Page 9 of Ransom
So are the memories.
At first, they were all I had. I clung to them, pulling them out at night, letting myself drown in the feel of her skin, the way her breath hitched as I ran my nose along her neck. Everything about her was magic to me.
Still is.
I'm not stupid enough to think I could have all of that again. I broke it, and I did it decisively, making sure that there would be no question in her mind. We were done and it was final.
Only it's never been done for me. It never will be. Because Blair McKenna is it for me. Twenty-five years ago, today, and fifty years from now, too.
Memories riding me, I do the only thing I can do.
Go looking for a distraction.
4
BLAIR
Ipush open the front door, the familiar creak welcoming me home. The cozy, cottage-like interior of Maggie's house envelops me. Every time I walk in this door, I feel like I've climbed inside a genie's bottle. It's all color and touchable fabrics. Pretty much the complete opposite of the garage and the apartment above it I lived in for most of my life. Dad wasn't much for decorating. Neither am I. It's not that I don't appreciate it; I just don't notice it until it's right in front of me.
"Aunt Blair!" Max's voice rings out from amidst a sea of colorful Lego bricks. "Look what I'm building!" Warm afternoon light spills through the living room window, casting a golden glow on the worn hardwood floors and across the colorful bricks.
I ruffle his damp hair as I pass, the scent of his freshly washed locks mingling with the mouthwatering aroma wafting from the kitchen. "Looks great, kiddo. What's it gonna be?"
"A spaceship. I’m going to use it to nuke those alien assholes," he declares, his focus already back on his creation.
Fuck he’s funny. But I clear my throat and give him a glare. He rolls his eyes at me the little jerk, but mumbles, “Sorry. Not assholes. Jerks. Alien jerks.” Then his eyes go hazy. “I wonderif aliens poop? Do they use toilet paper? Or maybe they built a machine that just sucks the poop out? Huh. I gotta look that up.”
Stomach aching from holding in my laughter, because seriously, he’s either batshit crazy, or a scientist in the making, I turn and follow the scent of Maggie's cooking into the kitchen. Thank fuck she's feeling up to it today. I can cook, but not like she can. I grab a Coke from the fridge, pop the top with the magnetic bottle opener, then stick it back on the side of the fridge.
Maggie stands at the stove, stirring a pot of what smells like her famous chili. Her headscarf, a vibrant splash of color against her pale skin, is tied neatly at the nape of her neck. She glances over her shoulder, a knowing smile on her face.
"Rough day?" she asks, her voice soft with understanding.
I lean against the counter, taking a long pull from my drink. "You could say that."
Maggie turns down the heat on the stove and faces me fully. "Max had a great day at school. Christine says he's making real progress with his reading. Apparently, all it takes is a book on gross facts, and suddenly he can't get enough."
"That would do it," I say, looking in at my godson. The kid is all about gross and weird. Not sure why we didn't think of getting him some different reading material before now.
How the fuck am I supposed to do this by myself?
I pray like hell that I'll never have to, but that fucking scarf on Maggie's head is a pretty stark reminder of the reality of her illness. There's no way to stick my head in the sand when I'm staring at it every day. And if the both of us together couldn't figure out something as simple as a book of gross facts to help Max with his reading, what chance would I have as a single parent?
Maggie's hand on my arm pulls me back to the present. "Earth to Blair! What's wrong?"
The concern in her eyes breaks my heart a little bit. She doesn't want to talk about the possibility of her not being here, so I stuff that shit down and let all my worries pour into another subject instead.
"Ransom sent some of his guys to the garage today," I admit, the words tumbling out. "They tried to buy it. Again."
Maggie's face softens with sympathy. "Oh, Blair. I'm so sorry."
I take another swig, trying to wash away the bitter taste the memory leaves. "I'm just... I'm so tired of it, Mags. It's been months of this shit. Every time I think I'm finally free of him, he finds another way to worm back into my life."
Maggie wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I lean into her embrace. It's a comfort I've come to rely on over the years, ever since I moved in to help with her pregnancy and never left. I was supposed to be helping her, and I did. But at this point, I need her a fuck of a lot more than she needs me.
"Have you reconsidered selling?" she asks gently. "It might be easier?—"
"No," I cut her off, more sharply than I intend. "Sorry, I just... I can't. That garage is all I have left of Dad and Grandpa." I don't have a lot of memories of my Grandpa. He passed a couple of years after we moved back here. But for a while, all three of us lived above the garage together. We were a family. "I can't let it go. Especially not to Ransom."
