When We Were the Kennedys
“Widows’ Instructions AN HOUR BEFORE Oswald pulls the trigger, I’m at choir practice, knuckling under the tutelage of Sister Louise, a lean, starchy woman who Means Business and Means It Now. For a goodly portion of our lunch hour every day, we stand in the choir loft, straight-shouldered and ladylike, singing into the rich echo chamber of the empty church, learning to sight-read and harmonize and pro-JECT, pro-JECT, pro-JECT! Sister Louise sounds out all the parts—not a good voice, though her p...itch is flawless, her directing eminently followable. We keep our eyes on her long, lolloping fingers.
The hands stop, shutting us up on the instant.
“Who laughed?” Sister Louise swivels her flushing face from the altos to the soprano IIs to the high sopranos and back again, the scorching heat of her gaze liquefying the innocent and guilty alike.
“I said, who laughed?”
I exchange a sidelong glance with Denise, who stands beside me with the soprano IIs, and another with Cathy, over there with the altos.MoreLess
The hands stop, shutting us up on the instant.
“Who laughed?” Sister Louise swivels her flushing face from the altos to the soprano IIs to the high sopranos and back again, the scorching heat of her gaze liquefying the innocent and guilty alike.
“I said, who laughed?”
I exchange a sidelong glance with Denise, who stands beside me with the soprano IIs, and another with Cathy, over there with the altos.MoreLess
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