Page 64 of Ransom

Feeling slightly flustered, I stretch and groan out the last echoes of sleep. Finally, I slide out of bed and pad to the kitchen in my pajamas. "Can you—" my question dies in my throat when I register the emptiness. No Maggie, no coffee brewing.

Just silence.

My stomach drops. This isn't like her. She's always up before me, enjoying her quiet time before Max wakes up and the day gets crazy.

Before I realise it, I’m up the stairs and outside her bedroom door, my hand hovering over the knob. I'm terrified to go in. What if... No. I can't even think it. I'm not ready. We're not ready.

My mind drifts to last night, to my talk with Ransom. The peace that washed over me when I finally forgave him. It feels like I've just cleared my head, like I can finally breathe again. Maggie can't be gone. Not now. Not when I've just found some semblance of peace.

"Come on, Blair," I whisper to myself, barely audible. "Everything's fine. Maggie's probably just sleeping in. She needs her rest, that's all." I swallow hard, trying to quiet the nagging doubt in the pit of my stomach. "You're overreacting. She's okay. She has to be okay."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. My knuckles rap softly against the door. No answer. I push it open, wincing at the slight creak.

Maggie's curled up in bed, a lump under the covers. I tiptoe closer, my heart in my throat. Leaning down, I strain to hear her breathing, to see any sign of movement.

Suddenly, Maggie's eyes fly open. She screams, her arms flailing.

I do what anybody would, and scream too, stumbling backward. My hip slams into the dresser, sending a vase tumbling to the floor.

"Blair! What the hell?" Maggie shrieks, clutching her chest.

"Jesus Christ, Maggie!" I gasp, one hand pressed against my racing heart, the other rubbing my hip.That's going to leave a bruise. "I thought you were dead!"

"Well, I nearly was! You scared the life out of me!"

We stare at each other for a moment, both panting, then burst into laughter.

"Oh god," I wheeze, sliding down to sit on the floor. "I almost peed my pants."

Maggie wipes tears from her eyes, still snorting. "Almost? I did. Fucking pregnancy destroyed my bladder. God, the indignity!" she rails, waving her fist up at the ceiling. "What were you doing, anyway? Trying to check if I was still breathing?"

I nod, sheepishly. "You weren't in the kitchen. I got worried."

Maggie's face softens. "Oh, Blair. I'm sorry. I was just tired and slept in a bit."

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have?—"

"Stop," Maggie cuts me off. "It's okay. Now, get out of here and let me get dressed." She throws back the covers. "Hey, let's go to the coffee shop after I drop Max at school. You can buy me a coffee to make up for almost scaring me to death."

"You're so fucking cheap." It's a fact. She loves that coffee shop, but even though the coffees aren't city prices, they cost a fuck of a lot more than making coffee at home. Me? I go there almost every day. The garage doesn't make much money, but I have more than I need to get by. Even paying half the bills at Maggie's, I have plenty left over. So I buy fancy coffees and put too much money into Dad's truck. There's always something that needs fixing. And getting parts for a '59 F-100 isn't easy.

She sniffs at me. "I'm frugal. It's different."

"Fine, I'll take you out for coffee." I put the colorful plastic vase back on the dresser. Maybe I should get her some flowers to go in it. Or better yet, a plant. Something she can watch grow.

Except she's killed every other plant she's owned.

Maybe a cactus?

I leave the room to Maggie's muttering. I catch 'muffin' and 'bitch' as I shut the door. She's a little salty this morning, and I'm so relieved, my knees feel a little wobbly.

She’s okay, for today at least.

And around here, we’re taking it one day at a time.

I stare at the door across from Maggie's, covered in Max's bizarre artwork and crayon scribbles. It's like a Jackson Pollock painting threw up on a kindergarten craft project.

"Max!" I pound on the door. "Time to get up, you little gremlin!"

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