A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [61]
Bridget smiled gratefully and said, “Thanks, but we already have some.”
Sonya immediately looked interested, and Lindsay corrected quickly, “What Bridget means is that we’re really not in the market for—”
“What Lindsay means,” Cici corrected firmly, “is that we’re much too busy with the house to have time for dating. Which brings me to the reason we’re here.”
“Well, when you do have time,” Sonya replied magnanimously, “you just let me know. I know everybody in town, and I’m not going to steer you to anybody who can’t take care of you, you can be sure of that. After all, they all have to get their mortgages through me, don’t they?” She winked. “And we girls have got to stick together. So tell me, what did you all do back in Baltimore?”
There followed a fifteen-minute coffee klatch type conversation about their former careers, children, retirements, and exes; Bridget’s widowhood; their decision to share a house; their accidental discovery of Blackwell Farm and their immediate passion for it. Sonya, in turn, shared her memories of the house from her childhood, cranky old Mr. Blackwell and rumors of its ghost. Cici gave up trying to work the reason for their visit into the conversation, and just sat back and enjoyed it.
“Have you found the folly?” she wanted to know.
The ladies looked from one to another. “The what?”
“Well, it’s probably all fallen down by now. But there used to be a little house out in a glade in the middle of the woods, just like a little fairy castle. I saw a picture of it one time. It used to be painted green with white gingerbread scrollwork but by the time I was a kid playing around there all the paint had peeled off and the windows and doors were missing. My mother told me that’s what they called them in England—silly little buildings with no practical purpose. Follies. I guess that’s where the Blackwells got the idea. They used to travel in Europe a lot, especially when the vineyard was in operation. Now.” She leaned forward and tapped a few keys on her computer. “How much do you need?”
For a moment all three of them simply returned a blank look, having become so relaxed in the conversation that they had almost forgotten why they’d come. Then Cici quickly assumed her business demeanor, and explained their situation and their need. Sonya listened while she typed, and when Cici had finished she said, studying the figures on her screen, “I can give you a much better rate on a home equity loan, or even a fixed rate mortgage. Are you sure . . .”
“We don’t want to borrow against the house,” Cici said firmly.
“We have an agreement,” added Lindsay.
“A legal thing,” said Bridget apologetically.
Sonya pursed her lips, typed a few more characters, and said, “Okay then, I can give you seven and a quarter variable on a personal loan, but you understand that that rate is only good for six months. You’ll have to renegotiate at the beginning of the year.”
They exchanged a look and a nod. “Sounds fair,” Cici said.
“Good enough,” agreed Lindsay.
“Sure,” said Bridget.
More tapping on the keyboard, and Sonya glanced up. “I see you’ve got an account here called ‘Household.’ Do you want the funds transferred directly into that?”
They nodded. “That would be good.”
One more keystroke, and she sat back in her chair, smiling. “Okay then, you’re all set. It will probably take until Thursday morning, since we’re closed on Wednesdays.”
Cici said, “But—you mean that’s it?”
Lindsay added, “Don’t you want an application form or something?”
“What for? I have everything I need to know.”
Bridget said, “But . . . shouldn’t we sign something?”
Sonya stood up and offered her hand. “Ya’ll invite me over when you get the house fixed up, okay? I’d love to see the inside of that old place.”
They each shook her hand enthusiastically, promised to do so, and left the bank with muted expressions of wonder.
“Now that’s the way to do business!” exclaimed Lindsay when they were in the car.
“I had three accounts