The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love - By Beth Pattillo Page 0,8

sort to last her for quite a while. Eugenie noticed her wariness, because she softened her expression and gave Camille an encouraging smile.

“I’ve invited Maria Munden to join the Knit Lit Society,” Eugenie said. Merry nodded encouragingly, as if willing Camille to respond positively to the news.

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” Camille shrugged her shoulders. Like she cared one way or another. Maria Munden was a dour woman, but Camille didn’t have any strong feelings about her. If Eugenie wanted to fill Ruthie’s slot, did it matter? After the events of the last week, did anything matter? She shouldn’t even be reacting to Natalie’s news, much less to the addition of a new member to the Knit Lit Society.

“It’s okay with you then?” Merry looked worried. Camille was sick of people looking concerned every time they came into the shop. Or, before that, the funeral home. Or, before that, the hospital. Why were they worried now? It was over. Her mother was gone.

“Well, then.” Eugenie hitched her pocketbook further up on her arm. “I’ll let Esther and Hannah know about Maria. And I’ll look forward to seeing you all on Friday evening.”

“Can’t wait,” Merry said with a generous smile and a wave. “I’d better get moving. My mom actually volunteered to keep the baby for an hour, and I need to run some errands before the kids get out of school.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll have to come back to do my shopping for the homecoming game.”

Camille bid the two women good-bye and saw them to the door of the shop. Once it closed behind them, she turned and hustled toward the storeroom with long, determined strides.

She would get back to work. She would somehow manage to get herself through the day. And she would not think about her mother. Or how she would never be able to find a buyer for the dress shop now, given the current state of the town’s economy. Neither would she think about Dante Brown. Or spending the rest of her life trapped in Sweetgum.

No use in brooding over things that could never be changed.

And no use wondering how at twenty-four she could feel as old as the antebellum courthouse across the street.

“That’s all?” Esther Jackson stared at the number on the piece of paper in shock. She kept her hands firmly in her lap, resisting the urge to grip the arms of the chair. “There should be more zeroes.” It was all she could think to say. Frank had taken out life insurance when they were younger, and they had paid the premiums faithfully. “There should be more—”

“Your husband had a term life policy Esther. That’s different from universal life insurance.” The sympathy in Alvin Fraley’s voice was almost her undoing. She kept her eyes glued to the paper, afraid to look right or left, but mostly afraid to look at Alvin across the expanse of his desk. In all her fifty-five years, she’d never felt so awash with shame and anger. “It’s not intended to leave you with a lump sum.”

Esther did look up then and met Alvin’s gaze. The thin, bald man had handled their insurance for more than a quarter of a century. He would never lie to her, and he didn’t make mistakes. Which only made the number on the piece of paper all the more distressing. And all the more real.

“You weren’t expecting this,” Alvin said. It wasn’t a question but a statement. His watery green eyes were filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry Esther. I thought you understood. With term life, the idea is to take the savings on your premiums and invest them for a better return. That’s what I advise my clients to do anyway.” He paused. “That’s what I advised Frank to do.”

But there was no stock portfolio. No mutual funds. No IRA or 401 (k) or whatever other combination of letters and numbers meant she could continue to live her life in the way she had always lived it now that her husband was gone.

“And there’s no other…?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“I’m afraid not.” He paused, cleared his throat, and looked over her left shoulder as he hammered the final nail in her financial coffin. “I should also tell you that your insurance premiums-house, cars, boat—are all overdue.”

“Frank didn’t—”

“No.”

She’d known it would be difficult. Even before Frank’s sudden death from a heart attack, she’d been aware that their financial state was precarious. There had been so many expenses along the