“What about that old bike?” the auctioneer asked. “Whippets draw a nice price. Collectors always looking for…”
“No,” Abby cut him off, “not the bike. Everything but the bike,” she turned away, tears burning down her cheeks.
“Whatever you say,” he retorted, “just trying to…”
“The rest goes,” Abby repeated. Mom’s china, the silver, Grandma’s Waterford stemware, Daddy’s ivory straight razors, century old heirlooms and the family homeplace; all would soon be cashed in to pay the medical bills.
Grandpa taught her to ride on that bike. His bike. She would ride again. “No, not the bike, Grandpa” she whispered.
kat – 6 April 2017
For Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers based on this photo prompt by © Jellico’s Stationhouse