Free Beads of Doubt by Barbara Burnett Smith Page B

made with them. A bead-induced trance.
    The first display that caught me had stunning flowers, all created with tiny seed beads. Purple bead gladiolas and elegant white lilies stood in a tall vase. Delicate hyacinths were nestled in an Easter basket, and colorful gerbera daisies all of beads sat in a maple-syrup bucket.
    The crowd moved me forward, and I was facing a booth filled with watches. Hundreds of watches, all with beaded bands. Some were strung with semiprecious stone chips and looked southwestern. Others had bands of delicate pearls, which gave them an elegant and formal look. There were crystal bands and some of seed beads and some with unique mixes of all types of beads. I had no idea how I could select just one watch out of so many beautiful ones. I’d have to have one for every facet of my personality, which would certainly break the bank . . .
    In the corner of the tent Jill Bartel was doing a demonstration on how to crochet a beaded fringe over stone cabochons. The one she was working on was a mix of green, taupe, and peach; I was guessing it was unakite. It was stunning, and the crowd around her was in rapt silence. She saw me and smiled, which is when I remembered that I was also supposed to be working. Beads make me forget almost everything.
    I found our table where Beth was busy putting together some simple, yet really beautiful earrings. Each had a flat, white coin pearl with a faceted stone bead. It was blue lapis on the earring in her hand. Several other pairs weren’t on cards yet, but they were complete. One had pearl and garnet, another pearl with pink crystal, and a dozen pairs with pearls and teal beads. Back to teal again.
    I watched as she slipped two beads on a head pin and connected it to a fishhook earring with the wrapped loop. I call that technique the dreaded wrapped loop, but then I’m a beader with terrible hand-eye coordination. Or maybe I don’t have any.
    “Very nice,” I said. “How are things going here?”
    She was glowing. “Great morning.”
    “No kidding? What’d we sell?”
    She held out the display with the earrings. It had only two pair on it. “I’m making them as fast as I can, but I haven’t even had time to hang them up yet. I’ve sold twenty-seven pair.”
    “Very impressive.” Again a large portion of the profit was going to ovarian cancer research.
    “Yes, well so are the sales of your phone jewelry.” My cell phone was on display, showing off a crystal dangle like those we were selling. “How many did you bring out here? Didn’t you tell me two hundred?”
    “I did. How am I doing?”
    “Either we priced them too cheaply, or your name is worth more than we thought. So far I’ve sold sixty-three dangles! Guess we know what you’ll be doing this evening.”
    “I’ll take beads to the hospital and make them there. Tess is sick.”
    Her glow dimmed. “Oh, Kitz, I’m so sorry. Is it serious, I mean . . .”
    “I don’t know.” I let out a sigh. “I guess I’ll find out this afternoon. I hate ovarian cancer—and peritoneal cancer and breast cancer and all the cancers that women get. I guess that means all of them. Or maybe not testicular or prostate cancer, but I hate those, too. Did I ever mention that?”
    “Once or twice. I know it’s hard for you.”
    “Not for me. It’s hard for everyone who has it and their families.” I took a calming breath. “I’m sorry for venting—”
    “It was a short vent.”
    “That was lucky.” I sighed. “I actually came to relieve you. Why don’t you go eat something?”
    “Because I’m not hungry. Not at all.”
    “That’s ridiculous. You have to eat or you’ll get sick.”
    Beth pulled out the wrapper of a low-carb protein bar. “I ate part of this. And I’ve had two bottles of water. I’m fine. Go shop. You’ll feel better.”
    “I’m okay.”
    “That’s why you keep sighing.”
    “Short vents, long sighs. It’s my new way of life.” I glanced around. “Have you visited the