I need to ask you for one favor.
Previously: I need to ask you for one favor." The laughter at the biker table stopped at once.
What Happened Next
The diner went quiet.
At the counter, a waitress stopped pouring coffee. A trucker lowered his newspaper. Even the jukebox seemed too loud now.
The bikers stared at her, unsure whether they had heard correctly.
The old woman tried to stand straighter.
"My name is Ruth Miller," she said. "I live three miles from here, in the little blue house by the creek. My husband built it with his own hands before he died."
Her voice shook.
"Now a real estate company says I signed papers selling it. I didn't. They are coming this afternoon to force me out."
”They are coming this afternoon to force me out."