Demanding Ransom (23 page)

“No, I
get it.” The palm of his hand is hot where it rests.

“Because
the accident wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gotten the call about Mikey.
And it feels awful to be thankful for it because it feels like saying I’m glad
he has cancer, you know?”

I close
my eyes and lean my head further into the crook of his neck. I feel his pulse
against my forehead and it’s a soothing, settling force. “Nothing about that is
awful.” Ran tilts his head so it rests just on top of mine.

“But it
feels like it should be.”

“You
need to stop punishing yourself and give yourself permission to be happy. You
deserve it just as much as anyone else.”

We drive
through the tunnel of white, the periphery completely covered in a snowy carpet
that stretches as far as I can see. Ran doesn’t feel as cold as before, and
I’ve burrowed closer into his side while his right hand remains affectionately
on my leg. There’s no music now—even our mariachi bands don’t come
through the radio anymore—and the silence around us is the most peaceful
sound I’ve heard in a long time.

“I am,
Ran.” I take in a deep breath, one that fills me with not just air, but a calm
I didn’t know possible.

“You
are?”

I thread
my fingers over his in my lap. “Happy.”

We’re
both staring out the window, at the new coating of snow, and it feels like we
could drive forever just like this. Because even though there’s no heater and
it’s impossibly cold, even though we’re heading to a cabin full of people that
feel like strangers, even though Mikey has cancer and I have scars, for the
moment, all the happiness I need is right here in this truck, sitting right
beside me.

“Me too,
Maggie.” Ran squeezes my knee once more, and says again, his voice soft and
hushed, “I’m happy too.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY

“Wake up,
Sleeping Beauty.” My eyes flash open and I see the long stretch of driveway,
recently plowed, straight up ahead. My mom’s brand new Range Rover is parked
just in front of the garage to the two-story, modern log cabin that sits at the
crest of the small hill.

“I
wasn’t sleeping,” I say, pushing the back of my hand across my eyes to drag the
haze from them. I brush it over my mouth and it comes back wet. Great. I’ve
been drooling. I glance down at Ran’s shoulder and it’s slick with saliva.
Mortifying with a capital M.

“Okay,
so you’re denying the sleeping part, but you were still completely beautiful.”

“Right.”
I straighten up in the middle seat of the cab. “Because slobbering all over
your shoulder is
so
attractive.”

“I’ve
always said girls drool over me. You were just confirming that statement.” Ran
slips the truck into the open space next to my mother’s vehicle and pulls the
keys from the ignition. “You ready for this?”

“No.” I
shake my head, hoping that maybe he’ll say we can head back down the hill and
scrap the idea of spending the weekend at the cabin. But I know that’s not
going to happen. Only in my dreams. Maybe I should go back to sleep.

“It will
be fine. I promise you.” His words don’t provide me any assurance, but I don’t
think we have any other option because Mom’s husband, Sterling, is already
bounding down the long staircase toward us, hands outstretched to lend some
assistance with our luggage.

“Margaret.”
He deposits an obligatory kiss upon my cheek. “Ransom, I presume.” He takes
Ran’s hand in his grip and gives him a firm, no-nonsense handshake. “We’re so
glad you could make it up to the chalet.”

I follow
Sterling up the icy steps and crane my neck over my shoulder toward Ran as he
mouths “chalet” with an incredulous look on his face. I try not to laugh, but
all I want to do is correct Sterling and tell him that my name is Maggie, that
Ran’s is Ran, and that we’re visiting their cabin. But then I think I’d run the
risk of Ran commenting on my obsession with semantics, so I decide instead to
trail behind Sterling and not say a word. I have a feeling this weekend just
might result in a bloodied tongue from all of the biting I’ll be doing.

“Thank
you for having us, Mr. Manor.”

“It’s
Sterling,” he corrects as he props open the front door for us to walk through.
“And it’s our pleasure.”

The
cabin is immaculate—granite counters, plush, leather couches, and an
enormous widescreen are the first things to draw my eye. That and the massive
stretch of windows that runs the entire south side of the cabin—floor-to-ceiling—creating
a scape of the sloping, snow-coated mountains like it’s a painting rather than
the actual outdoors.

“There
are two empty rooms upstairs, one for each of you. Please feel free to make
yourselves at home.” It’s such an odd statement coming from a man who is
married to the one person that completely ruined the definition of ‘home’ for
me years ago. “We’ll dine at 5:00.”

The way
Sterling talks, it sounds as though he’s a bellboy rather than a stepfather.

“Thank
you, Sterling,” Ran says, pulling our luggage from his hands. “I can take it
from here.”

“Of
course,” Sterling nods, and extends a hand to the staircase at our left. It’s
narrow and leads to the upstairs rooms where all of the children will sleep I
assume. I follow upon Ran’s heels and once we’re at the top, I can see the
upstairs is more of a loft in nature as it has a bonus room that overlooks the
family room below. There is a line of six doors, five of which must be bedrooms
and one that has to be a bathroom because the door is ajar and I can see the
impressive travertine floors from where I stand.

“Those
must be ours,” Ran says, pointing toward the only two other rooms with their
doors open at the end of the hall. “Why don’t you take the one on the right and
I’ll take the one on the left.”

I nod,
honestly not caring which room I have at all.

“I still
can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” I tug my bag from his grip. “What
are we doing here?”

“You’re
earning your first patch, Maggie.” We walk toward our empty rooms and Ran
follows me into mine. There’s a queen-sized bed perfectly wrapped in expensive
looking bedding, tucked in on the sides like a present, just like I pictured. I
have the overwhelming urge to jump on it and rip the sheets from the mattress,
but I restrain myself. Biting my tongue and restraining my emotions. This is
going to be a long weekend.

“Did we
have to start with such a huge patch?”

“It will
be fine, you’ll see,” Ran assures, sliding his fingers down the length of my ponytail,
giving me a provoking grin as they continue along my neck.

“Knock-knock.”
My mother stands in the doorway, her low-cut, silk blouse bowing slightly as
she leans into the room. She’s got a glass of white wine precariously balanced
in one hand, a pair of towels in the other. “I see you made it up the hill.
These are for you two.”

There
isn’t a shred of sincerity in her hollow voice, but the words that come out of
her mouth are probably the most genuine in nature that she’s uttered my
direction in the past decade. It’s not a ‘glad you could make it,’ or ‘happy
you had a safe drive,’ but it’s something.

“Margaret.”
She looks toward Ran. “Is this Ransom?”

I want
to spit something snide like, ‘No, this is just some random guy I found
hitch-hiking,’ but I dive in full-force with the tongue biting and say, “Yes.”

“Nice to
meet you, Ransom.” She bats her false eyelashes and purses her lips. “You look
old enough to drink—would you like a drink?”

“No
thank you, Ma’am.” See, now that is the appropriate use of the word ma’am.
“Thank you for having us up for the weekend.”

“Mm-hmm,”
she mutters and it’s not a ‘you’re welcome,’ but I think it’s the closest thing
we’ll get to one. “Dinner is at 5:00. Cocktails at 4:00.”

“Cocktails?
Isn’t it just you, Sterling, and the kids?” I ask.

My mom
swivels her hips around and heads toward the door. “No, we have some friends
from the country club that will come over to join us tonight for dinner. Wear
something nice. We’ll see you downstairs at 5:00.”

And then
she shuts the door behind her.

“What
was that about?” I gape, slumping onto the corner of the bed. “Do you think all
of her children are tucked away behind the other bedroom doors? Is that what
this is? Some kind of holding cell until we are allowed to come out and show our
faces?”

“I
honestly have no clue.” Without asking, Ran unzips my bag and begins to unpack
my belongings, placing them into the dresser along the wall. He shoves my
sweaters, jeans, and pajamas into one drawer and then reaches out to pull the
remaining contents when his hands find it. “Maggie, what’s this?” His eyes are
huge on his face and he runs his free hand nervously through his perfectly
tousled hair. “What
is
this, Maggie?”

“Nothing.”
I jump from my seat and launch toward him, but he stretches up on toe, his arm
extended to its full length like he’s playing keep away. My triangle bikini top
dangles overhead. “Give that back.”

“Oh
Maggie, this is not good.”

“Give it
back, Ran!” I demand, but he fends me off with his left forearm.

“Do you
realize what you’re doing to me with this?”

“It’s
not even mine,” I defend. “It’s Cora’s.”

Ran
looks up at the hot pink strip of fabric and glances back my direction. “I owe
Cora a huge thank you.”

“Shut
it, Ran! Just give it back to me.”

He
shoots me a grin that makes me melt, even though I’m still pretending to be
furious with him. It really isn’t fair how he does that. “I’ll give it back to
you on one condition.”

“And
that would be?” I plant my hands firmly on my hips and summon my most
intimidating snarl, but I know I’m not pulling it off in the slightest.

“That I
get to see you in it.”

I stomp
a foot to add drama to my mini tantrum. “I don’t even know if they have a hot
tub.”

“Oh
don’t worry, we’ll
find
a hot tub.”

“Fine,”
I mutter.

“What
was that? I couldn’t really hear you.” He waves my swimsuit like a taunting
flag.

“I said
fine!” I swat at the strap and he drops it into my hands. I immediately yank
open the dresser drawer and bury it under the rest of my clothes.

“You got
anything else in there?” Ran angles his head and squints one eye toward my
suitcase.

“Don’t
you have some unpacking to do?”

“Nothing
in my luggage is anywhere near that exciting.” He drags his finger over the
zipper to my luggage again. “You sure there isn’t anything else?”

“Go
unpack.”

“Alright.”
Ran backs away from me and pulls on the handle to the door. “I think I’m
actually going to go lie down before dinner. Too many late shifts this week.”

“I’ll
wake you in time,” I say as he walks toward the door. “And Ran?

“Yeah?”
He turns around to face me.

“Thank
you, I think. I don’t hold much hope for this weekend, but thank you for making
me at least
try
to do this.”

“You’re
welcome, Maggie,” Ran says. He traces the outline of his swirled tattoo etched
across his arm. “And this weekend will be fine. New memories to replace the
old, remember?”

Dinner
was an event. Not just an event, a spectacle. Ran and I opted to skip “cocktail
hour” and played a game of gin in the bonus room instead, while Kinsey and Jefferson,
who didn’t look up once from their handheld electronic devices, occupied the
other two chairs in the room. From our position on the couch we had a bird’s
eye view of the pre-party downstairs, and by 5:00 p.m. all guests had consumed
more alcohol than I would expect to see at a college frat party. But what was
more disturbing than the copious amounts of liquor in their systems was the
fact that no one seemed even the slightest bit buzzed, as though their
tolerance was unusually high from
e He
 
many past nights similar to this one.

We ate
at a long, wood planked banquet table and I was sure to snag the chair furthest
from my mother in an effort to avoid any possible interaction. But apparently
that wasn’t even necessary. I think my mother must be one of those drunks that
gets really quiet as opposed to loud and obnoxious, because she just sat in her
seat next to Sterling the entire evening, smiling when appropriate, nodding her
head where needed, and engaging in polite conversation when she was spoken to.

The mix
of country club friends was an odd one. Two couples could have easily been
swapped out for one another and no one would have known the difference: both
consisted of men in their 50’s with silver as opposed to gray hair, both with a
distinguished, handsome charm about them, and their much younger, much blonder,
counterparts could have been clones of each other. The other couple looked a
lot like my mom and Sterling and made mention a few times of their three
children back at their chalet with the babysitter, so something about them
seemed warmer than the others, though I’m not sure why. Mom and Sterling
currently have five children in their mountain home, dining at the same table,
but nothing about this family situation feels warm.