‘I’m Sorry’ is NOT Enough
Lula’s POV
Ches Deuce ain’t saying much. That’s not unusual. RangeMen don’t talk in cars, no matter how long or short the distance. This is one of those times when I really miss Steph. We used to talk, debate, laugh, and jam to my tunes. I get in cars with RangeMen and go to sleep.
We’re in Ches’s personal car, a green Chevy Trailblazer with the naked girl mud flaps. Classy. Ches has the radio on and he’s singing along to some country song, smiling and happy. He looks like a country boy, brown hair, brown eyes, skinny like the Marlboro Man. He’s even wearing the plaid shirt and dusty looking blue jeans tucked into black cowboy boots.
“Where are you from?”
He glances at me for a moment. “Austin.”
“No, I mean, where are your people from?” White folk always know which country their folks are from. I’m trying to figure out where the name ‘Deuce’ comes from. I thought that was a nickname. I didn’t realize that really was his last name.
“England and Germany. I’m more German than anything else.”
“So Deuce is a German name?”
Ches chuckles. “Never thought I’d get into this discussion with you. OK, so Deuce has a lot of meanings, most commonly meaning ‘two’ but it was also High German for ‘devil’.”
“What does Chester mean?”
“Camp of Soldiers.” Ches grins. “Fierce fighters.”
“Uh huh.” I think for a moment. “So your name means something like ‘Camp of Devil soldiers’?”
He laughs. “Yeah. Or ‘Fights like the Devil’. I like that meaning more. Didn’t know you were interested in this kinda stuff, Lula.”
I’m not. Not really. I’m trying to make conversation. Otherwise, I’m going to sleep.
Earlier
“Hey Lula!”
I turn around and spot Ches Deuce. He’s a Trenton man and the one I have the most uneasy relationship with. I don’t know why, I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me. I don’t give a damn, in the long run, but if you don’t like me, I want to earn that. Don’t hate on me just because I was a ho’ once.
“Ches. Wassup?”
“You have plans this weekend?”
I look at him. “Why?”
“I’d like you to meet my family.”
I back up. “Oh hell no. Uh uh. Nope, no way. I’m all about Tank. I ain’t lookin’ for no other man and you ain’t big enough. Nope, no sir, I don’t need to meet nobody else’s . . . what’s so funny?”
He’s bent over laughing like something’s really funny. “No, no Lula. Damn. That came out all wrong.” He straightens up and wipes his eyes, laughing. “My bad. Let me try that again. I’d like you to meet my brother Jason.”
“Why?”
He sobers. “Because you don’t understand Texas law when it comes to guns. I want you to meet Jason so you’ll understand why Tank and Bobby keep talking to you about it.”
“Yeah yeah, I know,” I reply waving a hand. “Texas gun laws are strict. I could affect the business. I’ve heard it all from those two.” I turn to leave but his voice stops me in my tracks.
“No,” he replies coldly. “That’s not it.” I turn around and look at him. His face looks as cold as ice. “Screw the business. I want you to understand what it means on a personal level.”
I motion for him to follow me into a conference room. Once he walks in, I shut the door and hit rhino mode.
“Now, I wanna know why you want me to meet your family. Half the time you act like you can’t stand me and I’m getting sick of that. I was a ho’. OK. I get it. I don’t need you looking down on me—”
“Wait, stop Lula,” he says, waving his arms in front of him. I’ve damn near backed him into the wall. “I do like you.” I stop and stare at him and he sighs and motions to a chair. I sit down, unconvinced.
“I do like you and if you thought I didn’t like you, I’m sorry.” He’s sober and serious. “I think you’re smart, warm and funny and when I heard you and Tank were getting married, I was happy for you. My beef with you is your attitude to guns. I’m a Texan by birth and I grew up knowing Texas gun laws but I’m going to tell you why I want you to meet my brother.
My brother was involved in an accidental shooting. I want him to tell you all the details around it, but long story short, he was cleared of the criminal charges. The civil trial?” Ches stares at me. “$1 million judgment against him.”
I whistle. Damn!
“Yeah. Exactly. He only has to pay half,”—I open my mouth and he raises a hand—”I’ll let him explain why but they’re garnishing his wages for the next 20 years to get that money. All for a shooting that was held to be accidental.”
“Well, if it was an accident, why he gotta pay? That don’t make no sense. If you found innocent, that’s the end of it!” I’m confused. Sounds like he wasn’t found innocent to me.
“Again, I want him to explain it to you. It’ll mean more coming from him, believe me.”
“Damn,” I mutter. “Isn’t that illegal?”
Ches snorts. “OJ Simpson.”
We look at each other and shake our heads.
If they don’t get you one way, they’ll get you another.
Ches’s family lives near Austin, which is about an hour from RangeMan. We get off the highway and start going into some backwoods roads that make me nervous.
I’m city all the way. This is straight country. After another 30 minutes of rocking in the trailblazer, we pull up outside a ranch house. There’s lots of trucks outside and kids playing in the front yard and at the sight of Ches’s truck, they come running to the door.
“Uncle Ches! Uncle Ches!”
It’s a lotta kids and damn near all of ’em dressed the same. Cowboy boots, jeans, t-shirts. Is that the Texas uniform?
A couple of the older ones look at me and frown, confused. “Uncle Ches, is she your . . . girlfriend?”
It gets quiet as everyone looks at me. I’m in another wrap dress and I got my weave braided in microbraids and restyled in big curls again. I’m looking at the ground. It’s uneven and I’m wearing stiletto sandals.
Ches laughs. “Nope. Aigh y’all, this is Ms. Lula Jackson and she’s my boss’s fiancée.” He comes around the truck and takes my hand. “Lemme help, Lula. You’ll get stuck in a gopher hole and I’ll never hear the end of it from Tank.”
“Got that right,” I mutter. “I twist my ankle and Tank’ll twist you.”
Ches chuckles. An older lady, sweet looking woman, walks forward.
“Lula, welcome to our home. I’m Florence Deuce and I’m Chester’s mom. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you.” I got one eye on the ground. It’s a mess. I’m afraid to walk around here.
Over the next 30 minutes, I meet Ches’s entire family: nieces, nephews, his parents and his sister. Only his brother, Jason, hasn’t shown up yet.
“He and Rosa got caught in traffic coming out of Austin,” Florence says, pulling a broccoli casserole from the oven. She’s a good down-home cook and since Ches doesn’t go home very often, she cooked all his favorites: chicken and dumplings, broccoli casserole, cabbage and onions and hummingbird cake for dessert.
That cake looks real good.
“How old is Jason?” I ask Ches.
The question catches him off-guard since he’s trying to ‘test’ a spoonful of the broccoli casserole before his mother notices. She turns around after it takes him a long time to answer. I’m smiling at Ches, who is fanning his mouth. She pops him.
“Can’t you wait until everyone gets here?”
“Nope,” he pants. “Less for me.”
That makes me laugh. Sounds like Tank with his mother’s étouffée.
“Hello!”
“Uncle Jason!” The kids go running again (where do they find this energy?) and Ches sticks his head around the corner.
“Hey bro!” Jason comes around the corner. He’s Ches’s copy.
“Are you his twin?” I ask.
Jason smiles. “No, but we’re asked all the time. I’m three years older than my irritating little brother.” He kisses his mother and Ches take the opportunity to flip him a bird. Jason grins and turns back to me. “You must be Lula.”
“Yup. Nice to meet you Jason.”
“You too.” A pretty Hispanic woman walks into the kitchen and he turns to her. “This is my wife, Rosa,”- he grins- “and somewhere in there is our daughter, yet to be named.” Rosa smiles and waves at me.
“OH!” His mother cries, delighted. She hugs Rosa tight. “A girl! Wonderful! Oh, let’s go tell Jake.” They scurry off. Ches catches his brother in a tight hug and congratulates him. I can’t help but grin. I like being around happy families. They make you feel good. I set an alarm on my phone to call Mrs. CJ tonight.
“How long are you two staying?” Jason asks.
Ches is ‘testing’ the chicken and dumplings now that his momma’s left the kitchen to get all the kids to wash their hands. “Tank’s picking up Lula in Austin at six. Just call him. He knows where to go.”
“Cool.” He turns back to me. “So, if you don’t mind Lula, after we let dinner settle a bit, we’ll go to where it all happened.”
I nod. That tight feeling is back.
Lunch, or dinner as this family calls it, is excellent. I coulda ate three helpings of those chicken and dumplings and I’m wondering if I can learn to make that. It was great. I left the cabbage alone. Cabbage gives me gas every time, which is a shame cuz Mrs. Plum makes excellent stuffed cabbage.
We sat around and talked politics and football. I can tell that politics in this family is dangerous. Me and Rosa are more liberal than everyone else and, because of that, everyone is very careful with how they say things but they like to argue positions with facts. I like that. It’s like debating with Connie’s dad. I’ll talk politics with anyone but don’t be insulting. Don’t make it personal. I can’t stand that. If you don’t have facts, you don’t have an argument.
Rosa and I decide to take a slow walk around the backyard (less rutted) and she tells me they’re slowly changing their positions on some things.
“It wasn’t until Jason and I got engaged that they could say anything about Mexicans and not just automatically sound insulting,” she sighs. She rolls her eyes and I smile.
“I know. Sounds like something Bobby said recently. You don’t examine your beliefs until it becomes personal. Until then, you’re just parroting someone else’s beliefs.”
“Exactly!” She says, smiling. “When I married into the family, the feeling went from ‘Only good Mexican is a dead Mexican’ to ‘Well, Rosa’s a Mexican . . . and we like her.'” She rolls her eyes and turns to me. “You’re going to hear a lot about gun laws, Lula. We all got an education on Texas gun laws after the shooting. Believe me, it’s about more than just the law, though. It’s about responsibility.”
“I get that,” I tell her. “My fiancée told me I can’t have a gun cuz he thinks I don’t take ’em seriously. I do! I really do! I want protection too.”
She snorts. “That’s what we said and look what happened.” She grins as me. “I’ve taken on Chris Rock’s joke about gun control as my personal mantra.”
“What’s that?”
She starts laughing. “Oh, I memorized this entire damn skit. You ready?”
“Hit me.”
“We don’t need no gun control. You know what we need? We need some bullet control.” I start cracking up. “We need to control the bullets. I think all bullets should cost five thousand dollars… five thousand dollars per bullet… You know why? ‘Cuz if a bullet cost five thousand dollars there would be no more innocent bystanders.”
I have to stop to laugh. She’s mimicking Chris Rock and doing a damn good job.
“Yeah! Every time somebody get shot we’d say, ‘Damn, he must have done something … He’s got fifty thousand dollars’ worth of bullets in his ass.’ And people would think before they killed somebody if a bullet cost five thousand dollars. ‘Man I would blow your fucking head off … if I could afford it.'”
She and I stand in the backyard and laugh until we cry.
Jason and I hop in his truck (F-150. Is this the official vehicle of Texas?) and head to Austin. Thirty minutes later, we pull up outside a neighborhood of duplexes and park.
Jason is quiet. “This is where it all happened, Lula.” He points to the duplex we’re parked in from of. “If I’d known how that was going to end, I tell you, I never would have opened the door.”
“So what happened?” I get comfortable for the lecture and wish I had a bucket. This already feels like a discussion that requires a bucket.
He takes a deep breath. “You have to understand, at the time I’d been seeing Rosa for about two years. Maybe a bit more but it was going good. I was thinking about proposing, settling down, making some babies.”
Men. Sex always on the brain.
“Then my ex comes back. She was stationed overseas for the past three years and we’d broken it off while she was over there.” I glare at him and he shakes his head. “No, she dumped me. She fell in love with one of the guys she was serving with and I was pissed for a long time. Ches had to help me with that. He told me it was common overseas. You’re serving with someone in a high pressure situation and when that adrenaline crash hits you fuck anything nearby.” He looks over at me and blushes. “Sorry. You’re intimate with anything nearby.”
I laugh. “You didn’t insult me, Jason.”
“Yeah, but I was raised better, ma’am. No foul language in a ladies presence.”
Now that sounds like Tank, at least before he got comfortable enough with me to speak like he normally does.
“Anyway, that’s when I met Rosa. She’s good woman, smart, sassy, good conversation. We could sit and talk for hours about anything and everything. Her job transferred her to Florida and we broke up, but we kept in touch. We started talking almost every night over the phone. She moved back and we picked up right where we left off. I felt good. I realized this was the woman for me, so I proposed.”
I’m nodding.
“She moved in with me and met the family.” He rolls his eyes. “Awkward, to say the least, but I didn’t care. I loved her, we started planning the wedding and then my life went to hell.”
He slumps in his seat, still staring at the front door. “Rhys shows up out of the blue. She’s back from overseas, she misses me, she’s still in love with me. I tell her that I’m engaged to someone else and I’m sorry but I’m in love with this woman. I wish her the best.” He looks at me. “You would have thought I’d told her to go fuck herself, excuse my language, from the way she cursed me.”
“Why?”
He snorts. “Apparently, I was supposed to remain faithful to her even though she broke up with me and was overseas in love with someone else. She expected to come back and pick up her life just as she’d intended, only now there was competition.
So she started following Rosa. Rosa was scared and we went and tried to report it as stalking but Rhys had never made a specific threat against either of us. She just happened to pop up where Rosa was. She wasn’t following Rosa.”
“Bullshit,” I mutter and he nods.
“Exactly. I’d see her drive by the house and I couldn’t figure out if she was trying to figure out if Rosa was here or not. Anyway, Rhys does this for a month and it’s freaking Rosa out so she applies for a gun permit. We’re also keeping a diary of her actions, recording phone calls, and taking pictures discreetly, and we finally get a protective order. I take her to the range and teach her to shoot but I remind her that shooting is a last defense. Neither of us wants to kill. We just want to be able to defend ourselves.”
“Damn skippy.” I’m nodding. That’s exactly how I feel. That’s why I’m trying to convince Tank to give me my gun back without calling off the wedding. He’s holding firm.
“So, the night my life changed, Rhys shows up at my door with a friend of hers. She’s armed. I can see the gun holstered on her hip and she wants to come in and talk to me. I tell her no, we have nothing to talk about. Meanwhile, Rosa’s in the back on the phone with the police, telling them that Rhys is trespassing.
Now, I know she has a gun. I see her ‘friend’ has a gun. So I close the door and she screams that if I don’t come back and talk to her, she’ll knock the door down. So I go get my gun, and return to the door with the gun in hand, just in case something stupid is about to happen. Rosa’s still on the phone with the cops. They’re on their way. My neighbors are out, watching, trying to figure out what’s going on.”
He looks over at me. “That was my mistake. The gun didn’t help the situation. She was a trained member of the military. So was he. I was not and I really thought I was going to protect my home against them?”
“Well, it’s your home! You have the right to protect against intruders! You already reported her for stalking and she had no damn right to show up at your home trying to start some mess!” I’m getting pissed on his behalf!
Jason merely smiles. “I thought you’d say that. That’s what I said. That’s what everyone in my family, except Ches and my lawyer, said. Ches was the first person to tell me that I might be screwed.”
“Why?! That makes no fucking sense! You were protecting your home and your fiancée against your psycho ex-girlfriend.”
He laughs. “Yeah. Here’s the law. You ready?” I nod. “The actual law in Texas is that you can only shoot a trespasser to prevent the imminent commission of arson, burglary, robbery, aggravated robbery, nighttime theft or nighttime criminal mischief, or to defend your own life. Key word? Imminent. It is not legal to shoot trespassers dead to end an argument, and a verbal altercation is not criminal mischief during the nighttime.”
My jaw is hanging. You gotta be fucking kidding me.
“So anyway, everyone standing around this doorway has a gun and when the friend sees me with my gun, he unholsters his. I’m not crazy. I point my gun at him and tell him to back up and take his hands off the gun but I’m nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before and I have my eyes on her and him. He’s telling me to calm down, I’m telling him to back up, and Rhys is standing there telling me that she loves me and I need to stop threatening her and just come back to her.
My fingers are slippery and my hand is sweating holding this gun and I try to adjust the gun in my hand and it goes off.”
I stop breathing. Jason stops there and drinks his water. I’m imagining this scene and I can see it perfectly. I can see how that could happen. That’s how my gun keeps going off (and ruining my purses). Well, before Les (and now Ches) made me start living in the range.
Jason is silent for at least five minutes before he speaks again.
“One to the chest, dead center. I screwed up but I have great aim and I have the great luck of firing right before the police pull up. So the cops are able to give him immediate CPR that keeps him alive, but of course, I’m arrested. Aggravated assault. I’m sitting in jail with Rosa crying, my parents crying, Ches pulling every string he can to get me a lawyer and help me out but the RangeMan lawyers he talks to all tell him the same thing: I need a Texas lawyer specializing in criminal defense.
Now, I wait to see what the cops are going to tell me and this is where my lovely future wife comes through. She pulls together all the evidence that shows that Rhys has basically been stalking us for the past six months. She brought the guy over. They were both armed. We’re feeling confident that we’ll be able to prove that the shooting was accidental and Rhys caused the whole mess.
So we get a shark of a lawyer who is ready to take this sucker to court. We ask for a bench trial, which is a trial where the person making the determination is the judge. It’s a risky move. If I’m found guilty, the judge is going to be judge and jury, but if I’m found innocent then it’ll be faster. I rolled the dice and won. Bench trial and I was found not guilty.”
Jason finally looks at me again. I have tears streaming down my face. I’m mad and angry and pissed off on his behalf and I just met him. It’s NOT fair! It’s just not fair! He had to sit in jail for some shit that was NOT his fault!
“That’s three months sitting in jail. That’s three months without an income until the investigation is complete and the trial starts. That’s losing my job for a mistake I can only pray doesn’t cost me my entire life. That’s losing this duplex because the owner refuses to renew the lease. I’m a ‘danger’ to the neighborhood. So now Rosa has to move out, and fast, because of me. I only kept my possessions because my family went and cleaned it out right before I was evicted.”
He takes a big breath and I can see the unshed tears in this man’s eyes. “That’s three months praying daily that I don’t pay for a mistake with ten to twenty in prison.” He swallows hard. “One hundred and six days in jail, Lula, for a mistake.”
“Yeah.” I have no other words. Damn. That’s just hard to accept. It was an accident. His ex brought that man over. Her ass shoulda had to be the one to be on trial.
“Now, just because I’m clear criminally doesn’t mean I’m clear civilly. I learned a new word: tort.”
“What does that mean?”
“Tort is French for ‘a new way to screw you over by making it your fault.”
I laugh and we both laugh for a few minutes.
“Just because I’m clear criminally doesn’t mean he can’t bring a case against me. Tort really means a wrongful act leading to civil legal liability and he has one. I shot him, a bystander in the whole sordid affair, and basically deprived him of his military career.”
I gasp. Fuck!
“Yeah. He was set to deploy in two weeks and the shooting prevented that. Plus there were the hospital bills, the physical therapy, all that other stuff. I’m now liable for all of it and he and his family sued me quick. They won a million dollar judgment against me. I got lucky again.” I stare at him and he smiles sadly. “He had a real ambulance chaser for a lawyer. They initially sued for $5 million.”
My mouth drops. “How come you’re only paying half?”
“Ches hired a good lawyer for me and I counter sued Rhys. I won against her for bringing an armed man to my home and for the stalking. So this guy, who I met for the first time, is getting $1 million plus interest, because Rhys was insane and I was a hot head who thought a gun would cool everything down.”
Jason finishes his water and I’m thinking about what he’s said. It’s not fair. It’s just NOT fair.
“I’m sorry but this shit’s just not fair! It’s not fair Jason.” I’m damn near screaming over the injustice of all this. “You were innocent! She brought that damn man over and started some shit at your front door and she shoulda been on trial. Not you. If they’d never come over, it never woulda happened! That was all her fault. She—”
“I shot the gun, Lula.”
I stop my tirade to look at Jason. His face is amused but his eyes are hard.
“I shot the gun. I nearly killed him. Yes, he was there but he wasn’t doing me any harm. At the criminal trial I found out that he was actually there to protect me. He knew I was a civilian and he didn’t want any harm to come to me because he knew Rhys was fixated on me and Rosa.
The one thing I’ve learned, Lula,” Jason says, turning to me, “is that when it comes to guns, ‘I’m sorry’ means bullshit to the person you shoot. They’re in pain, they relive the terror they felt when that bullet hit them, and they wish they hadn’t been there. It doesn’t mean diddly to their family.
They look at you and see the person who nearly murdered their child. It doesn’t matter that you were protecting your home and family. That’s someone else’s son or daughter, brother or sister, mother or father. I’ve learned that if I don’t plan to kill, don’t even bother to draw the gun. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”
That sounds like Steph. “If I pull that gun I’m not scaring anyone. I’m killing them.”
The difference is now I know she has the damn gun. That means a lot to me. My partner and best friend is prepared for all the stupid stuff that happens to her all the time.
There’s another long silence in the truck as I turn and look at the duplex, wiping my eyes at the injustice of it all. His psycho ex brought that man over to his home and someone innocent got shot. I understand all that. I just wish there was a way to put her ass under the jail.
“My father used to tell us kids that ‘everyone wants personal responsibility until it’s time to be personally responsible’,” Jason says quietly. “Now, he used to say that when we wouldn’t confess who broke a window or didn’t clean up their room, but it’s a lesson for life.
That’s how I feel about that shooting. I don’t blame Rhys. I don’t blame George. That was his name, by the way. I blame myself for what happened. I shot the gun and no matter how much I’d like to blame Rhys or George for that, I can’t. I shot the gun. Now, the only thing good to come out of that disaster is that Rhys ended up getting some counseling—”
“Fuck her! She caused all kinds of problems bringing that man over to your house! I don’t see how you could feel sorry for her. Uh huh. No way. No way Imma be sorry for the crazy chick who brought an armed man to my house then started a fight at my front door.”
Jason smiles. “Yeah, no disagreement there. Thing was, the guy she fell in love with died over in Iraq. She saw him die right in front of her. It was traumatic. That’s why she came back to Texas desperate to hook up with me. She wanted to recreate her life the way it was before all the firefights and death and everything that happened overseas. She wanted to make everything better.”
Oh snap. Now I feel sorry for her. Not enough that I think she shouldn’t have to serve some time for stalking, but if Tank died in front of me, I don’t know that I’d want to see the next day. I’d lose it too.
He snorts. “Don’t let the politicians fool you. Veterans rights and help for vets is pathetic. They released this woman back into society without a psych exam and another soldier paid for it. I paid for it. My wife paid for it. Rosa is scared to answer doors. We bought a front door with glass inserts so she can see who is at the door before she answers. She still hasn’t gotten over it and that was two years ago. Me?”
He swallows hard. “I battled depression. I had thoughts of suicide. I still have thoughts of suicide. It took me nearly a year in this crap economy to get another job and I’m not being paid what I used to be paid. What I am paid is taken as quick as I get it.
Lula, my wife is now pregnant and I wonder how I’m going to protect her. How will I protect my daughter? I can barely afford myself and I’m bringing another life into the world. My job, as a husband and father, is to make life easier for my wife and children. I’m a man. I should be able to take care of them. Instead, Rosa’s income is what we live off.”
“That’s sexist,” I frown. “You two are a partnership. Tank makes more money than I’ll ever make and I don’t judge him based on his ability to earn.”
Jason chuckles. “Of course you don’t because he’s fulfilling his role as a husband to you. He’s providing for you. He can support you. He’s doing his duty as a man, making sure that your needs are taken care of. I can’t do that for my wife. When companies run background checks on me, that arrest for aggravated assault comes up and, unless I have a chance to speak to the HR people in person, I’m declined.
This isn’t going to go away easy. I can’t wish it away. They’ll take my money from me until the day my daughter is ready to go to college. I’m on the hook for 18 more years. 18 years. For an argument. That’s all it was. It was an argument!”
Jason’s voice breaks and I quickly fish out a handkerchief. I sit silently as he wipes his eyes and breathes deep.
“This is the price of a gun. This is the price of an accident. It’s the months in jail waiting to find out if you’ll ever know freedom again. It’s the terror you feel as the judge asks you to stand to face your fate. It’s the joy of finding out you’ll be a free man then the terror of being served papers for a second trial. It’s losing that trial and losing a quarter of your income. For a mistake. An argument. I didn’t mean for it to happen but it did and I paid the price and I’ll pay the price for 18 more years.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I still believe in the Second Amendment. I still believe a man has a right to defend his life and property. But believe me, I know the law now. I’m not pulling my gun out unless there’s an imminent danger to me, my wife, or my daughter. I’ll shoot the shit out of someone who breaches my house but if you’re standing on the other side of my door, I’m shutting the door in your face.
That’s what I should have done to Rhys instead of pandering to her. Maybe if I’d shut the door in her face and let the cops catch her trying to break my door down my life would be different. Maybe not but I know this.” He looks me fully in the face. “If she’d broken my door down and stepped across the threshold, I would have had the law on my side. Would I have shot her? I don’t know but I would have shot her, not him.”
I needed retail therapy after talking to Jason.
Everything about that story hurt. No one won. There wasn’t a winner, just four losers. Jason told me, as he dropped me off, that Rhys was charged with trespass and for violating the stalking order Rosa had in place.
Second degree felony. Three years in prison. By the time she gets out, their daughter should be a month old and he’s trying to calm Rosa’s fears but they’re both nervous.
George, the poor man hit, was discharged from the military. He and Jason have spoken twice, the first time so Jason could apologize to him and the second time because George wanted to know if Jason would speak at Rhys’s trial.
Jason did. For the prosecution, obviously.
Jason and Rosa are attempting to put their lives back together but it’s hard. Jason is a man like Tank, who sees it as his duty and responsibility to take care of his family. Rosa’s a woman like me. She’s not with Jason for his money. She’s with him because he’s a good man and she loves him. I hope they make it. They seem like a good couple.
“Lula?”
I don’t even need to turn. I just tilt my head the side and feel Tank slide behind me and hug me from the back. I’m outside the Michael Kors store looking at the display of purses.
“That was the most depressing story I’ve ever heard.”
“Hmm?”
I turn around to him and bury my face in his chest. “It was depressing and he’s so calm about it.”
“What do you think he should feel?”
“Angry! I was angrier than him.”
Tank sighs. “He lived it, Lula Bear. He’s been angry, depressed, disbelieving, everything. He’s had almost three years to get over it and dwelling on it isn’t going to change anything. He’s trying to move on. He gets a reminder of what happened every month when he gets his paycheck.”
“We can’t help him?”
Tank sighs. “No. He doesn’t have any skills we can use.”
I’m bummed.
Tank looks at the display case. “You’ve been eyeing that purse for months. Why don’t you go ahead and buy it?”
“Because I can’t afford it.”
Tank looks at me and I can almost see the mental eye roll and sigh. I cut him off. “I know you can afford it but I can’t. When I can afford it, I’ll buy it.”
I walk away from the window toward Auntie Anne’s.
I know Tank. My birthday is coming up soon and that purse will be my gift. I’ve been priming him to buy it because he has a hard time trying to figure out what I like.
This works out for both of us.
Tank’s POV
The men are watching Lula.
She’s taken range time seriously ever since she returned from Austin. She and Ches get in the lanes and talk shit over their skills, but Lula spends hours in there.
She’s getting good. Damn near a sharp shooter.
I’m tempted to come off my ban. I had to think about my own sexism scores and I realized that treating my woman like a child is demeaning her. Telling her that if she didn’t do something I would withdraw my love and affection is childish. I blackmailed Lula into giving up her guns as a test of her love for me. That was wrong. That was demeaning and I’ll need to apologize at some point.
Rosa didn’t leave Jason over a mistake but that’s exactly what I threatened Lula with.
I wanted Lula to take the guns and her safety seriously and now I see she does. It’s personal for her. She understands what we’ve all been preaching now. She and Rosa talk every so often. I know because Ches tells me that his family is happy to know that Rosa has another friend, one who is funny and sharp and keeps Rosa laughing. I’m glad Lula’s finally making some friends too. Steph, Connie, ML, and Candy are all in New Jersey but Rosa and Maria are here.
Plus, it’s encouraged Lula to start learning Spanish. She’d have to take it anyway, for college, but living here in Texas, it’s good for her to know some Spanish.
The men definitely find Lula’s pronunciation funny.
“Yo!”
“Sir.”
“What kind of gun did you assist Lula in purchasing, Sinclair?”
“A .45 ACP, sir.”
“Did you consider that the best gun for her?”
“At the moment, yes sir. I intend to encourage the CO to try a .45 ACP, sir.”
“Why?”
“Better recoil management. Plus, the CO has a concealed carry permit and the .45 ACP is considered one of the easiest guns to conceal.”
I’m thinking about this.
“Are you looking for a recommendation for Mrs. LaPierre, sir?”
I like that the men are already referring to Lula by my name. Makes me smile every time. “Yes.”
“The .45 ACP is probably the best gun for her also. Recoil was her biggest problem and when she practiced in the lanes here, she was over 85% accurate with it. If she has the recoil issue settled, then she should be able to handle an ACP.”
“Thank you, Sinclair.” Click.
I’m washing the dinner dishes while Lula tackles homework. Every night I attempt to read another chapter in one of her romance novels. Most of them are ridiculous (every man owns his own company? Every man’s company depends on deceiving said naïve woman into marriage? Is there always some sort of baby bargain involved? Jesus Christ . . . and the Regencys are worse.) but I’m getting some decent courtship ideas from some of them.
I take Lula’s .45 from my weapons safe and return to the kitchen. I place the gun next to her schoolbooks and return to cleaning the kitchen.
It seems to take forever for her to say something.
“Tankie?”
“Hmm?”
“You gave me my gun back?”
I look over. She looks as confused as she sounded.
“Yes.” I wash my hands and sit at the table with her. “It’s not my right to tell you that you can’t carry a gun and it was wrong of me to tell you that I wouldn’t marry you if you chose to keep the gun. I should have made the point another way. I’m sorry.” I kiss her forehead.
Lula’s smiling and I quickly have a lap full of Lula. The cats get a complete show over the next 90 minutes but I don’t give a damn.
Lula settles in my lap when the Sgt. decides to fall out for a rest. I feel her smile. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.” I hate to ask but, “Resented it?”
“Yes.” That reply was quick. “I resented being treated like a child and I resented being blackmailed.”
Cringe. “Sorry.”
“I know. I forgive you but if you do it again, I’ll hurt you.”
I smile. Thank God Lula believes in forgiveness.
“What would you say if I told you to lock it back up?”
Hallelujah? Thank you Jesus, Allah, Jehovah, Zeus and the rest of the pantheon? I wonder what I can buy Jason and Rosa for their first daughter. “Why?”
Lula sighs. “I could see it.” She tilts her head up to me. “Jason took me to where it happened and I could see it, like it was playing out in front of me. I could see why you were so mad and scared and scared for me and I understood. His life, for 20 years, is wrecked because of an honest mistake.”
She swallows hard. “Then I thought about the number of times I backed up Steph and realized I could have been George, the guy who got shot. Her skips are crazy. They coulda shot me. I coulda been hurt or dead and for what? So Steph could collect $500?”
I nod mentally. Finally.
She sighs. “I don’t need it. I want it and Chenae tells me she has a gun and a permit,”—I nod. That’s true. I made sure Shug was trained since she was going into social work.—”but she never really intended to use it. But she had it for the rough neighborhoods. I realize that I think that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll get licensed, I’ll keep it in the car when I start working, but I don’t need to carry it all the time.”
I’m going to church Sunday.
“What changed your mind?”
Lula laughs. “A couple of things. One, Jason’s story. That was a complete clusterfuck.” I nod. True. “Two, something Steph said when we talked the day of the Stop and Shop thing. She said, “If I pull that gun I’m not scaring anyone. I’m killing them and I realize that she and Jason are right. If I pull the gun, I need to be prepared to shoot to kill. Otherwise, leave it alone.”
Les, Bobby, and Ches will never believe this.
“Three, I saw Bobby and Gonzo in the gym.”
I mentally roll my eyes. “What did Gonzo do this time?”
Lula chuckles. “Same as always. Opened his mouth. Bobby used him as a ‘warm-up’.”
I’m laughing my ass off mentally. No wonder Gonzo is moving gingerly.
“Anyway, Bobby did some slick, kung fu shit with Gonzo, but I watched him turn around and show Maria how he’d done it and I realized that if Maria can do that kung fu stuff, I can too.”
Yes! Success! Les is going to have a ball.
“So Bobby agreed to start training me on the defense stuff.”
No wonder he’s been walking around looking like the Cheshire Cat.
“That’s it?”
“No.” She tilts my head down to look at her. “Because you gave it back to me and let me make the choice. I’ve been mad about that for a while and just hadn’t said anything. I’d thought about buying a gun and telling you where to get off but I realized you’d just hide the damn gun all over again.” Damn right I would. “So, because you let me make a choice, and didn’t blackmail me, I’m willing to give it up because I want to.” She grins. “Plus, Maria looks fierce on the mats! I wanna do that.” She starts making kung fu noises and I laugh.
That’s all I wanted out of this situation. I just wanted her to give up the guns until she had to have one. I cuddle her close and grin.
My woman has my back and is quick to forgive me when I screw up. Always.
Looks like a week of enlightenment going around. Good chapter.