Friday arrived, and with it, a stomach-sickening sense of dread. I sat in the kitchen pushing cereal around a bowl while Ranger read the newspaper, eyeing me over the top of his page every so often.
"Feeling nauseous?" he finally asked, raising an eyebrow.
I shook my head.
"No."
"Then what's eating you?" he asked.
I sighed.
"It's Dickie's viewing tonight."
Ranger nodded, his face devoid of emotion.
"Are we going?" he asked.
"We?"
He nodded.
"I thought we were a team. Where you go, I go. Are you planning on going?" he asked.
"No. It will be a spectacle. I had only planned on going to the funeral."
In the Burg, funerals were an opportunity to mourn a loved one's passing. In addition, they were also social events, drawing the retired crowd and nosey neighbor types to gawk at the spectacle, fish for gossip on current events, and snag a handful of whatever decent cookies were served at the refreshment table. At Stiva's, there were three slumber rooms for viewings, with the first, and largest, being reserved for the largest crowds—second and third-tier celebrities, the local Tail-Twister from the Lion's Club, higher ups in the mob, and murder victims-the Burg's favorite.
"Up to you, Babe," Ranger said, turning the page.
"What's your plan for the day?" I inquired.
"Physical therapy at ten, then I might take a run if I feel up to it. I have a web meeting at one with a condo property manager."
"Have your parents settled on a place they like yet?" I asked, scooping up a bite of soggy cereal.
Ranger gave a single nod.
"They prefer a small garden apartment they found, but I don't think it's practical for them. I'm encouraging them to consider this condominium that's down the street from Celia. Have you found a house you like?" he asked with a shit-eating grin.
I rolled my eyes.
"Can we just move back to my old apartment when they fix the asbestos?" I asked in a whiney voice.
Ranger elicited a sarcastic laugh.
"That place is even smaller this this one, Babe."
My phone rang on the living room table, and I scrambled over to see who was calling. It was my mother.
"Hello?"
"Stephanie, it's your mother. Will you and Carlos be joining us for dinner tonight? I'm making a nice roast chicken and a chocolate cake. It seems like we haven't seen you in ages," my mother said, sounding disappointed.
"Hold on. Let me ask," I replied, pulling the phone away from my ear and placing my hand over the microphone.
"My mom wants to know if we want to have dinner with them tonight. Roast chicken and chocolate cake," I added, unsure if that would sweeten the deal for him.
"Sure," he said casually.
My face must have betrayed my shock, because Ranger laughed heartily.
"Babe," he said, folding up his newspaper. "I've accepted that in marrying you, I get them too. It's a package deal. I like it."
I tossed a throw pillow at him playfully, and he ducked, the pillow taking out his coffee cup and shattering it on the tile floor.
"Sorry," I apologized, gritting my teeth.
I put the phone back to my ear.
"We'll be there, thanks for the invitation."
"Will you be going to Richard's viewing afterward?" my mother asked. "Your grandmother is looking for a ride."
"No," I said quickly. "Not going."
My mother sighed.
"I was afraid you were going to say that. I guess I'll be taking her," she said, sounding annoyed.
I refused to play the guilt game she was attempting, so I quickly ended the call, telling her we'd see her tonight.
By eleven, I was going stir crazy. It was safe for me to come and go with Fitch off the streets, so I figured it was time to escape the Bat Cave for a few hours. I threw my hair in a ponytail and dressed in denim shorts, an olive girly-cut t-shirt, and sandals. I played a game of vehicle "eenie meenie miney moe" and decided to take Ranger's Porsche 911 for a spin.
Once I was on the road, I called Connie.
"Steph, oh my gawd. Long time, no see. How ya doin'?" Connie answered.
"I'm good, thanks."
"You sure? It's not like you to take a leave of absence from work," she worried. "I'd heard about the kidnapping and everything. You sure you're alright?"
I cringed at the reminder but tried to push those memories away. I doubted Ranger had disclosed the full details of the experience, and I had no desire to talk about it with Connie.
"Yep, I'm good. Just taking some time to myself," I explained.
"What's up?" she asked.
"Got lunch plans?"
"No."
"I'll bring by Pino's. What do you want?"
I took Connie's order and placed a carryout order call to Pino's. In forty minutes, I was parked in front of the bail bonds office with lunch in hand.
Connie was on the phone when I entered the office.
"I know you've got cataracts, Mr. Zidlicky, but I can't drive you to your hearing today. Call a cab. Call an Uber. Call the pope. Just whatever you do, don't miss your court date, or you'll have to be re-bonded."
She listened to the caller for a few moments before responding.
"I know you're a cheap old bastard, but a forty-dollar Uber will cost you a hell of a lot less than getting re-bonded. Figure it out, Mr. Zidlicky. I've got to go."
With that, she hung up the phone and smiled at me.
"Hey, Steph!"
"Hi," I said, setting her Italian sub and coleslaw on the desk. "I wasn't sure what you'd want to drink, so I got you a Diet Coke. Hope that was okay."
"Perfect, thanks," she said, unwrapping her sandwich. "Thank God you called, I was starvin'. I wasn't sure I'd get lunch today as busy as we've been."
I extracted two bottled soft drinks from my messenger bag and set the Diet Coke on her desk.
"We're that busy, huh?" I asked, sitting in a comfy chair.
Connie nodded, shoveling a bite of coleslaw into her mouth. As she did, a big glop fell onto her chest.
"Shit," she muttered through a mouthful of food.
She grabbed a napkin and scooped the coleslaw up, working to get the oily dressing out of her shirt.
"It's the busy season," she said. "Primo car theft and gang violence weather with the temperature warm and all. Nobody gets too excited about shooting anybody when you've got to freeze your balls of to do it."
She had a point, I had to give her that.
"Do you have a lot of open files?" I asked.
Connie shrugged.
"The Rangeman guys are doing okay to keep up with the workload," she said. "We haven't had any huge bonds lately, just lots of ordinary stuff. And with Dickie dead, we've got one less open file."
I took a bite out of my meatball sub, feeling oddly sad about Dickie. Connie handed me a check, and I realized it was for his capture money. I mentally groaned before shoving it in my messenger bag.
"You going to Stiva's tonight?" Connie asked. "It'll be a big one."
"No," I said. "My mom wanted me to take grandma, but I declined."
"I can't say I blame you," Connie laughed. "After your divorce, I suspect you had enough of that man for five lifetimes."
The door crashed open, and Lula came strutting in wearing an electric purple tube dress and matching spike heels, her blonde hair styled into a giant poof.
"Hey, girlfriends!" she greeted, striking a pose.
"The gang's all here!" Connie exclaimed.
"Whatchu doin'?" Lula asked, flopping onto the couch.
"Lunch. You hungry? You can have half of my meatball sub," I said.
"Girl, I'm always hungry. Gimme that," she said, gesturing to my sub.
I passed her half, and she began to devour it.
"How's business?" Connie asked Lula.
"Excellent," she said through a mouthful of food. "Our sales are higher than projected for the month. Now that I'm an entrepreneur, I'm thinkin' about upgrading my ride to something sexier. More dignified. Maybe a Porsche like Ranger's!"
"Wow, that'd be great," Connie said.
Lula pulled out her phone and began frantically scrolling and typing.
"Holy shit, one hundred eighty thousand dollars?! Maybe I'll get a Honda instead," Lula croaked.
"Talking about buying stuff… now that I have a steady source of income, I'm thinking about buying a house," I confessed.
Connie and Lula looked at me like corn was growing out of my ears.
"But you live with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy!" Lula exclaimed.
"Yeah," I said, remembering they didn't know I was pregnant. I grimaced.
"Uh oh, looks like there is trouble," Connie said, gesturing my way.
"Trouble? I didn't say anything about…"
"Didn't have to, I could see it on your face. You did that thing with your eyebrows," Connie said. "Did you two break up?"
"Thing with my eyebrows?" I asked, confused.
"You don't have to say what you're thinking, Stephanie. Your face is like an open book into your mind. And your eyebrows just did the thing they do when something is wrong… off… discombobulated," Connie explained.
"Fucked up," Lula echoed. "She's right," said Lula, polishing off the last bite of her sandwich. "Girl, you're a terrible liar."
"Ranger and I are fine," I protested.
"Oh yeah? Then when is the big day?" asked Lula.
"Huh?"
"Haven't you set a wedding date yet?" Connie asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No… I mean, it's only been a few weeks… I…"
"Girl, spill," said Lula. "What the hell is wrong with you? If I were you, I'd be racing him to the alter before he changes his mind."
I did some deep breathing to calm myself.
"Everything is totally fine. We just think we'd be more comfortable somewhere with more space," I explained. "Ranger's apartment was really only designed for one."
"We?" asked Connie. "That's not what you said before. Before, you said YOU were going to buy a house."
"What's the difference?" I asked, confused.
"Well, one implies you're going off on your own," Lula said, putting her feet up. "The other means you're still engaged to Batman and planning a future together."
"The latter, then," I said. "I'm just not in a rush to get hitched. It seems like a lot of work, and we've had a lot going on."
"Weddings don't have to be a lot of work," said Lula. "You can fly direct to Vegas and hit up any twenty-four-hour chapel there. You wouldn't even have to buy a dress."
I raised an eyebrow. Lula had a point.
"Oh! If you do that, I wanna come!" announced Connie. "I need some time at the slots. It's been too long!"
"If you decide to skip Vegas, you could hire a wedding planner," said Lula. "Then you wouldn't have to mess with all the details."
Since when was Lula so smart?
"If you hired a wedding planner, all you'd have to do is make sure you don't get too fat for your dress," Connie said, shoveling up more coleslaw.
I choked on my meatball sub. Did she know I was pregnant?
"Excuse me?"
"I know how your waistline expands and contracts," Connie said, shrugging. "Diets of donuts, pizza, and fried chicken will do that to a girl. If you're going to invest in an expensive dress and pay for alterations, you've got to stay on a diet to make sure the dress will fit you on the big day. I suggest you lay off the donuts now."
I glanced at my waistline and scowled, knowing it wasn't going to be long before I couldn't button my pants full-time. They were already uncomfortably tight, though Ximena had promised me it was just bloating. I hadn't considered being pregnant in a wedding dress. The thought made me cringe. The Vegas wedding was sounding better and better.
"Any idea when you'll be back at work?" asked Connie. "The Rangemen are fine, but it's boring around here without you."
"I don't know," I admitted. "Hopefully soon?"
As I said it, I realized it was unlikely. I couldn't see Ranger letting me chase down criminals while pregnant with his child. I guess I could understand his perspective, but the thought of sitting on the sidelines for an undetermined amount of time seemed painfully boring. I wasn't good at sitting at home, doing nothing. I didn't even have a hobby to fill my time.
"You don't know?" asked Connie, looking surprised.
I shook my head.
"I'm… dealing with some health things," I explained cautiously. "Once I get them dealt with, I'm sure I'll be cleared to return to work."
"Oh my god, she has cancer!" cried Lula, her eyes filled with terror. "Is it in one of your titties? Or your brain?!" she gasped.
"Jeez Louise," I exclaimed. "Overreact much? No, I don't have cancer. Take a breath, Lula."
"Well then, what's wrong with you?" Lula asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "I've seen you work with a gunshot wound to the ass and minor broken bones. You look fine to me, so what the hell else could it be?"
"Oh Jesus, Steph," Connie exclaimed. "Did Ranger give you an STD? I've always assumed he got around, but…"
"Oh my god, no! I don't have an STD!" I cried, smacking my palm to my forehead. "Get off it, guys. I'm good; everything is fine."
Lula and Connie eyed me suspiciously, then looked at one another, eyes as wide as saucers.
"She's knocked up," gasped Connie. "That explains the chin!"
"What?" I asked, confused. "What chin?"
"You're sporting a double chin, girlfriend," Lula said with a laugh. "Bitch be pregnant! Congrats, girl!"
I felt at my chin, confused.
"I don't have a double…"
"She didn't deny it! She is!" Connie squealed, cutting me off and dancing her feet around on the floor.
"No, I'm not…"
"You're lying," Lula said, giving me a knowing look. "You're a terrible liar. Is it Batman's or Morelli's?"
I slid down in my chair, trying to disappear.
"Come clean, Steph," Connie said.
"It's Ranger's," I sighed, my face covered by my hands.
"Bat baby!" Lula and Connie squealed in unison.
"Keep it down!" I shouted, staring daggers at them. "And don't tell anyone. It's not public knowledge, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"You're no fun," Lula argued. "How the hell am I supposed to plan you a baby shower if it stays a secret?"
"You can't keep it a secret forever, Steph," Connie scolded. "You'll eventually look like you swallowed a basketball."
"I know, I know," I argued. "I just need some time to figure everything out."
"So what I'm hearing is that this baby was an unwanted 'oops,'" declared Lula. "Sorry girl."
"It's not unwanted, I…" I trailed off, struggling for words.
As if by some type of magic, the bonds office door opened, effectively interrupting the conversation. We all turned and saw Joe Morelli stroll in.
Instantly, my brain was flooded with memories of my recent dream. My internal temperature rose at least ten degrees, and I felt my face flush with both embarrassment and unexplained desire.
"Afternoon," Morelli said in greeting, crossing to the coffee pot.
"Hey, officer hottie!" Lula greeted. "Did you know Stephanie here is knocked up?"
I felt my already red face flush to beet-level. I covered my face with my hands and leaned back into my chair, praying I'd disappear into the leather.
Joe raised an eyebrow and nodded.
"Oh my god! How long have you known?!" Connie squealed. "Why didn't you tell me?!"
Joe shrugged. "It wasn't my place to tell you. I'm inclined to believe that Steph would have preferred I didn't know. It just sort of happened."
I remembered that moment in the emergency room and mentally cringed.
Connie threw her hands up in frustration.
"I see where I fall in the friendship food chain," she scolded me.
"It's not like that," I protested, feeling flustered and my eyes welling up with tears.
"I think you need to give Stephanie some grace," Joe said, crossing the room to stand protectively by my chair. "I only know because of circumstances out of her control. Get off her. You're like vultures."
Joe set a hand on my shoulder, and despite my frustration, I was certain my body was literally in flames.
"You okay?" Joe asked, making eye contact with me.
With memories of the dream raging through my mind and tears leaking from my eyeballs, I grabbed my messenger bag and scrambled for the door.
"Steph!" Connie called after me as the door swung shut.
I stood at the door of the Porsche pawing through my bag for keys, accidentally dropping stuff out of my bag and onto the street. As I hunched to pick up the items, I felt Morelli's presence behind me.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his tone worried.
"I'm fine," I said, wiping my tears onto the hem of my shirt. "Just hormones."
Joe knelt, picking up a tube of lipstick and a can of pepper spray.
"I don't buy it, but I'm willing to give you space if that's what you need," he said, dropping the items in my bag.
I fished around again and came up with the keys to the 911.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" I asked.
"Dropping by to grab new files to take back to Rangeman."
"I thought you were put on leave."
He shrugged.
I unlocked the car to get in, but Morelli closed the distance between us before I could. Another vision from my dream raced through my mind. A wave of desire flowed through my body, followed by waves of guilt and shame. When had I become such a wreck? I wrenched the door open and slid behind it, effectively creating a barrier between me and Morelli.
"What's going on?" Morelli asked, looking genuinely confused.
"Nothing," I replied nervously. "Weird day. Got to run," I explained, cramming myself into the car and pulling the door closed.
I locked myself in and rolled over the engine. As it purred to life, Morelli moved out of the way so I could pull out of the parking space. As I drove away, I saw him standing in my rear-view mirror. I knew in my heart of hearts that I was supposed to be with Ranger, and all these feelings felt yucky. I trusted Morelli, but I didn't trust myself… and there was a 50/50 chance he'd take advantage of the situation if presented with it. I added this to the mental list of topics to cover with a therapist whenever I got in for an appointment. I was a disaster.
Feeling flustered but unready to return to Rangeman, I headed for the mall. What better way to kill a few hours than wandering mindlessly around and spending money?
I parked the Porsche at the back of the lot to avoid door dings and flipped down the vanity mirror, recalling Connie's chin comment. I studied my face and realized it was, in fact, pudgier than it had been a week prior. I grimaced, then headed for retail therapy. As I entered the mall doors, a text message dinged on my phone. I pulled it from my pocket and pushed the notification.
"Did I do something wrong?" Morelli had written.
I sighed and headed for the nearest Auntie Anne's, buying a ginormous pretzel. I took a seat on a bench and tore into it.
"No," I typed in with my free hand. "Not at all."
The phone let me know he was typing, so I waited.
"Why were you so flustered?" he replied.
"Overwhelmed by Lula and Connie," I lied in response.
"Understood," came the response. "Let me know if I need to kick their ass."
I sat in silence, eating my pretzel and appreciating the Zen of mall walkers and mall scents—an intoxicating mix of pretzels, cinnamon rolls, deep fat fryer grease, and pizza. Once I'd destroyed the pretzel, I began my journey around the mall. I hit up Victoria's Secret and Macy's before finding myself standing awkwardly in front of Pottery Barn Kids.
I spied a slew of cribs, rocking chairs, changing tables, and other baby accessories neatly displayed beyond the glass. I considered my options. I could go in and browse around the store. I could keep walking toward Lady Footlocker. I could cut my losses and go home.
I took one step toward the entrance then froze again. Pottery Barn Kids seemed so… Extravagant. It would make more sense to hit up Target or Wal-Mart for all this stuff. Heck, I didn't need anything for months. I was only around eight weeks pregnant, nine tops. I had months.
The call of the merchandise was too great. I shuffled in, feeling both excited and uncomfortable to be in such a store. My eyes were drawn from display to display, and I found myself enjoying the tiny rubber duck patterns, the ultrasoft textures, the rich mahogany-colored furniture. I found myself touching items with abandon, wondering how—and when—I became this person.
Hormones, I thought to myself. Being pregnant has made me a certifiable basket-case.
I glanced at the price tag of a crib and almost choked on my own spit. $1500.
I slowly backed away from the crib, nervous to have been touching it. I began walking away from the crib, then remembered I had Ranger's credit card. I turned back to the crib and considered it again.
No. Still no. Overwhelmingly no.
I turned away again, then remembered I had money in my checking account. I wasn't paying for rent or utilities anymore. I owned my car free-and-clear. I was bringing in regular income with next to no expenses.
I turned back to the crib again and stood next to it, tapping on my phone's mobile banking app. I wanted to confirm I had enough money to clear the transaction before getting too stupid. I entered my password, then nearly expired when the balance loaded.
$2,019,588.17
I steadied myself on the crib railing and read the number again.
Dickie's death money had arrived.