The Longest Ride(141)

When she trailed off, Luke drew her near, thinking about the letter Ira had written to his wife.



“I know why,” Luke said. “Because it kind of breaks my heart, too.”





32





Sophia





S

ophia had just finished putting in her earrings on the day of the auction when she saw Luke’s truck come to a stop in front of the house. Though she’d teased Luke earlier about having only a single suit, in truth she owned only two, both with midlength skirts and matching jackets. And she’d purchased those only because she’d needed something classy and professional to wear to interviews. At the time, she’d worried that two wouldn’t suffice, what with all the interviews she’d no doubt line up. Which made her think about that old saying… how did it go? People plan, God laughs, or something like that?



As it was, she’d worn each of them once. Knowing that Luke’s suit was dark, she’d opted for the lighter of the two. Despite her early enthusiasm, she now felt strangely ambivalent about going to the auction. Discovering that it was Ira’s collection made it more personal somehow, and she feared that with every painting, she’d recall how he’d appeared as she’d read his letter in the hospital. Yet to not go seemed disrespectful, since the collection obviously meant so much to him and his wife. Still feeling conflicted, she left her room and went downstairs.



Luke was waiting just inside the foyer.



“Are you ready for this?”



“I guess,” she temporized. “It’s different now.”



“I know. I thought about Ira most of the night.”



“Me too.”



He forced a smile, though there wasn’t a lot of energy behind it. “You look terrific, by the way. You’re all grown up.”



“You too,” she said, meaning it. But…



“Why do I feel like we’re going to a funeral?” she asked him.



“Because,” he said, “in a way, we are.”





They entered one of the enormous exhibition rooms at the convention center an hour before noon. It was nothing like she’d expected. At the far end of the room was a stage, surrounded by curtains on three sides; on the right were two long tables on elevated daises, each bearing ten telephones; on the other side stood the podium, no doubt for the auctioneer. A large screen formed the backdrop on the stage, and at the very front stood an empty easel. Approximately three hundred chairs faced the stage in stadium formation, allowing the bidders an unobstructed view.



Though the room was crowded, only a few of the seats were taken. Instead, most of the people wandered the room, examining photographs of some of the most valuable art. The photographs stood on easels along the walls, together with information about the artist, prices of the artist’s work achieved in other auctions, along with estimated values. Other visitors clustered around the four podiums on either side of the entrance, piled high with catalogs that described the entire collection.



Sophia moved through the room, Luke by her side, feeling slightly stunned. Not just because this was once all Ira’s, but because of the collection itself. There were works by Picasso and Warhol, Johns and Pollock, Rauschenberg and de Kooning, exhibited side by side. Some were pieces that she’d never read or even heard about. Nor had the rumors of their value been exaggerated; she gasped at some of the estimates, only to discover that the next set of paintings was worth even more. Through it all, she found herself trying to reconcile those numbers with Ira, the sweet old man who’d written about nothing but the love he still felt for his wife.



Luke’s thoughts seemed to mirror her own, for he reached for her hand and murmured, “There was nothing in his letter about this.”



“Maybe none of this mattered to him,” she said, baffled. “But really, how could it not?” When Luke failed to answer, she squeezed his hand. “I wish we could have helped him more.”



“I don’t know that there was any more that we could have done.”



“Still…”



His blue eyes searched hers. “You read the letter,” he said. “That’s what he wanted. And I think that’s why you and I were meant to find him. Who else would have waited around?”



When the announcement was made for people to take their seats, Luke and Sophia found a couple of empty ones in the back row. From there, it was almost impossible to see the easel, which disappointed Sophia. It would have been great to be able to see some of the paintings up close, but she knew those seats should go to prospective buyers, and the last thing she wanted was for someone to tap her on the shoulder and ask her to move later. A few minutes after that, men and women in suits began to take their seats behind the phones on the elevated tables, and slowly but surely, the overhead lights began to dim as a series of spotlights beamed down to illuminate the stage.