Sometimes, I sensed Clive wished I was his kid. Zella never showed any interest in stuff he cared about, and his brain refused to accept how he needed to care about her shit. I was into sports and would wrestle around with my cousins, Brian Clive and David Clive. He could trust me to do errands, yet Zella always got distracted. Yeah, I was the one that Uncle Clive wanted to keep around. Zella was the daughter he planned to marry off to a fat cat with connections. She would have a comfy life, and he would have more power.
Except she died, and I didn’t. His love for me ended that day. Uncle Clive is cold like that. He once killed his friend for stealing a tiny bit from the business. No warning or second chances. Clive loves but only on the surface.
That’s why if he finds me, I won’t be able to sweet-talk my way out of the situation. He might let me live if I marry the dork in Bismarck, so he can save face. If not, I’m dead. A part of me respects how heartless Clive can be, but another part wishes I burned his house to the ground before leaving. He isn’t the only one with a temper and no expiration dates on grudges.
My temper threatens to awaken when Topanga shows up at the salon. I don’t dislike the woman, but I sense her maneuvering me even before she speaks.
“I hoped to catch you,” she says, guiding me away from the bunnies. “I wanted to talk. Have you had lunch?”
I ought to weasel out of leaving the salon. Conor, though, warned me how Topanga can be a force of nature. She nags and compliments people into submission. The only tactic to stop her is to walk away and ignore her following. Well, that or throw a punch. He claims his mother is prone to the latter. Having met Barbie in passing, I believe him.
I can’t run away from Topanga. Where will I go? How long can I dodge her? Obviously, throwing a punch isn’t an option. If I appease her, Topanga could gain whatever she wants from me, and then she’ll go away on her own. Hell, maybe I can be the one to go on a charm offensive? No, probably not.
We walk to a pizzeria where she orders a big salad, and I get a slice of pepperoni. Without any distractions, I really see Topanga. Her shiny blonde hair hangs loose yet sits perfectly. Her long legs are on display in a short hot pink skirt, and her sizable boobs are shoved into a pushup bra hidden under her pale pink shirt. Every inch of her face is perfectly made up. Her smiling lips shine with gloss. Though effortlessly beautiful and confident, I sense Topanga puts a fuck-ton of effort into her looks. Is she worried Lowell will dump her otherwise? Is that the kind of relationship they share? Are they superficial people? Is that why he was so grossed out by me? Am I not up to his highfalutin standards? Okay, I’m probably reading too much into shit.
Across from me, Topanga never stops talking. She says so much, so fast that I find myself missing most of the details. We’re twenty minutes into lunch before I realize she isn’t talking as much as hitting me up for information. I don’t catch on until she follows up praise for my mom raising me alone with a casual question about how Needy is doing these days.
“I don’t know.”
“You said she was missing,” Topanga replies in an offhanded way. “Did she run off, or did someone take her?”
The stubborn part of me refuses to respond to the question, let alone trust Topanga. Grudges come naturally. Especially when someone puts their hands on me. I always file away those offenses in my “Hard Feelings” mental file cabinet. Then, if I see a chance to exact revenge on that person, I pull out my reason and let my temper take over.
But Topanga is putting tremendous effort into being nice. Sure, she’s also fishing for dirt. I don’t know what I have to lose by telling her the truth. I assume anything I end up telling Conor will eventually end up back with his bosses.
“Earlier this year, Needy and Immee went to Branson for a sisters’ retreat. My aunt returned alone, claiming my mom met a guy and wanted to spend extra time with him. Weeks passed. Mom finally wrote a message from a new email address and told me that she wanted to start over fresh. She promised I would be okay. Since then, I’ve only gotten three messages from her and one phone call. I refuse to believe she ditched me for a man.”
Topanga pats my hand. “You know your mama better than anyone. Trust your instincts.”
Yeah, Topanga is completely full of shit. However, I still appreciate how she didn’t second-guess my opinion. Too many people in Minton claimed my mom had me young and worked hard to care for me. Now an adult, I ought to stop being selfish and let her start fresh with a new love.
Except plenty of men showed interest in Needy over the years. She always put me first. That’s why we lived with Aunt Immee and Uncle Clive. Mom hated being dependent on her sister, but she knew we’d be more comfortable there.
“My mom was my best friend,” I tell Topanga, who watches me with her big blue eyes. “If she fell in love with someone, she’d tell me everything. I’m the person she trusted most. Instead, she just cut me off. That’s not her.”
“Do you know where she’s living?”
“In Kansas, but I’m afraid to contact her. I considered going there and spying on her until I saw a chance for us to speak alone. But I don’t know much about the town. Maybe I’d be spotted right away. Then, Uncle Clive would send men to Kansas, and I’d have to run.”
I realize Topanga’s chattiness has rubbed off on me. That was her plan, no doubt. Jena warned how of all the old ladies that Topanga was the one to worry most about. Her warmth was a trick. Whatever anyone told Topanga, she reported back to her man.
“My parents are treasures,” she says after I fall silent and wonder if what I’ve shared already will put my mom in danger. “They supported me in whatever I decided to do. But my paternal aunt was a nitpicker. She bullied everyone. Is that how Uncle Clive and Aunt Immee are?”
Shrugging, I tear at the napkin. “Immee married a strong man with money, but none of his family likes her. They’re not mean, but they aren’t warm, either. They made comments about how she came from mud and her family was trash. Having her sister around helped Immee, but Needy and I were saving up to move away.”
“And Uncle Clive?”
“He owns that town. Like how the club owns Elko. If you wronged him, annoyed him, inconvenienced him, he could do to you what I assume the club would do to their enemies. People knew to behave. But, sometimes, behaving isn’t enough.”
“Well, then, it’s good that you left. Now, you’ve found a new family,” Topanga says as if she’s completely unaware of Lowell’s desire for me to go away. “And I wouldn’t worry about your uncle. Like you said, the Executioners own Elko. This is your home now, and Clive isn’t welcome here.”
Nodding, I try to focus on the meaning behind Topanga’s words. But I’m feeling salty. And hyper-aware that I’ve shared too much. I need to be more careful. Not only for Needy’s safety, but I’m also dating a criminal. I need to learn to keep my mouth shut. I never had anyone pushing for answers in Minton. Good thing, too, since I seem to be a blabbermouth.
“And you found Conor,” Topanga says, proving she’s an ace at reading people. “He’s a good boy.”
“What does that mean?”
“Not every young man handed the keys to money and power will turn out like Conor.”