I should not have. That was more than I could comfortably spend. But that locket was mine. My grandmother’s. My son’s memory. My history.
Vanessa tilted her head.
Then, loudly enough for several rows to hear, she said, “Some people just don’t have the class or the budget to be here.”
It felt like the air left my body all at once.
A couple of heads turned toward me. Someone near the aisle made a disapproving little sound. I heard a teacher say, under her breath, “Oh my God.”
My face burned.
I wish I could say I handled it with elegance. I did not. I froze. My throat tightened. My eyes stung so fast I thought, absurdly, No. Not here. Do not cry in a gymnasium under a basketball hoop.
The auctioneer, clearly flustered, cleared his throat. “Do I hear six hundred?”
I lowered my paddle.
I could not do it. Not financially, not emotionally, not while Vanessa sat there enjoying herself like this was sport.
And then, from the side of the gym, Toby stood up.
At first, I thought he was leaving. I would not have blamed him.
Instead, he walked toward the auction table.
The room went a little quiet. He said something to the event coordinator, Mrs. Hargrove, who looked surprised. Then she handed him the microphone.
