All the Single Ladies: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

of tears with a similar question on our minds. How, exactly how, did Kathy’s entire life fit into that tiny little box? Just then, as though he wanted to divert our attention, Paul the tree-­hugger organist began playing “My Favorite Things” for a moment or two and then broke into a wild and rollicking rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In.” You would have thought we were in the French Quarter of New Orleans at a Cajun funeral. I felt a sudden piercing urge to get up and dance in the aisle. It wasn’t until we were all smiling, and the priest had cleared his throat loudly several times and made some terrible faces and hand gestures indicating his displeasure, that Paul let the music die out. And he didn’t stop playing all at once. He slowed down, dropped his left hand, slowly played a few notes with his right hand, and then let the final notes fade away entirely, without finishing the verse.
    Clearly, Paul the tree-­hugging organist was insulted. We could hear his shoes click across the floor. He took a seat in the pew right behind us.
    “I was ready to join in,” Suzanne said.
    “Me too,” I said, and looked at Carrie, who bobbed her head in agreement.
    Paul leaned forward and whispered to us. Loudly.
    “She loved that music,” he said. “That priest is a stuffy old man.”
    Suzanne turned around and said to him, “You’re right.”
    Then, sensing that wasn’t enough to repair his embarrassment, Carrie turned and said, “Kathy would’ve loved your selections.”
    I turned to see him blush and smile and it appeared that the sting had been soothed. But in my peripheral vision I saw Suzanne roll her eyes, which seemed a little snide. I didn’t know if I agreed with her position or not. Suzanne didn’t suffer fools well and this Paul fellow was obviously a sensitive man. I didn’t have to agree with Carrie and Suzanne on everything to be on good terms with them. Being a medical professional and one who had spent a great deal of time seeing to Kathryn’s comfort gave me a space where I could hold my own opinions. Personally? In my experience, sensitive men were an unusual and beautiful thing. Unfortunately, they often played for the other team.
    I felt a little bad for Paul. He was obviously affected by the death of Kathy. I wondered how close they had been. Had they been lovers? Whatever relationship they had known with each other must’ve ended some time ago because I could not recall ever seeing him at Palmetto House. But that didn’t mean their relationship had been insignificant. Maybe he had thought they might reunite? Maybe he had thought there was time? Maybe he had never even known she was so ill? Or ill at all?
    The priest was circling Kathryn’s ashes and sprinkling holy water all over the place. It was an interesting ser­vice, filled with all the smells, bells, and drama that you always hear go on in the Catholic Church. I wondered if I should go to Communion for Kathy’s sake, but then the priest made a small speech about who was welcome at the Communion rail and who was not. I was a “was-­not.” So were Carrie and Suzanne. In fact, the only people who went to Communion were Paul and a prim older woman who Suzanne said worked with them at her florist.
    Suzanne leaned over toward me again.
    She said, “He’s a convert.”
    “Converts are the worst,” Carrie said. “He used to be Jewish. But clearly not terribly devout.”
    Soon we were reciting the Lord’s Prayer and being told to “go in peace.” Kathryn Gordon Harper’s Requiem Mass was officially ended. It was the strangest moment. I felt a chill travel from the bottom of my spine to the top of my head, and despite the heat, I shuddered. Not only was Kathy gone from the world but I realized then that I might never see Carrie and Suzanne again. I know that remark probably seems ridiculous. After all, they were Kathy’s friends and I was merely one of the many ­people who saw about her care. But I knew I’d