Page 102 of Dropping the Ball

I clear my throat. “If I could have your attention, please.”

All heads turn to me. Madison’s eyes dart between me and Micah.

“I told you that Micah has done a brilliant job with the art installation, proving Madison’s idea was genius. The venue will have everyone talking in the best way. But we do have a problem.”

Madison straightens. “What problem?”

“The auction,” I say. “Donations are far below what we had hoped. I’ve done everything I know how to do, started asking some questions, and found the problem, and I may have the solution.”

“What do you mean donations are far below?” Mom asks. “Have you tried—”

“Mom,” I say, holding up my hand. “Very probably yes. I will explain why they’ve been hard to get and how I think we’ll fix that, but I’m going to ask you to trust me for one more day. I’d like toshowrather than tell you.”

I stand, feeling like I need the extra authority. “Let me explain what we have first.” I list off the auction items, and they nod at each of them. It’s not until I hit the end of the short list that concern crosses their faces.

“That’s it?” Mom asks.

“Yes.”

“Care to explain this ‘problem’ you’re talking about?” Dad asks. His tone has an edge that warns he’s about to lose his temper. That won’t mean yelling. It will mean cutting sarcasm and get worse from there.

I knew this would happen, and I draw a deep breath, prepping myself not to retreat.

“No, Dad.” That’s all Madison says.

Oliver is standing beside her, gently bouncing Harper, but he stops and rests his hand on Madison’s shoulder, squaring hisown and settling a level stare at my dad. At the same time, Micah slides to the edge of the sofa cushion and perches beside me. He crosses his arms, fixing my dad with the exact same look. It’s a warning.Don’t.

The silence is growing tense, and I should break it, but I can’t. For the first time since the auction shortage turned critical, I want to cry. But they’re tears of gratitude. Three people are stepping up—not to protect me but tobackme.

While I try to level out my sudden weepiness, Mom clears her throat.

“Regardless of why this happened, I was just thinking about Margaret Lim. She owns that antiques shop in New Orleans,” she says, “and she mentioned this fabulous wall paneling she brought straight over from a castle in France. Well, not straight over. Some Hollywood producer brought it over for his mansion in the 1930s, just lifted it straight off that castle wall and put it in his study, I believe. Anyway, Margaret bought it at his estate sale about three years ago, but she can’t get any nibbles on it. Everyone wants to do tacky farmhouse or Swedish college student.”

“Why are we talking about Margaret’s panels?” I ask patiently.

“Because I can think of at least three showoffs who would try to outbid each other in an effort to buy some class if you presented those panels right, and I do believe Margaret will let us take them off her hands for cost at this point.”

Oliver rounds his eyes. “Castle walls, Katie-Kat. We need them.”

“You hush, Oliver,” Mom says. “You know you have some fancy Oklahoma horse people who would love slapping them up in their house.”

“No, ma’am,” he says. “You’re thinking Virginia horse people,” which makes my dad chuckle.

I can’t believe my parents are taking this so well, but Madison isn’t finding anything about this funny. Faint stress lines show around her eyes. “Why is this the first time we’re hearing about this?”

“Because I thought it would kill me to see the look you have on your face right now,” I tell her. “I was terrified of letting you down until Micah pointed out that not telling you was worse.”

“He’s right,” she says. “I needed to know. Who have you approached, what did you ask for, and why did they say no?”

I go to her, kneeling down and resting my hands on her knees. “Madi, do you believe that up to this point, I have done everything I can and given it the best I have?” It’s the scariest question of all.

She leans over and hugs my head, which is very Madi, but gently, not full of exuberance, which isn’t Madi at all. “Of course I believe that. I love you.”

I believe her, but I also know she still thinks I missed something, thinks she would have found a way to fill the auction already. She believes this, but she’s hugging me and loving me anyway. This is how it is now. I can practically feel her shifting this burden to herself, taking it from me without withdrawing an ounce of her support.

But this is not how it will go.

“Love you too. Let me up,” I tell her. “I’m not done yet.”

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