Page 68 of Ransom

Her face lights up when I enter the dining room. "Good morning, Ransom! I've got some fresh coffee brewing. How do you like your eggs?" All of a sudden, I'm feeling guilty for skipping out on breakfast yesterday. She doesn't have any other guests, and I'm starting to realize that she's lonely.

"Any way you'd like to prepare them, I'll eat them. I'm not picky."

She grins, and it makes her look a decade younger. "That's refreshing. I had a couple through here last month that wanted egg white omelets with kale. I think they were hippies."

I laugh, startled. Mrs. Winston has a sense of humor. Who knew? She bustles out of the room, mumbling about kale, and I realize I've had my head up my ass. Of course, she has a sense of humor. She's a human being. She's more than the box I'd put herin. But when I rolled into town, I brought the fifteen-year-old kid I used to be with me. And he had a sizeable chip on his shoulder.

And apparently, shit opinions about a lot of people.

Standing, I push through the kitchen doors. "Would it be okay if I ate in here, since it's just the two of us?" She smiles and ushers me over to her well-worn pine table, puts a homey placemat in front of me, then heads back to her stove. "Mrs. Winston, how long have you owned this place?"

She pauses, spatula in hand. "Oh, going on forty years now. My Harold and I bought it when we were newlyweds."

"And he's… no longer here?"

"He passed five years ago now. Some days it feels like yesterday. And some days, I'm happy I don't have to pick up his dirty underwear off the bathroom floor anymore. My back's not what it used to be."

I choke out a laugh and smile at her. "I'm going to text my brothers and tell them to pick up their dirty underwear so their wives never have to do it. That's a good tip."

She laughs too and pours me a cup of coffee and plates the food. Only one plate. "You're not eating?"

She looks momentarily startled but pulls another plate down. Soon we're sitting, tucking into some of the most perfect eggs I've ever eaten.

"Tell me about yourself, Ransom. It looks like you're doing well for yourself. That's a fancy car out there. A little banged up, though. What happened?"

I take another bite of the perfectly scrambled eggs. "I almost hit a cow a few miles outside of town. Ended up in the ditch."

"Dairy cow? Black and white?"

"Yep."

She sighs and takes a sip of coffee. "That's Harriet. She's an escape artist. It doesn't seem to matter what Charlie does; she gets out. At least that's what he says. I suspect her gate getsleft open every once in a while. Charlie's granddaughter's a bit forgetful. Harriet’s run about six people off the road now."

Of course she has. I can't decide if that makes me feel better.

"And what about your family? Do you have one of your own?"

I smile, thinking of Mia and Noah. "Not of my own, but I have a niece and nephew. Mia's almost five, smart as a whip. And Noah just turned a year."

Mrs. Winston's eyes sparkle. "Oh, how wonderful! Children are such a blessing."

We chat more as I finish breakfast. I find myself opening up, sharing stories about my brothers and the women. Mrs. Winston laughs, her whole face lighting up.

"Thank you for breakfast," I say, genuinely grateful. "It was delicious."

She beams at me. "You're welcome anytime, Ransom. Will you be staying another night?"

She asks hard questions. I don't know what the fuck I'm still doing here, so who the fuck knows? "I'm not sure yet. But I'll let you know."

The walk to the coffee shop feels different today. The boarded-up storefronts are still there, but I notice details I missed before—the carefully tended flowerbeds, the cheerful "Good morning!" from the man sweeping in front of the hardware store, the fresh paint on the shutters. This town is struggling, that's obvious, but the people who are still here obviously still care about this place. It still feels homey, like I remember.

I didn't appreciate any of that when I was a kid. I didn't like that people knew my name and got in my business. I especially hated it the first year I lived here. I'd gotten used to skipping school when I was at my foster homes. Nobody gave a shit. Not the parents, not the school. Not really.

Here, Robert's spy network would report back to him, and he'd come find me. The longest I ever managed to stay gone was an hour. Getting hauled back to school multiple times a day at first got old.

So I stayed. And I made friends and actually learned a few things.

The grief and anger of losing my entire family didn't disappear, but this town wore the sharp edges down.

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