She turned her head to Mitch and me.
Then she said, “Sorry, gotta lay this shit out.”
Before either of us could respond, she turned her head back to the Trailer Trash Trio and when she spoke again, her voice was even quieter.
“Now, I know all about Bill Winchell. And I know who he’s got dirt on. And I know that person gets whiff that he’s talkin’, the number of breaths Bill Winchell’s got left to breathe on this earth just lowered significantly. Police protective custody or not, he’s dead man walkin’. If he’s too stupid to know that, he’s your boy, you go talk to him and you educate him. Right now he’s facin’ a not very happy future that includes a limited wardrobe selection. But at least he’s got a future. He talks, he won’t have that. You get me?”
I looked from Elvira to the Trailer Trash Trio to see Jez still looked indifferent. Mom was studying Elvira closely. But, surprising me, Aunt Lulamae looked pale and uncertain.
Elvira spoke again and when I looked back at her, I saw her eyes were on Mitch.
“I know the boys are fired up to take that guy down but that stupid cracker’s makin’ this play just to fuck with you, he needs a wakeup call.” Her eyes honed in on Mitch and she finished, “And you know it.”
“We’ll tell him to add the Witness Protection Program to the deal,” Mom said and everyone looked at her.
“You can tell him that but Winchell won’t get it,” Elvira replied. “He might have info but not enough to buy him that kinda deal.”
“You can’t know that,” Mom returned.
“Woman, you don’t know me but what I do, I know everything that’s goin’ down in Denver. I know that. I know a lot more. And I know, your boy don’t shut up, next time you see him, he’ll be in a coffin,” Elvira retorted.
Everyone was silent. Aunt Lulamae shifted. Mom glared at Elvira. Jez looked like, if she had a watch (which she didn’t), she’d check it.
Mitch finally spoke.
“I think you’ve been invited to leave.”
Mom transferred her glare to Mitch. Jez took a half step toward the door.
Aunt Lulamae looked at Mitch too and asked on a jerk of her head toward Elvira, “What she said, is it true?”
“Yes,” Mitch said flatly.
Aunt Lulamae looked at Mom. Mom continued to glare at Mitch.
And that was when I knew Mom was the mastermind (as it were) of all of this. This was not about Bill, Billy and Billie.
This was about her and me.
This was about her taking me down a notch.
Mitch was right again.
All my life, I had been in a competition with my mother. She wanted to take me down, hold me down, best me. She made nothing of her life and she wanted to make sure I didn’t make anything of mine because if I did, it would make her feel worse about the fact she’d thrown hers away.
And there I stood next to a good man, a handsome man, a solid, respectable man in a fabulously decorated apartment and across the breezeway were two children who adored me and a cadre of friends who had my back.
And she couldn’t stand it.
“Move on,” I whispered and I felt Mitch’s arm tighten and saw Mom’s eyes come to me.
“What?” she snapped.
“You don’t exist for me, not anymore. Not after this, not even before this but definitely not after. We’re done. I’ve moved on. Now you need to move on too,” I advised.
“Marabelle Hanover, don’t you stand there and tell your Momma what to do,” she kept snapping.
“Okay then, don’t move on. Your choice. But take your bitterness and regret for throwing away your life somewhere else. Don’t you see?” I lifted a hand and kept it up. “You can’t beat me.”
I dropped my hand and held her eyes.
Mom glared into mine and then hers went to Mitch.
“You’re a fool,” she stated, my body got tight and so did Mitch’s. “See she’s conned you with her fancy-ass clothes and her fancy-ass apartment into thinkin’ that she’s somethin’ she isn’t. You go home, ask anyone, they’ll tell you exactly who Marabelle Jolene Hanover is.”
“No,” Mitch replied, “they’ll tell me who Melbamae Hanover is and, one look at you, I know the woman you are and I know Mara is not that woman.”
“You go to Iowa, they’ll tell you,” Mom pushed.
“I already responded to that, not gonna do it again,” Mitch muttered then said straight out, “Now, I’ll remind you, you’ve been invited to leave.”
Mom gave up on Mitch and looked back at me.
“You can’t run away from who you are.”
“Wrong, Mom,” I replied. “I was never who you thought I was so I never had anything to run away from. But I did run away, not from who you thought I was but from you. I did it thirteen years ago. It’s done. I’m gone. I’ve been gone a long time. Move on.”