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Show 402 the impression that it was translucent and that if he pressed a thumb into it it would break through. The nose looked pinched under the heavy glasses, and the eyelids, distorted through the lenses, had been sealed with a dark glue. Only the mouth looked familiar. It was thin and set in a hard line, and the corners turned down. They had dressed his father in a white temple suit and had placed one hand across the other on top of his diaphragm. Lorin bent close to make sure the nails were blue at the cuticles because ever since his sister had called him some small part of him had clung to the thread of an idea that it was all a mistake. "Have you touched him yet?" his mother asked. He rested his fingertips on the back of his father's hand. It was like touching a cake of yeast. Someone bumped him from behind and he used the opportunity to return his hand to his pocket and finger his keys. "Excuse me, Lorin," the man behind him said, patting him on the arm. It was Hal Kratzer, his old deacons' quorum advisor, looking ruddy and uncomfortable. They had all looked uncomfortable at seeing him in church but so far no one had blinked. "Nice to see you, Hal," Lorin said, shaking his hand but trying not to touch the back of it with his fingertips. "Glad you could come." "Listen, I wouldn't miss this one," Hal said. He looked down at the fragile face with its oversize glasses. "That guy," he said. "You know what I mean?" Tears stood out in his eyes when he looked back at Lorin. Lorin nodded, and shook hands again. He couldn't help it, it pleased him that Hal had liked his father. "How are you doing, Grace?" "I'm doing all right, I guess," said Lorin's mother. "I'm hanging in there." |