4: Ramsy.

"Yes, girl. There is coffee, but it isn't made. I prefer whiskey in the evenings."

"Oh, I'll gladly make it, thank you," she breathes, brightening. Twisting something inside of me. Something like guilt for tearing up her letter.

Damn, I wish I'd read it now. It might have given me information about her. I find I'd like to know...everything. But I don't want her to get the wrong impression that I give a shit. When I show compassion, that's when people take advantage. That's when they pounce. When they begin to see an advantage to knowing me, having my sympathies.

Not going to happen this time.

"Is there somewhere I can put Curtis?" she asks.

"Curtis," I repeat, clearing my throat. "Yes. There is a room beneath the stairs." I jerk my chin in that direction. "It was a nursery when I moved in, though the crib has been replaced by a regular bed. Will that work for him?"

"Considering he's been sleeping on stacked boxes, I'd say so." She's almost cheerful while imparting that dreadful piece