Part 30 (1/2)
”Six hundred!” a deep male voice booms from the other side of the tent.
We all look in that direction. Archer is standing there with Nicholas still on his shoulders. Nicholas is waving a paddle in the air. Kelsey shoots Archer a glower. He responds with a look of pure defiance.
”Six fifty!” Kelsey calls.
”Do we have a bid for seven hundred?” Mr. Jenkins asks.
Several paddles lift.
”Eight hundred,” Archer shouts.
Mr. Jenkins and I exchange looks of surprise.
”A thousand?” he asks into the mic.
”A thousand five hundred,” Kelsey calls.
People turn to stare at Archer and Kelsey. Though they're on opposite sides of the tent, they're looking at each other with such challenge it's as if they're the only two people present. I can practically see the sparks flas.h.i.+ng between them.
”Do we have a bid for a thousand six hundred?” I ask, torn between wanting the money for the restoration and not wanting my friends to go over the top.
”Two thousand,” Archer calls.
There's a collective gasp.
”Two thousand five hundred?” Mr. Jenkins asks.
Archer taps Nicholas on the knee. Nicholas waves the paddle in the air.
”Uh, you're bidding against yourself, son,” Mr. Jenkins remarks.
The audience chuckles.
”No,” Archer replies. ”I'm bidding for her.”
A smattering of applause and laughter rises in the air, and a flush colors Kelsey's cheeks. Mr. Jenkins grins.
”Do I hear two thousand six hundred?” he asks.
I look at Kelsey, who shakes her head. A man in the front row raises his paddle, which causes another ripple of surprise.
”Three,” Archer shouts.
In the end, Archer buys his own chair for three thousand two hundred dollars-easily the largest bid yet, and one that brings the audience to its feet in a standing ovation. It takes Mr. Jenkins and me a good five minutes to get everyone settled back down and focused on the next chair.
The frenzy over Archer and Kelsey's bidding has galvanized both the crowd and Mr. Jenkins.
”Lettuce raise the bids, Liv!” he shouts into the microphone.
I smile and rush through the remaining sales pitches, describing a jungle-themed chair, an ocean chair, a Dr. Seuss-inspired chair-all of which bring in substantial bids.
Just as Mr. Jenkins slams the gavel down on a winning bid, a booming noise cracks overhead. I jump a little, startled, as the patrons murmur to each other and glance up at the tent roof.
”Hey, Liv, what does a cloud have on under his pants?” Mr. Jenkins asks cheerfully.
”Um, what?” I realize the sky has grown even darker, almost iron-gray. I've been so preoccupied with the auction I didn't notice before now.
”Thunderwear!” Mr. Jenkins claps his hands and laughs.
Thunder?
Light flashes through the grayness. I turn, looking past the patrons to where the chairs are all lined up on the gra.s.s, awaiting pickup from the winning bidders. Another crack sounds in the distance, a rumbling noise like a hungry giant or- The skies open up. A flood of heavy rain begins to pour down, splas.h.i.+ng onto the tent and pooling immediately into puddles of muddy water.
Are you freaking kidding me?
A gust of wind billows against the tent, rippling the cover. Shrieks and gasps rise from the crowd. People push to their feet, clutching bags and purses as they hurry to seek more secure shelter.
I grab Mr. Jenkins' arm, helping him down the steps of the stage to where Florence is sitting.
”The cafe is open, if you can make it over there,” I tell them. ”But hurry.”
I run outside, thinking of the carnival, the entertainment, if there's enough shelter for everyone. The rain spills down, lightning splitting across the sky. People rush away from the stages, clutching their children's hands or holding event fliers over their heads.
”Save the chairs, man!”
I whirl at the sound of Archer's voice. He's waving frantically at Brent, who is running toward him from the direction of the food trucks. Kelsey is close behind, holding Nicholas. She sees me and swerves, as Brent and Archer rush to pull the painted chairs into a nearby truck.
”Freak storm,” Kelsey gasps, her blond hair hanging damply over her face. ”It wasn't on the radar, Liv, I swear.”
”Can you take Nicholas to the cafe?” I ask. ”Get him changed? There's clean clothes in his diaper bag in my office.”
”Yeah, but you need to take cover too.”
”I'll be there in a sec. Just want to make sure no one needs help.”
Kelsey runs off into the storm. I hurry to the stages to ask if the bands are okay or if they need help with their equipment. In seconds, I'm drenched through, water spilling down my face and soaking my clothes. Another crash of thunder and lightning rents the air.
The rain comes down harder.
The festival volunteers rally as best they can, but the lightning is getting closer and being in an open field is about the worst place for any of us. The wind increases, pus.h.i.+ng against the tents, tipping over garbage bins and sandwich-board signs.
When a food tent dislodges from its moorings and billows toward the lake, the remaining staff and festival-goers run toward Avalon Street, seeking shelter in shops and restaurants.
Wiping rivulets of water from my face, I return to the auction tent to try and find Brent and Archer, but the place is empty, chairs overturned and auction paddles lying in the mud. I cast a glance over the park. It's now deserted, the wind and rain whipping through the abandoned tents and art booths.