Free The Beach Book Bundle: 3 Novels for Summer Reading: Breathing Lessons, The Alphabet Sisters, Firefly Summer by Anne Tyler, Monica McInerney Page B

Tilghman?”
    Sugar turned. She had been the class beauty and was beautiful still, Maggie supposed, although it was hard to tell through the heavy black veil descending from her hat. She looked more like a widow than the widow herself. Well, she always had viewed clothes as costumes. “There you are!” she said. She rose to press her cheek against Serena’s. “I am so, so sorry for your loss,” she said. “Except they call me Elizabeth now.”
    “Sugar, you remember Maggie,” Serena said.
    “Maggie Daley! What a surprise.”
    Sugar’s cheek was smooth and taut beneath the veil. It felt like one of those netted onions in a grocery store.
    “If this is not the saddest thing,” she said. “Robert would have come with me but he had a meeting in Houston. He said to send you his condolences, though. He said, ‘Seems like only yesterday we were trying to find our way to their wedding reception.’ ”
    “Yes, well, that’s what I want to discuss with you,” Serena said. “Remember at our wedding? Where you sang a solo after the vows?”
    “ ‘Born to Be with You,’ ” Sugar said. She laughed. “You two marched out to it; I can see you still. The march took longer than the song, and at the finish all we heard was your high heels.”
    “Well,” Serena said, “I’d like you to sing it again today.”
    Shock made Sugar’s face appear to emerge from the netting. She was older-looking than Maggie had first realized. “Do what?” she said.
    “Sing.”
    Sugar raised her eyebrows at Maggie. Maggie looked away, refusing to conspire. It was true the pianist was playing “My Prayer.” But that couldn’t be Sissy Parton, could it? That plump-backed woman with dimpled elbows like upside-down valentines? Why, she resembled any ordinary church lady.
    “I haven’t sung for twenty years or more,” Sugar said. “I couldn’t sing even then! All I was doing was showing off.”
    “Sugar, it’s the last favor I’ll ever ask of you,” Serena said.
    “Elizabeth.”
    “Elizabeth, one song! Among friends! Maggie and Ira are singing.”
    “No, wait—” Maggie said.
    Sugar said, “And besides: ‘Born to Be with You.’ ”
    “What’s wrong with it, I’d like to know?” Serena asked.
    “Have you thought about the lyrics?
By your side, satisfied?
You want to hear that at a funeral?”
    “Memorial service,” Serena said, though she’d been calling it a funeral herself up till now.
    “What’s the difference?” Sugar asked.
    “Well, it’s not like there was a coffin present.”
    “What’s the
difference
, Serena?”
    “It’s not like I’m by his side in the coffin or anything! It’s not like I’m being ghoulish or anything! I’m by his side in a spiritual sense, is all I’m saying.”
    Sugar looked at Maggie. Maggie was trying to remember the words to “My Prayer.” In a funeral context, she thought (or in a memorial-service context), even the blandest lines could take on a different aspect.
    “You’d be the laughingstock of this congregation,” Sugar said flatly.
    “What do I care about that?”
    Maggie left them and walked on up the aisle. She was alert to the people she passed now; they could be old-time friends. But no one looked familiar. She stopped at Ira’s pew and gave him a nudge. “I’m back,” she told him. He moved over. He was reading his pocket calendar—the part that listed birthstones and signs of the zodiac.
    “Am I imagining things,” he asked when she’d settled next to him, “or is that ‘My Prayer’ I’m hearing?”
    “It’s ‘My Prayer,’ all right,” Maggie said. “And it’s not just any old pianist, either. It’s Sissy Parton.”
    “Who’s Sissy Parton?”
    “Honestly, Ira! You remember Sissy. She played at Serena’s wedding.”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “Where you and I sang ‘Love Is a Many Splendored Thing,’ ” Maggie said.
    “How could I forget
that
,” he said.
    “Which Serena wants us to sing again today.”
    Ira didn’t even