“Oh.” Maggy crossed her eyes. “That again.”
“Just listen. Your dad made a big mistake. Several big ones. I know you want to think he was perfect, but he wasn’t. None of us is perfect, including me, which is okay. And it’s good that you want to remember what a great dad he was to you, and how much he loved you, because that part about your daddy is true, and nothing can change it.”
Maggy nodded. “But there was bad stuff too, wasn’t there? Stuff he did that hurt you and made you cry, which is why you were going to get a divorce, right?”
“That’s true. I don’t want to dwell on that. I want to move ahead with our lives. But I have to deal with the fact that his bad choices, and some dishonest things he did, are going to affect our family for a long time to come.”
Tears filled her daughter’s eyes. “I know, Mom. BeBo told me a little bit, when we went for ice cream yesterday.”
“He did?” Riley was again taken by surprise at her brother’s sudden streak of maturity.
Maggy nodded. “Yeah. Dad took your money that Granddad left you, and BeBo’s, and Mimi’s too, didn’t he?”
“I’m afraid so, sweetie. I think he intended to pay it back, and he had his reasons. He thought he was doing it for the business, but it turned out to be a really bad thing.”
“And that’s why we’re poor and have to live with Mimi,” Maggy concluded.
“We’re not really poor,” Riley protested. “But it’s true we’ll have to change the way we live. And we may not get our old house here back. Your Aunt Roo is being incredibly generous and giving me some money to try to buy it, but I just don’t know if it will be enough. Either way, we’ll always have a place to live here on Belle Isle. And when we get back to Raleigh in the fall, I’ll have to get a job.”
“That’s cool,” Maggy said. “But what about my new school? Can I still go?”
“I think so. Anyway, let’s worry about one thing at a time.”
* * *
Since the auction was to start at 10 a.m., she took the 8:30 ferry and was waiting outside the bank when the doors opened. As promised, Roo had gone to her bank the previous day to make arrangements for the money, but the teller had informed her that such a large withdrawal would require the signature of a bank officer, who was out of the office until late in the day.
“They said they’d have the cashier’s check ready for you at the receptionist’s desk first thing Friday,” Roo reported.
“It’s for five hundred and fifty thousand, and I’m sorry it’s not more,” she added. “I took a flier with one of those damn dot-coms in the nineties. Myspace. Phooey!”
“That’s more money than I ever could have hoped for,” Riley told her aunt. “And I can never thank you enough.”
At nine o’clock, she rushed inside the bank and made a beeline for the receptionist’s desk. “I’m picking up an envelope for Riley Nolan,” she told the elderly man.
He fumbled around the desk for a full five minutes, mumbling her name over and over. “Riley Nolan. Riley Nolan. Riley Nolan.” After he’d turned over the same piece of paper for the third time, she wanted to scream.
“Nothing here,” he said with a shrug.
“Can you go ask one of the tellers?” Riley said tersely. “I’m sort of in a hurry.”
By now customers were streaming into the bank, and the line at each teller’s window was five or six deep, yet the old man waited patiently at the end of the longest line.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered, glancing again at her watch. It was 9:20. She’d studied the online auction rules and catalog the night before, and knew she’d need to register and present her proof of funds before being given a bidder’s paddle.
Finally, twenty minutes later, the old codger sauntered over. She reached impatiently for the envelope.
“Sorry. Need to see some ID,” he said. She produced her driver’s license and he studied it for what seemed like an hour.
“That’s a nice likeness of you,” he said finally. “Hey! I know you. You used to be the TV lady from WRAL. Riley from Raleigh. Whatever happened to you, anyway?”
“I fell down a rabbit hole and lost my way,” Riley told him.
* * *
The parking lot at the Seafarer Motel on the highway was packed. She found a spot at the far edge and managed to wedge her car in between a Mercedes with South Carolina tags and a tricked-out RV with Florida tags. If she’d had any notion that a bank-owned real estate auction in an obscure corner of North Carolina would be of little interest to the outside world, she now knew better.
Signs in the lobby pointed to the Admiral’s Conference Room. She could hear the buzz of voices as she sprinted down the narrow hall toward the room. It was 9:55 a.m.
Riley was still gasping for breath as she hurriedly filled out the paperwork for her bidding paddle and presented a photocopy of her proof of funds. The clerk barely looked up as she handed her a numbered cardboard paddle.
“They’re fixin’ to start,” she said, motioning to another couple who’d just arrived at the table.
The conference room was lined with rows of folding chairs. A stage had been set up at the front of the room, with a wooden lectern front and center. A large easel held a blown-up cover photograph of what she recognized as an old gas station from the next town over. She looked around for an empty chair but, finding none, claimed a spot standing against the wall.
A woman walked up to the lectern and tested the microphone. “Can y’all hear me?” she drawled. “In the back, can y’all hear?”
Assured by the crowd, she nodded and sat down at a long table at the edge of the right side of the stage.
A short, bandy-legged man dressed in starched and pressed blue jeans, a bright yellow logoed polo shirt, and an enormous ten-gallon cowboy hat took her place at the lectern.
“Okay, all right, welcome everybody. I’m Colonel John Fowlkes, and I’ll be your auctioneer today. That lovely lady at the table over there is my able assistant and wife, Miss Martha. She’ll be keeping the bidding and me straight today, so y’all mind your manners and we’ll have us a great auction.”
Members of the audience laughed appropriately at the colonel’s seasoned patter.
“In case you’re new to these auctions, be advised that all properties are in ‘as is’ condition, with no warranties about condition stated or implied. If you’re the successful bidder, proceed immediately to Miss Martha to make arrangements for payment and completion of paperwork.
“The first item in our auction today is number zero-zero-one. It’s a concrete block structure, built around 1963, located out on the county highway, with two hundred feet of highway access. Formerly used as a gas station, what you do with it today is your business. We’ll start the bidding on this fine building at five thousand. All right, here we go.
“Who’ll give me five thousand?”
Half a dozen hands shot up into the air.
“That’s a start, folks. Now six. Who’ll give me six? Seven? Gimme seven for this outstanding commercial property. Good. Eight? I have eight. Nine? Gimme nine, now folks.”