Steph’s POV

“OK, I think that’s everything,” Mari says, crossing off the last item on her list. We have multiple Christmas trees, lots of wrapping paper and boxes, decorations for the tree, and enough flour and baking supplies for me to have a cake every day for a year.

“Whew!” Lourdes says, smiling. “Thank goodness! My feet are so tired.”

“Same here,” I reply.

The Charlotte RangeMen with us are moaning. “Yeah, you ladies are super shoppers,” Luis says. “Can we go home now?”

“Yes!”

We check out and cart everything back to RangeMan. Mando meets us at the loading docks with half of the branch. The men cart everything in as we sit in the prep room and relax our feet.

“OK, so gingerbread houses, cookies, cakes, decorating the Christmas tree, wrapping gifts for the kids at the B&G and for any of the kids at the shelter. That’s the plan,” Mari says. She looks at Lourdes, who nods.

“I’ll take charge of the kitchen brigade, and if you and Stephanie will work with the men on decorating and wrapping gifts, we should be able to get this done today.”

“Girl Power!” we yell. The men laugh at us, but Mari and I leave the kitchen and head off to the front of the building. We have garland hung and the mini trees decorated in record time. The place is starting to take on a Christmassy vibe.

“What about pine cone scent?” I ask, hanging another garland.

Mari shakes her head. “Nah. I’m always sensitive to smells and I’m sure that some of the men are too. I couldn’t stand a lot of air fresheners with CFCs because they give me headaches.”

“Oh.” I climb down and fold the ladder. “I love the smell of cake. That’s my favorite scent.” I sniff the air. “If we could bottle the gingerbread smell I smell right now, I’d love it.”

We finish getting the garland hung and stand back to look at our work.

“I love Christmas,” Mari says.

“Everyone does,” Lourdes replies, joining us. She has flour in her hair which I try to remove, laughing as she blushes.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Mari says, smiling. “I love Christmas because of the hope it reminds everyone to have. Yule, solstice, Christmas, this time of the year is a reminder to have hope. Something better is coming around the corner. We’re covered in snow right now, but greenery and spring are coming.”

“I love the shopping and food and time with my family,” I reply, thinking about Christmas in Trenton.

“I love having that time with my husband and kids,” Lourdes says.

“How is Raul?” Mari asks. “Her son is in marketing,” she tells me.

“He’s doing fine. Thrilled to be working again. He was unemployed for so long.” Lourdes smiles and starts packing things away. We clean away the mess and Mari and I return to her office.

It’s just like Lula’s office in San Antonio. A nice comfortable chair, a big desk, and lots of paper everywhere. “You’re Candy’s newest employee?”

She laughs. “Candy’s a slave driver!” I smile and take a seat. “She’s doing an amazing job getting the HR stuff in RangeWorld as fast as she can. She’s determined to do an open enrollment period next year and having this info will help.”

“Great. So how do you like working for RangeMan?”

She makes a face. “No thank you. I love my husband, I love the men, but I’ve never wanted to be a RangeMan employee.”

“Why not?”

She sits carefully and rubs her baby bump, looking at me in amusement. “Because it’s too easy to make this company your entire life. These men are devoted to the company, the way men used to be devoted to a company fifty years ago. They’re company men.” She shakes her head. “I see the most important part of my job as Mando’s wife as giving him another world to retreat to. I’m reality. Our babies are reality. RangeMan? RangeWorld,” she says, finger quoting.

I laugh. “I love it. I love being an employee. So does Candy and Juana.”

“And that’s fine for them and you. Me? No. I have other interests, other demands on my time.”

“Your daughters,” I reply, thinking.

“Yes, and Mando.”

“Mando?”

“Yes.” She sighs. “My husband’s family is … difficult. They never appreciated the man that he is until he wasn’t around. Every time he isn’t there to be the punching bag, someone else inherits the position and they don’t have Mando’s strength. They don’t have his patient nature.” She puts her feet up on the yoga ball I spotted earlier. “My husband needs someone behind him who loves and believes in him and he needs an escape from his day. My job is to love him, support him, believe in him, and call him on his shit occasionally.”

I laugh at the last one and she smiles. “Nothing will tear me from my husband, and vice versa, but my first role in life is as his wife. If I fail that role, my daughters don’t have their father. My son doesn’t have his father. Mando wants to be a man like his father and I see my duty as giving him the space and love he needs to be the man he wants to be.”

That’s … sweet. “You sound like my mother.”

“We grew up with old-fashioned parents. My husband is the head of my home.” She grins impishly. “I’m the neck.”

“You turn the head whichever way you want?”

“You got that right.” We both laugh. “But I also hold the head up.”

I kick back and relax while Mari checks her email. I call off names for her as she types the last of the men’s paperwork into RangeWorld and we talk about the Charlotte men.

“These men are great. Atlanta chose great guys and they love being RangeMen.”

“Do you like here or Miami?”

“Ha! Trick question.” I laugh. “I know Mando misses Miami.”

“I thought he might. Mando is a creature of habit. He has to go home.”

She laughs. “Yes, he is, but I have to admit he has a point. We talked and discussed going back to Miami.”

“And?”

She takes the stack of papers from me and clips them together. “Come on. Let’s get out of here for a while.”

We climb in her car, an Acura MDX. “Sweet car. Meant to tell you that yesterday.”

“I refused to succumb to a minivan.” We both laugh. “I told Mando I needed a ‘little people mover’ and we bought this when we moved here.”

“Why not a minivan?”

She shudders. “No way, Jose. I couldn’t face myself with a minivan.” She rubs her baby bump and smiles. “I told Mando that one more is the limit. I will not buy a minivan.” She hits the highway as I actually look around. It’s a beautiful SUV and Mando clearly got all the upgrades Mari wanted.

“What does he drive?”

“We’re a one-car family.” I stare in surprise but she shrugs. “Mando’s always questioned the need to have two cars in our family. After all, what would his car do except sit in the RangeMan parking lot all day? He has the RangeMan SUVs, we have a family car, and if we need another car, we rent one.”

I face forward and look around. Mari is headed downtown and we chat about Charlotte and her love of the city. We finally stop at a museum and get out.

“Oh no.” I moan. “More abstract art!”

She laughs. “No, no art lectures. I promise. I need to walk and I hate treadmills. I like to walk where I can be inspired.” We start walking and I’m honestly pretty bored.

“I’m not trying to avoid your question, Stephanie,” Mari says quietly. I’m surprised; she was doing a good job of it. “Talking about Miami is difficult for me because it brings up unpleasant memories.”

“I understand. Believe me, I do.”

She exhales. “I love Miami. I love the city. I know Mando misses Miami but I’m uncertain. Mando’s family … used him. They used my husband and they nearly broke him. I don’t want him to go back to that if it means they see it as an opportunity to just start dumping on him again.”

Mari’s keeping up a pretty quick pace. I hitch my purse higher on my shoulder and try to keep up. “Do you think that might happen?”

“I don’t know. I think Mando is determined to keep a line between us and them but I don’t want him to lose all connection with his family. I don’t want our girls to be isolated from their aunts and uncles and cousins. I guess … I just feel … I’d be OK moving back to Miami, but not yet. Not until his family has had a real taste of what we dealt with for years. His siblings and their spouses apologized to us. Now that Mando’s made it clear he’s not bailing anyone out, they’re supporting each other.” She grins. “My husband is Do unto them as they have done unto us with his family right now and I’m thrilled.”

“You look thrilled,” I reply, laughing.

“I am! I’m looking at the man I first married again! So now that his siblings understand how important it is to support each other, I can see moving back. Alyssa missed her cousins. Elena missed her aunts. We also stopped to see Mando’s father’s family and that was wonderful.” She smiles. “They’re such wonderful people and we don’t see them enough. They were thrilled to see us and especially Mando. He was his father’s favorite and they kept telling him to spend more time with the family.”

“That’s great.”

We’re in front of the sculptures when she finally stops and stares at one. I stare, trying to figure out what it is.

“So much for being able to identify what I’m looking at.”

“Exactly.”

We smile at each other.

“Mari?”

“Hmm?”

“I moved Mando here because I understood.” She rubs her belly and stares at me. “I’m the younger sister to the ‘perfect’ daughter. She could do no wrong, I couldn’t do anything right. I lost my job and ended up right back where I started. I live in a city where everyone jokes on me, makes bets on my life, and talks about me constantly. I wasn’t respected. I was the town joke.”

I swallow hard and stare at the statute. It still doesn’t make sense.

“I got Lucia to tell me a little about Mando and I understood immediately. I got it. That’s why I moved him here. Because he needed the same thing that I needed. A way out. He needed to get away.”

She squeezes my hand, smiling, tears running down her face. She even cries pretty! Jeez, she’s a likeable Val!

“Bobby, Les, and Tank isolated me in RangeMan to help me. I sent Mando here to Charlotte to help him.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “He’s worried about what Ranger will say—”

I wave a hand. “Ranger and I have talked. Mando’s fine. That I can tell you.”

She exhales, bites her lip and we stare at the statue for a while. I still don’t know what I’m looking at but I’m beginning to care less. I see why Mari comes here. It’s a quiet, serene space, filled with people but none are talking to you. You’re alone and surrounded at the same time.

Not that I plan on hanging out in museums in the future.

“I’m moving to Miami in the new year.” I look over at her. “I didn’t have someone willing to tell me I needed therapy. I figured it out on my own.”

“Good. Therapy will help.”

“I hope so.” I smile at her. “That’s not why I’m asking if Mando wants to move back though. I’m asking because, no matter how much I want to run from Trenton, it’s home. If that makes any sense.”

“It does.”

—oOo—

“I enjoyed dinner at your house last night. Thank you for that.” We’re in front of paintings with recognizable subjects now.

“You’re welcome.” She pauses and examines one before turning to me. “You sound as if you don’t do that very often.”

“Do what?”

“Get together as a couple and hang out with other couples—” My laughter stops her sentence. “What? What did I say?”

“Hang out with other couples?” I shake my head. “No. God no. I hate that kinda thing!”

“Really? I love having dinners with other couples! You learn so much!” She whips out her phone. “Are you guys going to Atlanta?” I nod. “OK, I’m texting Cindy to have a dinner for you and him.”

I groan. “NO!”

“YES! You need adult conversation and so does she. You guys can shop all day but have a nice dinner! Don’t eat takeout! Besides, Cindy would love another person to cook for.” Her phone beeps and she smiles, satisfied. “There. Done. Cindy’s excited.”

“What did Cindy do before becoming a stay at home mom?”

“She’s really a work at home mom. She’s a forensic accountant.”

Reminds me of ML.

“OK, now why don’t you like dinner parties? You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who hasn’t gotten excited over the idea of having one or attending one!”

I hang my head and laugh. “I attended plenty of them in my first marriage. I always felt like I was on display, like some trick dog. Everyone around me would drone on and on about politics and the law and I would try to imagine everyone naked to keep from drinking a bottle of wine all on my own.” We both laugh.

“No! I love it. I love getting new recipes and talking about whatever people know about.” Mari grins. “I learned how to throw, you know, for pottery, at a dinner party hosted by a potter! Never ever had so much fun in my life! Mando picked on me all night. ‘I get my beautiful wife all dressed up, remind her not to play with her food”—I start laughing again at that—”and instead she plays with mud half of the night! My life is hard!'”

“Made a mess?”

“Yes, but we were guests of a potter! It was wonderful, learning how to throw stoneware. Mando and I had a date night later at his studio.” I stop staring at the art to look at her. “It was a fun night.” She grins. “We played in mud then went home and got each other squeaky clean.”

I imagine sponging Ranger down after getting him dirty with mud and have a hot flash. “OK, you’ve just made that a lot more interesting.”

She laughs. “And I have two of the world’s oddest plates to commemorate the date. We eat off those plates on our anniversary. They aren’t perfect, just like the people who threw them, but we had fun and we’re still rock solid.”

I take out a piece of paper. Pottery sounds a lot more fun like that!

“Well, I learned a lot about abstract art thanks to you.”

She makes a quick curtsy. I reach out a hand, just in case she wobbles, and she smiles. “And that’s why I sit on the yoga ball in the office.”

I laugh. “Well, your dinner party was fun and it sounds like you attend some good ones.”

“I do. I get to know what people like and talk about those things. Come on, you don’t have any married friends?”

I grimace. “ML is a stay at home mom—”

“Then she needs a grown-up party more than anyone! I’m sure she feels like her brain is rotting!”

“Maybe. Connie has a boyfriend. Maybe Tank and Lula?” I’m considering everyone I know that I could have a dinner party with.

She nods. “I get on the phone with Lula and we talk food and kids.”

“Lula doesn’t have kids,” I state, confused.

“No, but she’s thinking of working with kids as a social worker so we talk about child development theory. She’s taking a class in that this semester.” I had no idea. “Plus, with what the Miami men are doing with the battered women’s shelters, it hit her hard to see all those frightened and confused kids. Me too.”

“Wow …” Had no idea. I need to call Lula.

“Yeah. Anyway, ignore learning new games or recipes if that’s not for you. Pay attention to the couples. I love people watching. With couples who are truly in love, you see something to inspire you.” She grins. “I learned ways to show Mando I love him at dinners like that. Couples who are headed to divorce? You can see it. You see it in how they interact with each other and how they treat each other. Mando and I learned what to avoid.”

We move along to the next painting. “My parents didn’t have dinner parties like that. Six p.m., dinner was on the table. We ate and Mom kinda ruled the table. Dad was served first and ignored everything going on. Mom would interrogate my sister and me on our day. It was hell. I don’t think I ever remember my parents hosting dinner parties. It’s just not done in the Burg.”

Mari’s smile falls the more I talk. “So you learned to avoid the dinner table?” I nod. “I’ll bet you prefer to eat standing up or on the run now, don’t you?” I nod, smiling. She leans forward. “You aren’t your parents. Set new traditions. Mando and I did. You don’t have to eat at six. Eat at seven. Eat at five. Talk about the news or politics or something! That’s the rule for me and Mando. No talking about work. Make dinner fun again. The only thing I ask?” I wait. “Eat at the table. Make it a ritual for the two of you.”

I sigh. “We’ll see. I mean, it’s taken us years to acknowledge that we even … you know.”

Mari stares at me. “If you did not realize that man loved you, you were willfully blind.”

That stings. “No I wasn’t! You don’t know what we went through.”

She waves her hands. “No, you’re right. I don’t. I apologize.” I nod reluctantly. “I do know this: Love is a choice and Ranger made his. He’s not hiding his love for you.”

I know I’m going to think about that later. “Love is a choice? Love is a feeling. Ranger thinks it’s an action. For me, it’s been—” I like Mari, but …

She sighs. “Attraction is a feeling. Love? Love is a choice, Steph. Trust me. We can’t help who we are attracted to, but we do choose who we love. There’s a saying that I love: We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.

I know Mando isn’t perfect. He knows he married a pushy, sarcastic, opinionated woman who holds grudges and gets excited quickly. He sees me for who I am and continues to love me. We love each other and we reaffirm that choice every day. His first action when he comes home is to kiss me. We remind each other that we’ll always be there for each other in small ways. We love each other. We make that choice every day.” She rubs her belly. “You and Ranger are just starting out?”

“Kinda.” I shrug. “It’s been four years of flirting with each other and trying to deny our attraction. I guess you would say that we just made the choice.”

“And?”

I frown. “And?”

“How are you reminding each other that you are in love?”

I stare at her. “What? I don’t know? I …” I trail off, not sure what she means.

“Then think about it.” She sighs. “I don’t want to tell you how to build your relationship with him—”

“No, I’m listening.” I decide to take a chance on Mari. She’s right; she’s pushy but I like her. She’s blunt, just like me. “The hardest problem we have is Ranger doesn’t talk and he says I don’t talk. Right now, I’ve been thinking of a date activity for us to have some fun and enjoy being together but I can’t think of anything.” She grabs a notepad from her purse, her eyes bright. “I feel it, Mari, I do, but I have a hard time saying it.”

I find a bench to sit on and we smile at each other. “Other people I see around me, other couples, they’re mushy. Tank and Lula, you and Mando”—she laughs—”My friend ML and her husband, hell, even Hal and Candy, I’m surrounded by other mushy couples. That’s not me and Ranger. We’ve always been private. We’re not mushy.”

She grins. “No, you’re worse.” She leans forward, swaying in amusement. “Ranger looks at you like he looked at that flan last night. No doubt in his mind that you were his and he wanted you. Oh, I know the RangeMen. ‘No refined sugars! No sweets!'” she says in a high pitched voice that has me laughing. “Get ’em alone though and they drop that damn granola for whatever sugar is around!”

I think of Hal and his secret chocolate obsession and the tears stream down my cheeks. I’m choking in laughter and Mari passes me some Kleenex.

“That’s Ranger looking at you. In public, with people watching, he keeps up the facade, but I’ve known Ranger for years. He knows better with me. Drop that invincible act because I don’t believe it anyway. That’s why I made the flan. I expected him to watch that flan all night. That used to be my little laugh, watching this famous warrior act like a little boy at the idea of a sweet.”

I remember the way Ranger ran for Mrs. CJ’s house, with her in his arms, and start laughing again. Mari grins. “That’s how Mando and I knew how much he loved you. He eyed that flan, but his eyes, the entire night, were on you.”

I wipe my eyes, smiling, wondering what else she saw. Again, I think of Mrs. CJ asking me if I was Ranger’s sweetheart. I guess around people Ranger trusts, he’s less guarded. Hector said that too. It was obvious.

It’s also obvious when we aren’t in Trenton. When we aren’t in the Burg. Something to think about.

“You?” I sit up, nervous. “You’re …” She sits back. “I wasn’t sure how to describe you. You love him, that’s clear, but something’s wrong. Want to tell me? I won’t talk.”

That sounded really close to what Chenae said, but Mari isn’t Chenae. This has been like chatting with an old married friend who doesn’t know all the drama. It’s easier to tell her stuff.

She doesn’t have years and years of my history to judge me by.

“I’ve been married before. It wasn’t happy.”

“Did you love him?”

“No.”

“Did he hurt you?”

I sigh deeply. “No. I just ended up thinking I never wanted to be married again.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to be controlled.” Her brow rises. “My ex had political ambitions. All I saw was years of having to do what everyone else told me I had to do without anyone acknowledging or supporting what I wanted to do. Then he screwed my mortal enemy in my home.”

“In your bed?” Mari’s gripping her pen like a dagger.

“Dining room table.”

“He would have been my late husband if he’d screwed his whore in my bed.”

“It was a close call.” We both laugh but Mari suddenly looks thoughtful.

“Well, that really explains your dinner table aversion,” she says quietly, lips pursed. She grabs my hand. “Ranger isn’t your mother or your ex. Reclaim the dinner table from them. Do you have any good memories involving a table?”

I flash back to the night before Ranger left back in April. The sex we had on top of the table that night … I feel a hot flash and fan myself.

Mari notices and laughs. “OK! At least one good dining room table memory. With Ranger?” I nod. “Good. So what’s the issue? You don’t trust him?”

“I trust Ranger.” I wonder how to put how I feel in words. “And I’m scared to trust him.” Again, the power of talking to women. She nods sympathetically. “Ranger might as well be single for all the impact his first marriage had on him. Mine left scars and I don’t think he understands that.”

“Did you tell him that?”

I shake my head. “It’s hard enough getting him to understand how I feel about that marriage.”

She jerks and I stand, concerned. “Baby,” she says, rubbing her back, so I sit again. “Look, he may never understand and that’s fine. Tell him and accept he may never understand.”

“How do you understand I trust you, but I‘m scared to trust you?”

She’s quiet for a few minutes. “In the same way a man understands The baby is kicking.” She shrugs. “He can’t see it until the late stages. He can’t feel it. He has no idea what it’s like to have this tiny person inside his body making a ruckus. But does it make what I said any less true? Mando has to trust that I’m telling the truth, accept that he doesn’t know what this feels like and maybe, in the end, he’ll know what I mean. The baby will kick, he’ll feel it and understand but he’ll never know what it feels like to have this child inside his body.”

That’s the weirdest analogy ever but it worked.

“Ranger accused me of not trusting him, of questioning everything he says. I do trust him but …”

“You’re afraid to trust him.”

I appreciate that she said that as a statement, not a question.

“Then tell him that. That he’ll understand. Fear is something military men understand. Fear and courage they ‘get’. Knowing that you trust him in spite of your fear?” She smiles. “There’s no better way to show Ranger how deeply you love him.”

“You believe that?” I whisper.

“My husband told me that his biggest fear, before we married, wasn’t loving me. It was understanding that he was someone who could be loved, that he wasn’t damaged goods. His biggest fear was believing that I did love him, that I could love him, and that I always would love him.”

I squeeze her hand tightly and turn to stare at the portraits. I refuse to cry in the middle of the museum.

—oOo—

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah. I still don’t understand most of what I’m looking at.”

She laughs and we leave. Again, we pick up her girls and head to RangeMan. It’s sweet, the way they run right for Mando. I look for Ranger.

His ultra-blank face is in place.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “Not now.”

“OK.” I grab his hand and he looks down in surprise. I stare at him, daring him to let go.

He doesn’t. He laces his fingers with mine.

“Steph?” Mari turns and immediately notices our hands.

I don’t drop Ranger’s hand. He doesn’t drop mine.

“I have something I want to give you. To read when you have time.”

“Sure.” She disappears. Mando’s trying to avoid smiling, but every so often he’ll look at our hands then give me a look.

I’m red, I know it, so I look at Ranger. He’s looking at me. “What?”

“Is this destroying your authority in front of your men?”

His lips twitch. “If it is, I’ll leave you to whip ’em back into shape. Your branch, CO.”

I grin and squeeze. Mari reappears, notes our hands, and smiles at me. “One minute.”

I let Ranger’s hand go and my hand feels cold.

She hands me the sheets. I read it. Thirty ways to love in action. “Love is a choice,” she whispers. “Ranger believes love is an action? I agree. It’s a lot of actions, every day, because talk is cheap. People can tell you they love you while beating the shit out of you.”

I try to raise a brow and she hides a smile. “Battered women’s shelter. Tell me you love me but show me too. Look down that page and initial what he does for you and what you do for him. If you need help trying to get comfortable with your own level of mushy, that’ll help.” She smiles. “And holding hands? Mushy.”

I stick my tongue out at her and walk back over to Ranger. I flip through the pages, fold them in half and put them in my purse.

My hand doesn’t remain empty for long.

“Ready to go?”

“Not quite,” he says. “I have a few more men to talk to. You want to go ahead? I’ll ask Mando to drop me off.”

“OK.”

I squeeze his hand. I hope everything’s OK.

—oOo—

I finally have a date night idea for Ranger. It sucks, but I’m willing to give it a try. I bought food, I’m setting up with extra pillows and blankets, and I’m ready to make this a fun night for the both of us.

While I wait, I read what Mari handed me. I decide to talk to Ranger about it tonight.

Well, until he walks through the door. Ranger looks as if the weight of the world dropped on his shoulders in ten hours.

“Everything OK?”

He shakes his head and sits at the desk. His head drops forward and he stretches his neck and shoulders before taking off his boots and weapons.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.” OK. Talk about hitting my curiosity button. He kisses my cheek and looks down. “Playing cards?” I get a small smile. “Strip Poker?”

“Kinda. I thought that we could have a game night tonight. Me and you. We have checkers and monopoly on our iPads. Not as much fun as yelling ‘King Me!’ while slamming checkers”–Ranger snorts, smiling–”but hey! We don’t have to pack up board games and yell about who lost the soccer ball or why we only have one knight instead of two—”

“You played Monopoly at my house, huh?”

I smile. He already looks happier. “I played with Val. She’s a sore loser.”

—oOo—

I’m smoking Ranger at Monopoly!

“C’mon, Ranger, mortgage those properties!”

We’ve been playing for the past hour and I own everything from St. James Place to Marvin Gardens. We smack talked each other through this entire game and I knew I was going to win the moment Ranger landed in jail twice in a row then, four moves later, two times again! Even he looked shocked. At this point, Ranger’s best chance at winning this game is to stay in jail and hope I land on a railroad or on Park Place.

He’s staring at the board on his iPad, shaking his head. “Shit! Your luck isn’t all bad.”

“Yes it is.”

He chuckles. “No it isn’t. Monopoly is a game that relies heavily on chance and luck. You’re smokin’ me because your luck works here.”

“Sounds like sour grapes, Ranger.” I wave my iPad in his face and he shakes his head.

“I’ll concede this game if you agree to play a game that relies on strategy alone.”

I stare at the board. “Such as?”

“Checkers. Chess. Either one.”

“Checkers.” Ranger resigns the game and my penguin jumps for joy! I enjoy the moment before putting my tablet down.

“I picked up dinner.” I slide out of bed and head to the kitchen. I pull out the organic fruit and vegetable platters and pass Ranger the lunch meat. He makes sandwiches while I reheat the soup, chicken tortilla. He makes plates and we sit at the tiny dining room table and stare at each other.

“Babe?”

“Yeah.”

“Couch?”

“Not enjoying my knees in your crotch?”

“Not really.”

We move our stuff to the couch. Ranger grabs our iPads and we start the checkers game. This is even better than Monopoly. We’re both silent, looking for ways to beat each other.

“I loved this as a kid.” I make my move and look at Ranger. He’s looking at me. “I’d play checkers with my dad and he’d tell me stories about his family and we’d just have fun. Mom never bugged us either. If Dad and I were playing games, she’d leave us alone and bring snacks and we’d play all day.”

“My dad never had time.” Ranger’s checker jumps mine and gets kinged. Damn! “He worked twelve hour days as a mechanic. Mom worked for a hotel as the head housekeeper. My abuela watched me, my sisters and Les.”

“What did you do with your parents that was special?”

He’s quiet. “I didn’t do anything. I love my dad but we didn’t have that relationship when I was a kid. He was working hard to provide for his family. We lost a lot of our wealth in the Cuban Revolution.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

We’re quiet. Ranger wins the game and we start a second one. I grab the fruit. Ranger waves that away and has a second sandwich.

“Carbs?”

“Off day at the temple.”

I smile. “Wanna play mad libs?”

I get an eyebrow. “Go for it.”

I start the first of three mad libs and we nearly choke on dinner laughing. The best one is the last one.

“How many words does this one require, Babe?”

“A lot. Location?”

He shrugs. “Backyard.”

I hit submit, read the first one and crack up. “OK, ready?”

“Yeah.”

Edna died this Saturday in a car wreck in Trenton. She was driving a late 90`s model septic tank when a smelly driver swerved onto her side of the junkyard, resulting in a Unemployed collision.

Ranger’s grinning. “I’ll inform Stiva’s ASAP.”

“Stop! My grandma’s great.”

“Yes, she is. She’s also scary, Babe.”

I roll my eyes and read the next one.

Frank died on Tuesday afternoon. He was crushed by a bacon as he was chattering home. Funeral services are tomorrow at his favorite place, backyard.

“Wrong location.”

“Where would you hold the funeral?”

“His bathroom.”

I gasp. “Ranger! That’s horrible!”

“No, it’s not. Think about it. Sprinkle his ashes in the bathroom …”

My mouth drops. Ranger is grinning. “That … that would become Dad’s final resting place. No one could ever use the bathroom again. It would be permanently free.”

“Exactly.”

We stare at each other before falling over laughing. He’s right; Dad would love it.

Brenda was murdered on Thursday Noon as he walked into the middle of a Effect robbery. Witnesses say he Slyly tried to take out one of the robbers, but tripped on a Spy, at which point one of the robbers shot him with his Tuba.

“I’d laugh except that I can see that happening.”

I stare at my tablet. “So can I.”

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah, Babe. Thanks.”

“No prob. Want to talk about it?”

He sighs. “Not yet.”

“OK. I’ll listen when you’re ready.”

“I know.”

The heat kicks on again and Ranger slides from the bed and rummages through my suitcase. He tosses me another pair of socks.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Just know! It’s … frustrating!”

He smiles. “You’re moving your feet and curling your toes. You looked relieved the moment the heat kicked on. I assume your feet are cold. Ergo, find your socks.”

My jaw drops. “OK …” Scary.

He smiles. “OK, what’s next?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Been a great night, Babe.”

“Thanks!”

—oOo—

“What would you change about your childhood?”

I decide to pull out one of our agreed upon questions to talk about while we play checkers.

He doesn’t say anything at first. “In general, nothing because my childhood made me the man I am.”

“Play along, Ranger.”

He sighs. “OK. If anything?” I nod. “I wouldn’t have joined the gang.”

Surprising and yet that’s what I expected him to pick. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t join because I wanted to.” He frowns. “I mean, I didn’t join because I believed in the ideals.”

“The gang has ideals?”

He smiles. “The Latin Kings was started as a self-defense group. A lot of street gangs started like that, as self-protection groups. There’s been a lot written about the Latin Kings, but what makes them different was the emphasis on intense discipline, revolutionary politics, and organization.” He raises a brow. “It was tailored made for street kids who needed discipline and something to believe in. It turns kids into—”

“Soldiers,” I whisper. Explains why so many of our guys are Latin Kings. They’ve been indoctrinated into that mindset, including Hec. I put my iPad down. This is much more interesting.

“Right. The Reyes runs like a business. You fill out an application to join, you have rules, a constitution, all that shit. Then there’s the molding of the boys into street soldiers. It’s tough and it’s effective. I joined because I was sick of my sisters telling me what to do. I was sick of being pushed around. I wasn’t their play toy. I wasn’t their doll. I was a boy, growing into a man, and I have three very bossy older sisters and an older brother who never had time for me. I joined to get out of the house and have someone to hang with and I liked the Reyes I saw. They were disciplined—”

“Piman?”

Ranger stares. “Yeah. Piman. I looked up to him. If Piman went straight, he’d run a Fortune 500 with no problems. He’s just that fucking brilliant. Anyway, Les was my partner in crime, but Les still saw Power Rangers as the height of great TV.” I snicker. “Yeah. Power Rangers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, that was Les. He was eleven. I was twelve. I looked at Les and I didn’t see my partner in crime. I saw a baby. I was sandwiched between a baby and a bunch of bossy women. I needed an outlet. The gang was it.”

“You really regret it that much?” I jump his checker and get kinged.

“I regret it because it was stupid. It was a stupid thing to do and it had a long-term impact on everyone around me.”

I put the iPad down again and look at Ranger. He’s still staring at his. “Such as?”

“Such as Les grew up too quick.” He sighs and puts his tablet down. “Les morphed from a baby to a vengeful man overnight. He set up the man who betrayed me for a five year sentence. Les’s vengeful nature should not have been activated at 13. He should have had more time to be a kid.”

“You too, Ranger,” I reply quietly. “You should have been a kid longer.”

“I made my choice, Steph. My decision. I lived with it.” He shrugs. “My parents had never been big worriers. We kids were all pretty self-sufficient and my getting locked up shocked them. It made them wonder if they were bad parents and they never were. They were, they are, great parents. The best, but my incarceration shook them. They’d worked so hard to give us a good life and here I was getting in trouble with the law. They wondered if they were doing something wrong. I never should have given them that pain.”

“Ranger …”

He shakes his head. “No. Like I said, those choices made me who I am. It taught me to consider the short and long term consequences of everything I do. Examine the truth of what’s being said and what I’m being told. I listen, I consider consequences, and think before I make a move. You?”

I’ve been thinking about this, so I tell Ranger the ‘Poopy’ Connolly story. He winces. “Babe.”

“I know!” I grab another sandwich. “I asked Val to check into Paul Connolly’s location and she got his address for me. I’ve been writing him a letter.” I shrug. “I don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry and I know how he feels now.”

Ranger’s got that half smile on his face. “I’m sure you’ll say the right thing.”

I jump Ranger’s checker and look for a way to win. It’s battle of the kings now.

“So, how often did you and your dad play?”

I’m surprised he decided to go there. “About once a month. It became our thing, well, chess.”

“Really?” Ranger smiles. “I’m a decent chess player.”

“As good as you are at Monopoly?”

“Ouch!” he says playfully. “Again, chess doesn’t rely on luck, Babe. Pure strategy.”

I stick my tongue out at him. “Anyway, Dad loved chess. The perfect game for Italy, a warlike country that was also dead ass broke.” Ranger throws his head back and laughs. “What?”

“That’s what my tio said when he was teaching me and Les to play. ‘The perfect game for Cuba. A country with a massive enemy 90 miles away and no real military. Learn from this game, boys.’ We did. We both joined the Chess Club in high school.”

“Oh my god! Massive nerds!” I fall over laughing, imagining Ranger playing chess.

“Say what you want, we’re good, Babe. Les and I have a game going that we really should call a draw on.”

“How long have you been playing?”

He stares at the wall. “Three years? Roughly?”

My jaw drops. “Three years?!”

“Yeah. Neither of us will concede defeat even though the game is definitely a draw. Perpetual stalemate. Neither of us can move that doesn’t put the other in check again.”

“Do you and Tank play?”

He groans. “Our record is tied. Tank likes fast openings. I’m slower. I get my men in position. Tank’s picking ’em off from the beginning but he leaves himself open for strikes later in the game.”

“Bobby?”

“Sucks. He doesn’t have the patience for it. If Les could change one thing about his RB, that would be it. Now, Bobby will smoke you on Monopoly. He’s brutal with that game. Poker too. Bobby’s luck with games of chance is ridiculous. Only man I know who can run a roulette table.”

“Bobby? I thought …” I frown, not sure where to go with that. Thankfully, Ranger understands.

“Bobby understands he has great luck, but he doesn’t depend on it.”

“Oh.”

“Lula? ML? Connie?”

I’m looking for a way to win, but Ranger’s got this game too. I concede defeat and we start game three. “We’ve never gone to the casino or had a game night.” I frown. “Seems silly, but maybe we should.”

I wonder if that would be a silly idea for a bachelorette party. Instead of getting drunk at Mardi Gras, maybe we could have a game night with all the bridesmaids and Lula’s future sisters-in-law. Actually, now that I think of it, that’s not a bad idea. We could all get together and tell our favorite stories about Lula, eat ourselves stuffed, have a pajama party and watch sappy movies … I’m sure Lula never had one and I haven’t had one since I graduated high school. It’s the perfect party for a bunch of women to celebrate their friend’s happy day.

Plus, I can make that all about Lula, to make up for my crap behavior in San Antonio.

I hop off the bed and grab a pen and a pad and start writing ideas. Actually, I did promise to take all the housekeepers and everyone in the RangeWoman support group away for a women-only retreat. Can I recycle the same idea?

“Earth to Babe?” I look over. Ranger looks amused. “I see that look when you’re plotting. What’s up?”

I snuggle up under him and he reads my notepad. “Interesting. What’s this for?”

“I promised the RangeWomen a retreat. I’d like to do that.”

“Interesting.”

“I think it’s a good idea.” I’m defensive and I don’t know why. “The RangeWoman Support Group is really important—”

“I don’t disagree. I had a few ideas.”

I stare at him. “Really? Like?”

“Like giving them a permanent budget line and an official RangeMan representative. Lula and Mari are running the group right now, right?” I nod. “They’re the perfect people to do it too. Anyway, a SharePoint site for them to share info, a budget line for things they want and need to do … I’m still brainstorming.” He shrugs.

“Why?”

“I liked it the moment I heard about it.”

“Mari doesn’t want to be a RangeMan employee.”

“I’m not surprised. I’d never expect her to join full time. Her or Monica, Javi’s girlfriend.”

“Why?”

“Monica’s in law school part time. She should be finishing soon. Mari?” He grins. “Mari is all about Mando. Battling Mando’s family is enough for her. Trying to support another woman would completely drain her.”

“Oh.” That’s pretty much what she said. “But you like her?”

He smiles. “It’s hard not to like Mariela Cortes Ruiz. She’s a force of nature.” He starts the dishwasher and rejoins me on the bed. “Mando was the first married man in RangeMan, so we all got to know Mari.”

“She said she’d known you long enough not to be impressed by the tough-guy persona.”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah. Mari is a military wife, loyal, tough, caring. She’s seen her man off to a war zone and welcomed him home. After that, nothing fazes her.”

I’m trying not to let Ranger’s admiration of Mari get to me. She’s the perfect women. What can’t she do?

Ranger kills me at checkers and we start a chess game. He wins in six moves. I groan. “OK, enough. Time for bed. We’re leaving at …?”

“0700. We should make Atlanta by noon.”

“Great. Cindy and Danny are hosting a dinner party for us.”

“Babe.” Ranger’s face has a look of pain.

“I know, but—”

“Mari insisted?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head and gathers our dishes. “That woman is scary.”