the sanctuary. An old lady in a wig that was slightly askew pounded on the pipe organ — one of thosedroning songs from the Baptist Hymnal. Was it “Rock of Ages” or “Blessed Assurance”? Lily could neverkeep those oldies-but-oldies straight, and her memory wasn’t aided by the fact that the goal of mostWASP church musicians seemed to be to make all the songs sound as much alike as possible.
The stark white sanctuary was huge, but fewer than twenty people sat in the pews: Charlotte’sparents, recognizable because of Ida Maycomb’s helmet of rigidly coiffed brown hair and CharlesMaycomb’s shiny bald pate; Charlotte’s brother Mike, there with his wife and two kids; and a few ofCharlotte’s aunts and uncles. Lily figured that the other people in attendance were the types who waitedaround for the church doors to be unlocked so they could dart in and warm a pew. If this had been a realmemorial service, instead of Ida and Charles Maycomb’s half-assed attempt to mark the passing of thedaughter they never approved of, the turnout would have been pathetic.
After the pipe organ breathed its last, a puffy man whose gray hair matched his gray three-piecesuit took his place behind the podium. “We gather here today,” he said, his voice dripping with mocksolemnity, “to mourn the passing of the daughter of two of our congregation’s most beloved members, Idaand Charles Maycomb.”
Lily saw where this was going. Charlotte wasn’t even going to get top billing at her own memorialservice.
“As Scripture has shown us,” the reverend continued, “there are few experiences more painfulthan the death of a child. When God tests Job, he takes his children from him. And just as Job wept for hislost children, today we join Ida and Charles Maycomb in weeping for their lost child, CharlotteMaycomb.”
Lily shifted Mimi’s weight on her lap. Lost child? Charlotte had been thirty-eight years old.
“And as always, Charlotte’s passing gives us the opportunity to ask ourselves: Are we really livingour lives in a way that would make Jesus proud?” The rev was curiously puffy — not fat, exactly, butbloated, as though someone had given him an enema with the air from a bicycle pump. “Or when our timecomes and we stand before Saint Peter at the pearly gates, are we going to have some explaining to do?
Today, as we observe Charlotte’s passing, I urge you all to think: If Jesus took you today, where wouldyou spend eternity?”
Lily heard Ida’s sobs. No doubt she was contemplating her sinful lesbian daughter frying extra-crispy in the fires of hell. Lily had no doubt that Charlotte’s sinfulness was the not-so-subtle subtext of the