scrunched into one little corner. She reached across him and drew the blanket over his sleeping form.

Turning off the light, she went back downstairs wondering what Billy must have fallen against to make the angry red mark across his back.

After dinner she lay in bed near the edge of sleep when the choking sobs jolted her back. The thin walls did nothing to muffle the gasping and hiccuped breathing coming from her brother's room. She wondered if it hurt that much, the mark on his back. It must have been quite a fall she thought. She thanked God, not for the first time, that she was not so awkward. Thanked God that she was graceful.

~~~~~

"To dad, good riddance you fat, drunk Irish fuck!"

The words slurred as they poured from Billy's mouth. The bar was nearly empty, the table they had eventually seated themselves at was now littered with empty bottles. Meg found herself immensely glad that none of the remaining patrons turned to acknowledge the outburst as she removed Billy's beer form his hand and gently guided him towards the door. Billy leaned against her with his full weight, nearly knocking her to the ground.

"Meg," she turned, surprised at the quaking in his voice where just moments before there had been nothing but bravado.

"Meg, I think I got it wrong...about Caesar."

"'I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.'"

"Et tu, Meg?"

"Yeah." That false admission was all it took to placate him. Billy believed for the moment that his big sister was on his side and that's all that mattered. Meg bit down hard on her lip, because she knew when sides were drawn she'd always be daddy's girl.

~~~~~

They had an open casket for her father. At least this time the mortuary didn't have to use makeup. Cancer doesn't kill you from the outside. She stared at him and wondered if her freckles would fade like that with age or if her hair would turn the same steely gray. She wondered if people still recognized her as Collin's daughter.

The rain drizzled down in quiet constancy, the droplets pounding a rhythm on her umbrella. The minister droned on about God and man and absolution. It had nothing to do with her father and simply washed into the background noise. The minister turned to leave, his pant cuffs trailing in the mud. She alone was left standing in the downpour staring at the coffin. Billy, sober after the previous evening, wasn't even at the house when she woke up.

So now she stood at her father's graveside softly reciting the Ave Maria because she was twenty-three and it was still the only Latin she knew. She prayed to The Virgin and to Mary Margaret asking forgiveness for his sins or her own, Meg wasn't sure. After the Amen she walked through the cemetery, her feet dragging on the damp grass, and was unsure if there would be a place for either of them in heaven.