Page 18 of Side Hustle
None of the dates were definitive proof on their own, but the collection of them was pretty damning. Three to six months before each of five new businesses broke ground in Auburn Hill, my father received a payment and the same woman had checked into the Hill Hotel. This might not convict him in a court of law, but it was enough to convict him in the court of public opinion. And it was enough to hand off to authorities for further investigation.
“Holy shit, dude.” Titus sat back against the wall with a thud.
Amelia looked at me with an apology in her eyes. “I guess this means your father’s taking kickbacks?”
I nodded, beyond pissed now that I had the evidence in front of me. “Yep. He must have promised the building of these businesses would go to this Megan Lizzaro lady and she paid him cash in return. That’s illegal. Discounts should go to the business itself or the town coffers, not my father’s personal pockets.”
I took a deep breath and tried to wrap my brain around it all. Now that I had proof, I had to do something about this and it would become a huge public spectacle. A firestorm of nerves lit up in my gut and I knew the beer had been a bad idea. Public spectacles and I didn’t mix.
“What are you going to do?” Amelia asked quietly.
Titus laid his hand on my shoulder, which I knew meant he’d be there to back me up in whatever I decided to do.
“Somebody somewhere said being brave means feeling fear and doing the thing anyway.” I shrugged despite the fear threatening to strangle me. “So I’m going to do the thing anyway. I’ve got a plan.”
Which was mostly true. I had a vague, hazy outline of an idea. But a soul-deep anger born out of years of abuse had an interesting way of spurring one on to create a concrete plan in record time. When I went to bed that night, my brain swirled with each step I would take, solidifying into a solid plan to take down my father, the mayor of Auburn Hill, once and for all.
The plan got so massive I knew I needed a partner to help me execute what I affectionately called the Big Plan. And who better than Hazel, who knew what it was like to dislike one’s parent. While I was at it, I’d help her get rid of her mother too, if that’s what Hazel wanted.
The next morning, I called her the second the sun peeked over the tips of the pine trees.
“Hello?” came her watery reply.
“Hazel?” I couldn’t imagine what Hazel crying would sound like, but that flimsy hello might be it.
“Yeah, it’s me.” She made some weird noise that sounded like a wounded animal.
My insides froze. “Are you crying?”
“Maybe,” she said over a gulp that turned into a sob.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Instead of running away from messy human emotions like usual, I was going to run straight into the firestorm. “Hang on. I’ll be right there.”
I couldn’t leave my potential Big Plan partner in a puddle of tears. Not when I had the ability to lift her up and help her out. The thing was, I’d trusted Hazel once and it blew up in my face. But that was when we were teens. Maybe it was time for me to trust her again, as hard as that was for me to do.
8
Hazel
“Maybe you should at least speak to her.”
Granny slid another cup of tea in front of me, as if dirty water with honey could fix this situation. Mom had already bent Granny’s ear yesterday before going to Hill Hotel. At least Granny hadn’t let her stay here.
“There’s nothing to talk about. She left. I’m an adult now who doesn’t need her.” I rubbed the side of my temple, feeling a headache coming on. I freaking hated crying. Made my eyes all puffy.
“I’m not saying to become besties with her, Little Moon. Just hear her out and then decide what you want your relationship to be from there.” Granny pushed a cat off the dining room chair and sat, her spotted hand patting mine.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My mother, Granny’s daughter, had left when I was just eight years old. She hadn’t looked back or made provisions for her only daughter. She just up and left me behind. Granny had raised me by herself, though I think we may have raised each other. Granny should hate Kendra Redding for shouldering her with all the responsibility of a bratty eight-year-old who had a complex from her mother leaving her. But no. Granny wanted me to chat with my mother like all was forgiven.
“There is no relationship! She left me!” I snatched my arms through the air and folded them across my chest. I was known for talking with my hands, but my mother didn’t deserve such a level of excitement. If anyone was due for a good pout session, it was me. I’d already cried waking up and knowing I’d inevitably have to confront my mother. Pouting was a natural second step in the emotional process.
Granny patted my arm one more time and then sipped her own tea. An orange cat leaped onto the table and it was a testament to many years of living with Granny that I didn’t even blink an eye. “I can’t make you do anything, honey, and neither can she. I’m just saying listening to her isn’t so terrible. You hold all the power in your own life. Just make sure you’re wielding that power in a fair way. Open your mind. You never know what paradise you might find.”
She grinned and all the wrinkles stacked up on her cheeks. Combined with the curlers in her gray hair, the woman was a wise mess.
I felt the right side of my mouth lift up despite my best efforts to remain grumpy. “Open your mind? You been smokin’ the good stuff again, Granny?”
“Ohh!” She swatted my arm but didn’t lose the grin. “He didn’t tell me it was so potent.”
