Page 55 of Anger Banger

We both pick up a planter. “Yes, mistress.”

A sudden laugh makes her snort, and her cheeks turn pink when I throw back my head, laughing. With her hardened, always in control act, I love it when I catch her off guard and make her blush. Whether it’s teasing her or an unexpected compliment, it’s so fucking adorable.

“I added a reminder to the calendar about my vacation in case you forgot. I’ll be gone the last week of April.”

“I remember. Daytona Beach. Are you looking forward to it?”

“I am. I’ve only been to the ocean once when I was a teenager. Row won the trip last year at Scarefest by staying in a coffin with Cara for three days. I was supposed to be the one with her, but I found out that they cover you with cockroaches so…I gave him the ticket. He’s taking me and Lila with them.”

Donna is out raking grass clippings in her yard when we arrive. Just yesterday, Dylan and I cut the grass and weeds from the entire grounds.

“Well, I’ll be dipped! Look what you’ve done with those! They look amazing.” Donna cries. “Thank you so much.” Her whole face is lit up as she stares at the dark green planters adorned with colorful painted flowers.

“I’m glad you like them,” Maren replies, as we settle one on either side of the steps. They chat for a few minutes about the flowerbeds she’s getting ready to plant and how long to wait for the last frost, until Milton walks up.

“Oh, for the love of god, woman,” he groans at Donna. “Seriously?”

“Aren’t they pretty? Maybe we should’ve put your name on them.”

Maren doesn’t seem any more eager to get pulled into the revenge toilet argument than I am. “We’re going to go. I promised Pops fried chicken. See you later.”

When we return to her trailer, Ronnie and Corbin sit hunched over a long folding table set up on one end of their living room. It’s covered in black puzzle pieces.

Ronnie glances up at me. “Cooper, you’re not making my granddaughter work on Saturday, are you?”

“Not at all. I was lured in by the promise of fried chicken. What are you working on?”

Corbin sits back and gestures to the table. “My grandson knows I like puzzles and being the little smartass he is, he got me this one. Now I have to complete it.”

The entire puzzle is black except for a tiny yellow smiley face in one corner. “Wow, not even shade changes, just solid black.”

“And four thousand pieces,” Corbin adds.

“Good luck. I’d help but I’m desperately needed in the kitchen to supervise.”

“Don’t let Maren hear you say that,” Pops chuckles. “Help yourself to the fridge. Plenty of beer and drinks.”

Maren has two cast iron skillets on the stove, one with a few inches of grease heating up while she washes off a big bowl of potatoes.

“I’ll peel,” I volunteer, picking up the nearby paring knife before she has a chance. “Unless you leave them on?”

“No, not for fried ones.” Her lips purse with amusement. “You cook?”

“Not really. I’m not good at it. But my mom always had me peeling and chopping vegetables for her while she cooked.”

While I sit at the table, peeling and cutting up the potatoes, she makes some batter for the chicken. “What’s your mom like?” she asks.

Since the beginning, Maren has changed the subject or ignored any personal questions I’ve asked her and hasn’t asked much of me either. It’s nice to see her letting down those walls a little. “Best mom ever. She always worked a lot but never missed one of my school or sports events.”

“She works with your dad?”

“God no. She’s a nurse. My parents aren’t together. Never married.”

“Oh. I just assumed?—”

“That she was a spoiled housewife of a multi-millionaire who organized the help and gave charity balls?”

She peeks over at me, her hands covered in flour. “Something like that. Sorry.”

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