All the Single Ladies by Dorothea Benton Frank Read Free Book Online

purses when they’re not looking, I thought.
    â€œI’m fine,” Suzanne said.
    â€œMe too. But thanks,” Carrie said.
    â€œI’m fine too,” I said. “We just wanted to get an idea of how much . . .”
    She squinted her eyes at me, obviously debating saying something sharp.
    â€œOf course!” she finally spat out. “Why else would you be here?”
    What a stinker she was! She led us to Kathy’s apartment, which was actually an ancient kitchen house that had been attached to the main house with a narrow hallway at some point in its history. There was a locked door on either end of the hall to allow privacy and I could see through the window that there was an outside entrance too. A few steps made of the same tiny bricks as the house led up to a narrow porch. It was completely charming.
    â€œI’ll just let y’all in. How long are y’all going to be? I have things to do.”
    â€œJust a few minutes,” Suzanne said.
    I thought, Wow, her mother must have weaned her too early.
    Wendy opened the door and moved aside. We stepped into a small living room with bare heart-­pine floors, and an uneasy spirit permeated the space. It was too still. To the left there was a tiny, neat Pullman kitchen concealed by curtains, pulled back over hooks as though the cook had just stepped away. In the rear of the apartment was a sparsely furnished bedroom and bathroom. I was focused on the wrong things. Instead of trying to figure out how much time we needed to pack up how many boxes, I was riveted on Kathy’s personal possessions. Her toothbrush in a cup. Her towels neatly folded over a rod. Her bathrobe hung from a hook on the back of the door. I had to turn away or I was going to lose it.
    The spool-­post bed was covered with a handmade quilt, probably a family treasure, and comfortable-­looking pillows were piled high. Kathy’s framed photographs covered tabletops and the mantelpiece. Books—­scrapbooks and novels—­were stacked on shelves and everywhere under tables and in corners. And snuff bottles. She must’ve had a hundred of them or more. Some of them were quite beautiful. All her furnishings were evidence of a life lived rather well. In a strange way it felt like Kathy would walk in the room any second, happy to see us all. We’d plop ourselves down and start talking about anything and everything. Except that she wouldn’t.
    Suzanne and Carrie seemed to be having similar thoughts, but after a few questions, the ever-­practical Suzanne summed it all up.
    â€œWell, if the furniture was hers I think we can do this with my van, two men, and three trips to the beach and back. We’ll be back tomorrow? Are y’all free?”
    Carrie said, “Well, you know I am.”
    And I said, “I can help after two o’clock.”
    We had a plan.

 
Chapter 3
    Life Goes On
    At one thirty, my cell phone rang. As always, I hoped it was Marianne. It was Suzanne.
    â€œAre you still coming over this afternoon?” she said.
    â€œYep. I was just finishing up here. I was gonna run home and change and then meet y’all downtown? How does that sound?”
    â€œThat sounds perfect. And if you have boxes . . .”
    â€œGot ’em! I’ll load up my car.”
    Margaret and Judy had been stockpiling boxes for me. Needless to say, there was continuous headshaking among us over the terrible reality of Kathy’s death.
    â€œThe poor thing,” Judy would say. “I still can’t believe it.”
    To which Margaret would add, “What a shame.”
    So when I asked them for the boxes they offered to help me carry them out to the car. We were standing in the parking lot then, my car jammed to the roof, and I was thanking them.
    â€œY’all are the best,” I said.
    â€œYou’re the one who’s the best,” Margaret said. “This is definitely above and beyond your