The Longest Ride

item up for bid. When the real auction would start.

The five minutes passed slowly. The man at the podium showed no surprise. Instead, he thumbed through the papers in front of him, seemingly no more interested than anyone else. Even Luke seemed disengaged, which surprised her, considering that he, too, had heard Ira’s letter.

When the time was up, the speaker called for silence. “ Portrait of Ruth by Daniel McCallum. We will commence the bidding at one thousand dollars,” he said. “One thousand. Do I hear one thousand?”

No one in the audience moved. At the podium, the silver-haired man registered no reaction. “Do I hear nine hundred? Please note that this is a chance to own part of one of the greatest private collections ever assembled.”

Nothing.

“Do I hear eight hundred?”

Then, after a few beats: “Do I hear seven hundred?…

“Six hundred?”

With every drop, Sophia felt something slowly begin to give way inside her. Somehow, it wasn’t right. She thought again of the letter Ira had written to Ruth, the letter that told her how much she’d meant to him.

“Do I hear five hundred dollars?…

“Four hundred?”

And in that instant, from the corner of her eye, she saw Luke raise his paddle. “Four hundred dollars,” he called out, and the sound of his voice seemed to ricochet off the walls. Although a few people in the audience turned, they appeared only mildly curious.

“We have four hundred dollars. Four hundred. Do I hear four hundred and fifty?”

Again, the room remained silent. Sophia felt suddenly dizzy.

“Going once, going twice, and sold…”
     

     
    Luke was approached by an attractive brunette holding a clipboard, who requested his information before explaining that it was also time to settle. She asked for his banking information or the form he had filled out earlier.

“I didn’t fill out any forms,” Luke demurred.

“How do you wish to settle?”

“Would you take cash?”

The woman smiled. “That will be fine, sir. Please follow me.”

Luke walked off with the woman and returned a few minutes later, holding his receipt. He took a seat beside Sophia, a sly grin on his face.

“Why?” she asked.

“I’d be willing to bet that this painting was the one that Ira liked best of all.” He shrugged. “It was the first one up for sale. And besides, he loved his wife and it was a portrait of her and it didn’t seem right that no one wanted it.”

She considered that. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were becoming a romantic.”

“I think,” he said slowly, “that Ira was the romantic. I’m just a washed-up bull rider.”

“You’re more than that,” she said, nudging him. “Where are you going to hang it?”

“I don’t know that it really matters, do you? Besides, I don’t even know where I’ll be living in a few months.”

Before she could respond, she heard a gavel come down before the speaker leaned in to the microphone again.

“Ladies and gentlemen – at this time and before we go on, per the parameters of the auction, I’d like to reintroduce Howie Sanders, who wishes to read a letter from Ira Levinson, in Ira’s own words, regarding the purchase of this item.”

Sanders emerged from behind the curtain, shuffling in his oversize suit, an envelope in his hand. The silver-haired gentleman stepped aside to make room at the microphone.

Sanders used a letter opener to slit open the top before pulling out the letter. He took a deep breath and then slowly unfolded it. He scanned the room and took a sip of water. He turned serious then, like an actor readying himself for a particularly dramatic scene, before finally beginning to read.

“My name is Ira Levinson, and today, you will hear my love story. It isn’t the kind you might imagine. It’s not a story with heroes and villains, it is not a story of handsome princes or princesses yet to be. Instead, it’s a story about a simple man named Ira who met an extraordinary woman named Ruth. We met when we were young and fell in love; in time we married and made a life together. A story like so many others, except Ruth happened to have an eye for art while I had eyes only for her, and somehow this was enough for us to create a collection that became priceless to both of us. For Ruth, the art was about beauty and talent; for me, the art was simply a reflection of Ruth, and in this fashion, we filled our house and lived a long and happy life with each other. And then,