Despite what she said at the party about not caring, Monroe wants to settle down in this town. That’s how she’s programmed. Once she finds a home, Monroe hunkers down for the long run. She only left Minton when the people she loved were gone. Even then, she waited until she felt in danger.
Elko offers friends, safety, and me. The only thing it can’t provide is Needy. New friends can be made, but there’s only one mom. I’m thinking about that the next day while she works a shift at Bambi’s Bar & Grill. Monroe rarely mentions her mom, but I catch her looking at their pictures quite often.
“She loved me in a way that made the world better,” Monroe once said before changing the subject.
My honey doesn’t like to cry. I don’t blame her. I never cried when my father died. Crying feels as if I’m exposing myself to a hostile world. Better to shove the pain deep inside where it can fester and grow into gnarly traumas. That’s how I prefer things.
Before I head over to pick up Monroe, I decide to ask for help with the Needy situation. I dial up my sister, knowing she’ll do what others will talk me out of.
“What’s your frequency, Kenneth?” Aja asks over the din of background noise.
“Are you in the middle of something important?”
“Always. My life involves an endless tsunami of importance.”
“Can you make time to do me a favor?”
“Always. Well, assuming the favor doesn’t involve anything too kinky. I’m very vanilla,” she says, and I hear laughter in the background of her call.
I explain the basics of who Monroe is, why her mom is in Kansas, and how contacting Needy is tricky.
“Would you or one of your people be able to slip Needy a burner phone so she can talk to Monroe?”
“Easy,” Aja says immediately.
“I don’t know what the town is like or how under surveillance Needy might be. You could be walking into a dangerous situation.”
“I’ll bring an extra gun and a rosary,” she says, snickering. “Send me the chick’s name and address. A picture or two wouldn’t hurt. I’ll start staking out the place. If I can’t get close to her, I’ll find someone who can.”
“I owe you.”
“I shall be repaid through flesh and candy corn.”
“Really? That shit is gross. Let me buy you decent candy.”
“I have my reasons.”
After thanking Aja, I hang up and hope to be the hero who provides what Monroe needs to be happy
PART 6: PAPA, CAN YOU HEAR ME?
MONROE
The night before our scheduled “double date” with Lowell and Topanga, I’m gripped by endless nightmares. Each one is worse than the last. I wake up scared but force myself to remain quiet to avoid bothering Conor. Eventually, I dream of Zella’s funeral, where I stand next to a stony-faced Needy. The frigid weather has everyone shivering. Nearby, Immee struggles not to cry over her dead baby in the white coffin.
The McNamee family doesn’t believe in public displays of emotion—except rage. And standing next to his wife, Clive does look pissed. He glares at the coffin as if it personally fucked him over. Brian Clive and his younger brother, David Clive, look stoned. They stare at a spot in the distance while the pastor speaks.
In the dream, my mom disappears, and I start to believe she’s dead, too. I catch Clive’s gaze, and he smiles mockingly at me. In real life, though, he hadn’t looked at me at all that day.
I wake up, believing Clive is in Elko and planning to kill me. I even feel him outside in the Overlook parking lot, watching and waiting. My emotions are irritational. After all, my uncle wouldn’t come here to kill me himself. He has people for that. Yet, in my heart, I know he’ll soon punish me.
Only when I get up later, do I realize I’m more afraid of Lowell than Clive. I’ve spent my life searching for male approval. And despite his cruelty, I got used to admiring Clive. I felt so special when I could make him laugh, or he bragged about my team winning a game. But then Zella died, and he turned on me. Afterward, I became an object to sell off to improve his business reach. I meant nothing to him.
As much as Clive’s betrayal hurt, Lowell’s rejection gutted me. I pretend I’m tough and don’t care. But spending even an hour with him will tear apart more of my confidence. I consider faking a different personality with Lowell, which might gain his approval. But his affection would be based on a lie.
With that in mind, I plan to be me today. I’ll enjoy my time with Conor and deal with any hurt feelings Lowell causes. I’m too old to run and hide.
Conor and I arrive early at the Elko Play Center. When I’m reluctant to get off the Harley, he smiles back at me.
“Pretend we’re on a date. Just you and me. Sure, we’ll run into other people, but your focus should be on your sexy date.”
Smiling, I slide off the Harley. I’ve played miniature golf twice before. The first time I was too young to keep score. The second time was in high school on a date, and the guy kept laughing at how badly I did. I’ll never forget how shocked he was when—rather than offer him a blowjob—I dumped him. What moron mocks a seventeen-year-old hormonal teenage girl and then expects to get lucky?
Fortunately, I’m currently dating a genius. Conor might not literally be the smartest person walking the planet, but he sure seems that way to me. He knows about so much of the world while I couldn’t pick most places out on a map. So, when Conor promises we’ll have fun today with Topanga and Lowell, I trust him. He can say just about anything, and I accept his word as golden.
As we walk toward the entrance, I admire Conor in his white T-shirt and tattered jeans. Smiling up at him, I promise, “No matter who wins today, I’ll buy you dinner.”
“Nothing hotter than when my woman spoils me.”
Conor gets such a kick out of me paying for anything. I wonder if past women were more interested in his wallet than his heart. I can’t imagine anyone seeing only dollar signs when they looked at this sexy as fuck man. But people are weird and stupid, which is a good thing. My life would be much worse if any of those women stole his heart before I came along.
As if ready for tennis, Topanga arrives, wearing a short white skirt, a white tank top, a white visor, white sneakers, and a bouncy ponytail. I suspect she wants to show off her long, shiny legs to keep Lowell from pouting all afternoon. For her gesture, I shall file away a thank-you and repay her later.
I went with a casual look—chocolate-colored sandals, a tan T-shirt, and blue jeans. No muss, no fuss. Besides, no one’s going to notice my clothes with that baby unicorn horn growing out of the middle of my head from butting Taryn.
“I’m so glad we’re doing this,” Topanga announces, sounding nervous.
Lowell grunts something that sounds like a mouth fart before he wanders off to pay. Conor stretches his arms, grimaces in pain at his still sore ribs, and then rolls his eyes.
“I’m still upset I didn’t get to finish him off,” Conor admits. “Can you imagine how calm family events would be with Wyatt in a vegetative state?”
“Don’t say that,” Topanga admonishes. “Yes, of course, things would be better if he were mute and in a wheelchair. No one disputes that, but you still shouldn’t say it.”