The Sellers Turned Down My $2.4 Million Cash Offer for Their Lake House. They Wanted to Meet the Other Buyer First

The other buyer was already on the porch when I pulled in, and she was not happy to see me.

“You’re the cash offer,” she said.

“And you must be the one with the letter.”

Ramona Fitch. Forty-seven, dark hair pulled back, a high school principal’s posture and a high school principal’s stare. Her offer was two hundred thousand dollars lower than mine and depended on a mortgage. Mine was cash and could close in ten days.

On paper, it wasn’t close.

I’m Cyrus Lamar. Fifty. Divorced. I own a timber company in south Alabama and more pickup trucks than I need. I first saw this house at fourteen, from my father’s rented fishing boat. Built in 1938. Stone chimney, a screened porch on three sides, and a dock that reaches out over Lake Martin like it’s asking for something.

When it finally came up for sale, I made the best offer I’d ever made on anything.

The sellers didn’t take it.

Instead, they invited both of us to Sunday lunch.

Amos and Lillian Pettus, eighty-eight and eighty-six, had lived in that house for sixty-one years. Lillian met us at the screen door in an apron. Amos sat in a rocker with a quilt on his knees.

“We read Ramona’s letter,” Lillian said. “We counted Mr. Lamar’s money. Now we want to know you both.”

She smiled sweetly.

“And we’ve made a decision. We’re not choosing between you.”

Ramona and I looked at each other.

“Then who gets the house?” I asked.