WHEN MY 59-YEAR-OLD NEIGHBOR KNOCKED AT MIDNIGHT, I THOUGHT I WAS FIXING A PIPE, BUT I WAS REALLY SAVING MY OWN LIFE…

was better in the morning than Patsy Cline. We danced badly while soup simmered on Saturdays. On Sundays we listened to records. Sometimes she sang off-key and I pretended not to notice because that imperfect music had become one of the sounds of home.

Emily came by more often. Carefully at first, then more easily. One afternoon she watched her mother continue reading …