Demanding Ransom (18 page)

Me: :)

The man on the widescreen has been shouting
over-excitedly about some stain remover for the past ten minutes, but I’ve
rummaged through the couch cushions three times and cannot for the life of me
locate the AWOL remote. After two more testimonies on laundry miracles, I can’t
take it anymore and decide to walk to the television to shut if off manually.
The moment the volume from the surround sound cuts out, I hear my phone vibrate
across the leather cushion and I yank it into my grip.

So, what
did you think?

Me: That
I didn’t want it to stop. That I wondered how those lips would taste and how I
probably won’t wash my neck for at least a week.

Really? You wanted to know how they tasted?

Me: Um,
yeah. It was beyond intense. Like one moment I wanted to scream, then the next
moment I didn’t have any air in my lungs.

Your breath was literally taken away :)

Me: And that was all without actually kissing.

Just imagine how amazing THAT will be.

Me:
Uhhh, BELIEVE me, it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past 24 hours. Hold
on, I gotta pee.

K.

I toss the phone to the table and head to the
bathroom. When I get back, a new message appears on my screen.

Cora: Sorry about that. Ok—tell me ALL
about it. Don’t leave any details out.

Me: I just did.

Cora: No, you didn’t.

I pause, completely confused.

Me:
Cora, I just told you how intense and amazing it was and how I don’t plan to
scrub my neck for a week.

Cora: First off—ewww, wash your neck.
Second, I didn’t get any of that.

I stare at the typed letters on my screen,
wondering what Cora’s deal is and how she missed all of my—

Oh no.
Oh
no, no, no, no.

My fingers race across the screen hyperactively
like I have no control over them.

A new text pops into view.

Ran: I’d
hate for you to have to spend another 24 hours just thinking about it when you
could actually be experiencing it.

Oh no.
Oh
no, no, no, no!

My stomach rolls the contents of my lunch like
those cages they use to call out Bingo numbers. What did I just do? What just
happened?

Ran: Maggie? You there?

I stare blankly at the phone between my
fingers, but can’t focus on the words written across it because it rattles back
and forth like it’s sitting on the dryer rather than in the palm of my hand.

Ran: Maggie?

Me: I gotta go.

I dig my finger into the OFF switch and the
phone goes black.

***

I’m not sure where I’m running, I just run, the
pavement meeting each foot with alternating pressure. The rhythm against the
rubber tread echoes in my legs and I try to ignore my right one, pretending
it’s just as capable as the left. I don’t favor it like Ran says I always
do—I treat it just like the other, hoping if I pretend it’s just the
same, that it will actually work the way it should. Like I can trick it into
being completely healed.

Sucking in my breath, I focus on the things in
the world around me that make sense. The little girl swinging in the yard I’m
running past that laughs as her daddy pushes her higher. The black lab that
retrieves the ball his owner lobs down the block. The older couple on the
sidewalk across from me holding hands and smiling at one another, reminiscing
about some story as they speak with hushed volume. I focus on all of the
normal, daily interactions that go the way they should. The interactions that
produce emotions that you would expect to see and feel.

I swing down the block, hugging the curve, and
stay on the inside strip of pavement, close to the row of manicured front
yards. I’m tired. That should be expected. That’s normal. My head rattles as I
jog down the block. That always happens. That’s good. All of this feels
familiar.

I hear the low rumble edging up behind me and
my heart beats rapidly to match the sound. It’s the last thing I anticipated
feeling, the last sensation I expected to encounter on my run that was meant to
distract and center me.

The ground pulses and even when the motorcycle
eases up to the curb, I keep my eyes fixed forward. I need to be in control,
and this run was supposed to do that. To help me feel normal, not the jumbled
mix of hormones and irrational sensations I’ve been since first laying eyes on
Ran two months ago.

“You come here often?” Ran pushes the visor to
his helmet up and I catch the smirk I know his lips make just from the slight
squint in his eyes.

I stare straight ahead.
I will not talk to him. I will not mortify myself even more (if that’s
possible.) I will not talk. I will not talk.

“Maggie, I liked those texts.” Ran’s bike
crawls across the pavement just two feet from me, and he balances a foot on
either side, walking his motorcycle underneath him. “You can send me dirty
texts anytime you want.”

“They weren’t dirty,” I spit, betraying my oath
to stay silent.

“I think the part about not washing your neck
was completely dirty, am I right?”

“Those weren’t meant for you.”

Ran hangs his head low. “Dang it, Maggie?
There’s
another
guy you’re sending
dirty texts to? I have competition?”

I quicken my pace. “You don’t have
competition.”

“Good,” he smiles. “Because he would lose, and
that would be very sad for him.”

I ignore him completely. “Those texts were for
Cora.”

“Cora?”

I hadn’t wanted them to, but my eyes pull his
direction. “Cora, my roommate. Remember her? The girl that rode on the back of
your bike after our awful sushi interrogation?”

Recognition flits across Ran’s face and his
helmet bobs up and down in a nod. “Oh, you mean Claws.”

“Claws?”

“Yeah, I think she might have left a permanent
scar from grabbing on so hard to keep from falling off.”

I laugh, but turn it into a cough as I continue
my jog, Ran still doing his annoying walk-balance thing beside me. “Cora wasn’t
worried about falling off, Ran. She was manhandling you.”

My right leg gives slightly, and I lean into it
to keep from tumbling. I know Ran notices.

“I can drive you the rest of the way.”

Sinking teeth marks into my lips I reply, “No,
I have to do this. I have to prove it’s strong enough.”

The motor had still been running during our
exchange, but I’ve slowed my pace so much that Ran’s now able to kill it and
still drag his bike at the same rate I move forward. “Want company then?”

“Not really,” I huff. Which is completely the
opposite of what I want. I want more than his company walking beside me as I
jog at a snail’s pace. Though I’ve been trying to distract myself, the only
thing I’ve been able to fill my mind with are all the ways I want him. His
mouth on mine, his smart comments, his help in showing me how to forgive. I
want him. I want Ran. I want it all.

“So I
have this idea.” He ignores my attempt to shake him off. “Operation Forgiving
Mom is now underway.”

“That’s
the cheesiest title I’ve ever heard. Almost as bad as your Hallmark card line
the other day.” The prolonged talking while running is becoming difficult,
mostly because it adds to the checklist of other tasks I have to focus on: make
sure my right leg doesn’t give out from under me, make sure I don’t hold too
much eye contact with Ran and give him any indication that I literally can’t
keep my eyes off of him, make sure my voice remains calm and controlled when it
actually sounds like a blubbering, squeaky school girl’s. It’s like walking and
chewing gum
while
rubbing my belly
and patting my head. I’m failing at all of it.

“Do you have
a better suggestion?”

“Yeah,
how about Operation
Try-Not-to-Completely-Hate-My-Mother-and-Work-on-the-Forgiveness-Thing-Later?”

I can
almost hear the wheels rotating under Ran’s sleek, black helmet. “Okay,
Operation TNTCHMMAWOTFTL commences now.” He counts out each letter on a finger
and he doesn’t hide the haughty smirk that goes along with it. “Operation TNT
for short.”

“Do I
get to blow her up?” I mock excitedly, my pace nothing more than a brisk stride
now. I’ve seen elderly women speed walk faster than this so-called run of mine.

“Yeah,
her phone,” Ran answers. “You’re sending her a text today.”

My feet
set underneath me. The momentum from the weight of Ran’s bike pulls him forward
a foot or two ahead of me, and he cocks his head over his shoulder once he
notices I’m no longer moving.

“I have
nothing to say to her.”

Like
usual, Ran ignores my excuses and swings his leg over the side of his
motorcycle, bounces up and down on the kicker, and it rumbles noisily to life. “Find
something,” he instructs, and with a gloved hand he slams the visor shut, gives
me a head-to-toe scan that weakens my knees, and then speeds down the stretch
of asphalt, leaving me speechless. Just like always.

***

Ran: Did you follow through with your
assignment?

I blink
the bleary haze from my eyes. It’s 3:30 a.m. Of course it is.

Me: Yes.

Ran: And that was?

Me: I
told her Mikey was not dead. Last time we talked I said I would let her know if
he died.

I hear
the rattle of the garage door and the squeal of the hinges as it settles back
into the frame. Dad’s recognizable footsteps tread down the hall toward his
bedroom. He has got to be tired of working the graveyard shift, but I think
it’s all he’s ever known. At some point, you must just adapt.

The
phone buzzes again and lights up my bedroom, stretching light into the dark
corners and pockets of empty space.

Ran: Ok. How did she respond?

My
eyelids hang heavy over my eyes, encasing them with tired bags that make it
difficult to see the screen. I blink three or four times, and by the last one,
they pull nearly all the way closed.

Me: She said that was god.

Ran: Sounds like she’s giving credit where
credit is due, you know, to God and all. I’d say that’s a win.

Me: Oops, typo. Supposed to say good, not god.
I’m tired…

Ran: Well, that demotes it a little, going from
God status to Good, but we’ll take it.

Me: I can’t keep my eyes open. Soooo sleepy…

Ran: Still losing sleep thinking about that
near-kiss?

Me: No.

Ran: You
sure? Because I’m pretty certain you have to be thinking about it now that I
mentioned it :)

Me: I
want to sleep. With you let me please?

Ran: ???

My eyes
drag across the screen to re-read my previous text.

Oh,
crap.

Me: That
was supposed to say WILL not WITH

Ran:
Sure, Maggie ;)

Me: WILL
you let me.

Ran:
Yes.

I slump
my head onto the pillow and have to prop my phone up in front of my face to
stay focused on it. Every ounce of me begs for the surrender to sleep right
now.

Me: Yes?

Ran:
Yes, I will let you sleep (with me;)

Me: Shut
it, Ran.

Ran:
Night, Maggie. Sweet dreams.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

“Something
came in the mail for you today, Mags.” Dad flicks an envelope against the back
of his hand, not looking up at me, as he peruses the remaining stack of junk
mail and bills in the other. “From the insurance company.”

“Nice,
Mags! You can finally get a new set of wheels!” Mikey hollers over the back of
the couch, his arm draped across Sadie’s shoulders. They’ve been planted in
front of the television for hours watching some football game, and I’m
impressed with Sadie’s ability to appear engaged and interested for as long as
she has. I would have thought she’d tune out five touchdowns ago.