Mama frowned. “So, what you need from me? I might know some people who can find him.”
“I got the best people looking. I thought you might know somebody by that name…”
I let my voice trail off Mama’s gaze pinned me. “I’on know no goddamned Trell, but I told you, I can help find him.”
My mother had done a lot to survive, some of it undesirable. She still had contacts from her former life, valuable ones who wouldn’t hesitate to help her or me. I hated to mix her up in this, though. I started drumming on the table again, not sure where to go next with this.
“What is it?” she asked me. “What you thinking about?”
“Even though you don’t know this nigga, it seems he knows you. He rented a hotel room in your name. And he told my girl that I should ask you about what was rightfully his.”
She frowned, then closed her eyes for a minute, like she was thinking hard. Finally, she shook her head.
“I don’t know a ‘Trell,’ baby,” she repeated, sounding completely sincere.
I watched her for a tell, any small sign. Dropped eyes, sudden fidgeting, a light sweat, a small tic… there were so many ways she could give herself away, but she displayed none. Either my mom was innocent, or I was the child of a psychopath.
“And he talking about what’s rightfully his? I don’t owe nobody shit. I wouldn’t be walking around owing somebody, not when you always come through for me. And not when I know how these fools would try to use that against us.”
I nodded, accepting her at her word. No matter how rocky shit got between us, I didn’t believe Gillian would do anything to put me at risk. No one would ever describe her as affectionate, but she loved me.
“So, we gotta figure out if there’s really a connection to me,” she said, rubbing her temple thoughtfully. “Maybe a man scorned? You know your mama used to leave ‘em crying,” she said, only half joking.
“Ma, please,” I muttered. “This nigga is young, though. He wasn’t around in your heyday.”
She scowled at me. “Boy, I’m still in my prime.”
“Okay, cougar,” I waved her off.
She smacked my hand. “I really can’t place that name. Hell, what he look like?”
I ran down Farrah’s description of Trell. Shit, I’d given it so much, I had it memorized. Gillian’s head snapped up midway through it.
“Wait, wait, wait,” she demanded, leaning toward the table.
I frowned at her. “What? You think you know the nigga?”
“Did you say he had a birthmark on his eyelid?”
“Yeah. You know somebody like that?”
She blew out a long breath and squeezed her eyes shut before opening them and staring at me.
“No,” she said.
And there it was. The slight clenching of her hands. The quick look away. The tenseness of her mouth. She was lying. My mother was lying to me about shit that could get me killed. I shook my head. Gillian was playing with my life in my face. The shit was… I didn’t have words as I rubbed my chest, trying to ease the sudden ache.
“You sure?” I asked, hoping she’d admit whatever it was that had her looking real suspect.
She sat across from me, suddenly looking smaller than I ever remembered. She picked up her cup, then held it like it was going to protect her from something… maybe the truth.
“What did I say?” she snapped, setting it right back down.
“Ma,” I said slowly, “I’m gon’ ask you one more time… you know who Trell is?”
Her eyes flicked down, just for a second. It wasn’t long enough for most people to catch. But I noticed. I always noticed.
“I told you, baby, I don’t know nobody by that name,” she said, voice smooth as glass. “You out here running into all kinda people, Mekhi. You can’t expect me to?—”
