The Candy Bar Complete - 4 book box set: Candy Bar Series

by Patrice Wilton

  “But you don’t understand. I really did have an accident today.”

  “Are you dead? No? Well, in that case if you’re not here in the next hour your injuries will multiply. Get your sorry ass over here!”

  “Yes, okay.” I let out a weary sigh, “Don’t worry about me. I might have a broken neck and a broken foot, but I’ll get to the party on time.”

  “Well, good. That’s the spirit. And since you’ll be out driving anyway, you can pick up the Pampers. Oh, just one sec. Kyle wants you to pick up another case of Guinness. Says he’ll pay you when you get here.”

  “Tell him to get off his lazy ass or stop drinking.”

  Kyle grabbed the phone. “Hey, Beautiful. Sorry to be such a pain in the ’arse, but it’s only one stop. Shopper’s Mart is on your way. You will? You’re a doll. The best. If I wasn’t already married to your sister, I’d marry you.”

  I gave a weak laugh. “Sheesh. What a bad break for me.” I heard him chuckle. “Okay, I’m leaving in a few minutes.”

  Limping to the bathroom, I had no choice but to see my reflection. I looked like a train wreck. What a sight. My hair, not always my best feature, was sticking out everywhere, looking like I’d stepped on a live electric wire. I tried to tame the wild mop into some semblance of order, until my brush got tangled and I gave it a yank which took some strands of hair with it. That hurt. I rubbed my scalp and felt sorry for myself.

  After brushing my teeth, washing my face, and touching up my make-up, I looked okay. It was all I could do to undress and have a sponge bath, but the effort paid off. Once I’d put on a dress and squirted Chloe behind my ears, I felt maybe twenty percent better.

  I called a cab and went downstairs to wait. Jimmy shook his head. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  “Don’t ask. Just help me to the sidewalk.” I leaned on his arm. “Thanks.”

  It cost me a fifty, but the cab driver was happy to stop and shop.

  * * *

  The moment I walked through the door everyone stopped talking. Mom gasped, “Why are you wearing that thing?” pointing to my neck brace. “You didn’t do something stupid like break it, did you?”

  Everybody in my family knows I’m a klutz and accident prone.

  “No, nothing that serious.” I leaned down to kiss her cheek. She was tiny too. I was the only tall geek in the family. As tall as my brothers and a half inch taller than Dad. “I was in a cab, got rear-ended, and have a little whip-lash, that’s all.”

  Everybody crowded around me, some showing concern, others poking to see if I was faking it. “Come on, Lydia, we know you’d do anything to get out of a birthday. This is pretty clever. Good try.”

  “Ouch. Back off, Kyle.” I held his case of Guinness against my chest, as if to ward him off.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Shannon demanded.

  “I tried.” I rolled my eyes. “Remember?”

  Shannon looked guilty, which only made me feel worse. “It’s okay. I couldn’t miss my own party.”

  The evening was exactly what I expected and dreaded. The kids (four under eight) were running around, smashing toys, and screaming, and the adults were all talking at once. We ate enough spaghetti to sink a ship and barbequed chicken and ribs to feed a nation. After two glasses of wine, and far too much food, I took the seat of honor to open presents.

  It wasn’t until after I’d cut into the birthday cake and sliced everyone a piece that Aunt Maggie asked her usual question. “When are you ever going to get married, my girl? You’re forty years old, and if you don’t hurry up, it’ll be too late.”

  This time I had an answer ready. “Oh, I know, Aunt Maggie.” I sighed dramatically causing Shannon to stare at me suspiciously. “It’s terrible. My biological clock is ticking away as we speak, and if I wait to find a husband, well, it may never happen.” I cast a glance around the room making sure all eyes were upon me. “I think I might go to a sperm donor, or ask my friend Ted Martin, at the office, to father my child. He’s gay so there’d be no complications.”

  Mother paled and fell into a chair. “Lydia, I swear you’re going to give your old mother a heart attack.”

  I struggled to keep a straight face. “Come on. You know Dad is always telling us not to be afraid of change, saying we grow from it.”

  My sister giggled, then covered her mouth with her hand.

  Dad hit his fist onto the table, then cussed, rubbing his sore hand. “No daughter of mine will have some stranger’s kid. You’re a beautiful girl, although too stubborn for your own good. A gay lover? We raised you better than that!”

  “Oh, he wouldn’t be a lover, Dad. I’d just need his sperm.”

  Aunt Maggie sputtered, “Sperm, perm! You need a man, my girl. That’s what we’ve been telling you for years.”

  I grinned. “No, I don’t. I can very easily have a baby without the inconvenience of a man.” Not that I wanted one, but after the crappy day I’d had, teasing them was kind of fun. And just maybe they’d finally get off my back.

  My brother Todd rolled his eyes, and Rachel, his wife, grinned and gave me the thumbs up.

  “What the hell does that mean?” John, the eldest, asked, and belched after a slug of beer.

  His wife, Melanie said, “I think you just made her point.”

  “I don’t have to pick up underwear off the floor, put the toilet seat down, listen to him snore, cook dinner…”

  “Okay, enough. We get it.” John rubbed his jaw. “But, in all fairness, we do have some good qualities.”

  I smiled and folded my arms under my chest. “Name them.”

  “Oh, come on. That’s not fair.”

  Shannon and my sisters-in-law jumped in to help. “We can vouch for the men. They’re great around the house, fixing plumbing, mowing the lawn, washing cars, that kind of thing. We don’t know how you can manage without one.”

  The men began a heated discussion about their other fine attributes, but were dismissed by their wives.

  I continued to tease. “I don’t have to share the remote with anyone. I can watch anything I like on TV. I can sleep on either side of the bed, forget make-up on weekends, or stay in my night-gown from Friday to Sunday if I feel like it.”

  “Yeah. Right. So what’s the big deal? The gals do it all the time.” John replied bravely.

  A dish towel was thrown at his head and hoots of laughter followed. A friendly argument broke out, and Todd ended what was amounting to be a free-for-all. “Hey you guys, listen up.” He waited for silence.

  “Mary Clancy goes up to Father O’Grady after his Sunday service and the poor little lady’s in tears.

  “So what’s bothering you, Mary, my dear?” The priest asks.

  “Oh, Father, I’ve got terrible news. My husband passed away last night.”

  The Priest whispers, “Oh, Mary, that’s terrible. Tell me, did he have any last requests?”

  Mary answers, “That he did, Father…”

  The Priest says, “What did he ask, Mary?”

  “He said, ‘Please Mary, put down that damn gun.’”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The following day I was struggling with my crutch, my hand-bag, and the heavy glass entrance door, since Jimmy the doorman was nowhere in sight. Behind me, the elevator door opened and I heard a couple of guys talking in some kind of hip-hop rap. Sensing they were in a hurry, I tried to get out of their way, but they brushed past me and my crutch flew out from under my arm onto the sidewalk. I had to cling to the door to avoid joining my crutch on the pavement.

  “Oops, Jesus! I’m sorry, Lydia.”

  The culprit was fifteen-year-old Billy Thompson and his freaky little friend. He picked up the crutch and brought it back to me. “What happened to you? Did you get mugged?”

  “Billy, could you please try to be a little more careful? You nearly flattened me.” I grabbed my crutch and rested against it, narrowing my eyes at him and his Mohawk haired pal. “What if I had been one of the little old ladies in the bu
ilding? A couple of them are so frail you could blow them over with a strong wind. And you are not a little kid anymore.”

  “I said I was sorry. We were running to the store for something.”

  Billy and his mother, Candy, moved into my apartment building about three years ago and lived down the hall from me. He’d been a nice, polite, young boy when I’d first met him, now he was taller than me and his shoulders twice as wide. His hair was orange this week, I noticed, and he had one, two, three, four, five studs in his left eyebrow. His friend had multi-colored spiked hair, a nose ring, and dangling chains attached to his leather pants.

  “Clothes, I hope,” I said pointedly, looking at his baggy jeans, the crotch down to his knees, and the grunge band T-shirt he was wearing.

  His friend snorted and said something unrepeatable.

  I shook my head at them, and felt about a hundred-and-two.

  “I was on my way to the store as well. I’m cabbing it if you want a ride.”

  “Naw. That’s okay. We’ll walk.” They started off, then Billy turned back. “You want me to pick something up for you so you don’t have to go?”

  I was happy to see a glimpse of the boy I remembered. “Thanks for the offer but I have to stock my fridge.”

  “Okay. See ya.” The two trotted off and I watched them stop about fifty yards down the road and light up. They took a couple of drags, then continued on their way.

  My cart was loaded and I was in the cashier line when I saw Billy and his friend walk in. He didn’t see me, but while I was waiting my turn I saw them out of the corner of my eye. They sauntered around a bit and put a couple of things in one of the small carry baskets, then parted company. A couple of minutes later I spotted Billy standing in the row that sold liquor, his back to me. With a sick feeling I watched him pick up a bottle and hide it in his baggy pants.

  He turned and saw me. His face went crimson.

  His friend came up behind him and I watched Billy flick his head in my direction before he removed the bottle from his pant pocket and slid it back onto the shelf.

  I let out my breath, unaware that I had been holding it. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do if he hadn’t put that bottle back. I also wondered whether I should tell Candy anything. She had enough on her plate being a single mom, running a bar, and trying to keep Billy from being the poster boy for troubled teens.

  The cashier had finished ringing up my groceries and was waiting for me to pay. I used my debit card and then returned it to my wallet. I slung my bag over my shoulder and glanced back to the row of liquor. Billy and his buddy were still hanging around, and I didn’t want to leave, but one of the clerks was pushing my cart out the door. I followed slowly behind him, sending a worried look in Billy’s direction, but he was no longer there.

  * * *

  Having two brothers, I was use to “boys being boys” and childhood pranks that bordered on delinquency. John had been the worst of the two, probably because he was the eldest. My parents were both drinkers, and there was always liquor around the house. John was about twelve when he and a few of his buddies decided to make Long Island Teas or whatever, using a splash of every bottle in the liquor cabinet and some coke to kill the taste. After a couple of these the bottles were looking half empty, so he’d filled them with water and put them back on the shelf. He started having a weekly “party” for his friends. By the end of the month the bottles were mostly colored water.

  One night Dad and his golfing buddies decided to have a drink back at our house. Bragging about how fine the twenty year old single malt scotch was to his friends, he’d poured a generous splash in the four tumbler glasses and handed one to each man.

  “Bottoms up.” He’d tossed back his watered down scotch, and had frowned at the lack luster taste. “Doesn’t taste right.”

  “Tastes like rain water,” one of his buddies jeered.

  Dad had sniffed the bottle, then poured a little more in a glass. Tasted again. “It is water.” He’d pulled out the vodka. Same thing. And the bourbon, and the gin.

  “That little boyo of mine better be hiding,” he had roared. “I learned that trick a hellava long time before he did.”

  John’s privileges had been taken away and he’d been grounded, but it didn’t stop him. Actually, at twelve, he was just getting started. One night he went to an un-chaperoned party, had a couple of beers, and was riding home on his bike, intoxicated, and in the dark. A police officer returned him home that night with a severe warning, and John was grounded for six months.

  I think that was around the time he stopped drinking and took up smoking. By the time he was fifteen he was smoking weed every night in his room and kept his door locked at all times. There was a skull and cross-bone sign on his door that read, keep out or die.

  Todd took a different route to act out his testosterone. He was small and skinny, so, to make up for it, he would pick fights. I remember him coming home with a broken nose, a cracked rib, and, on numerous occasions, a black eye. He thought it was cool to be tough, a self-confessed street fighter.

  I tried to cover up for the boys, but more often than not it would backfire on me and I’d get caught in the middle and end up lying for them. And I’m the world’s worst liar.

  I would say things like—“Oh, Todd had to beat that guy up because he was trying to hit on me.” As if! I was taller by three inches than Todd and so geeky I had to do a guy’s homework for an entire month so he’d take me to a high school dance. Another humiliating thing I did as a senior was to allow this guy behind me to cheat off my exams because he was hot, and I wanted him to like me. He’d date the pretty girls but always chose the seat nearest mine.

  The positive side of not being popular was that my parents never had to worry about me having a teenage pregnancy—boys didn’t want to touch me with a ten-foot pole.

  My sister was a different story. Everybody liked her and wanted to date her, but they had to fight Todd first.

  But my brothers did grow up and survive themselves, and turn into decent human beings, and so I told myself that there was a very good chance Billy would too.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I was bored silly. I hated being cooped up with a bum leg and a kinked neck. I was eager to get back to the office, and sick to death of staring at walls and feeling sorry for myself. Although it’d only been four days, already I was stir crazy. Sitting around, getting fat.

  Biting into a Snicker’s bar, I relished that one big, satisfying taste before tossing it in the bin. Feeling righteous, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, uncapped it, and guzzled half. Okay, I’d had a bite of lunch, now what was I going to do? Hal wasn’t returning my phone calls. I was tired of reading, tired of TV, and computered out.

  Fresh air—that might do the trick. Opening the patio doors, I stepped outside and breathed in deeply. Most days I loved the salty air, the breeze through my hair, watching the activity on the water. My apartment is on the tenth floor and I have a peek-a-boo view of the marina, but mostly I overlook the beach and Biscayne Bay. Normally, I’d get a kick seeing the big power boats hammering the waves, driven by some testosterone driven kids, or would find a sense of serenity watching the sleek sailboats glide by. Saturdays were a special treat as I’d undoubtedly see a cruise boat or two. But life sucked right now, and I wasn’t feeling the serenity.

  Gazing enviously at the people on the beach, I had a childish wish to drop water balloons on their heads. They looked so damn cheerful I could throw up. Some were sun-baking, others swimming or splashing around in the crystal clear blue water. The water looked so inviting I wished I could just throw myself right in. But I would need two good legs to stand up on the railing and I only had one. Major bummer.

  A bunch of muscle-bound jocks were showing off their oiled, bronzed bodies and playing a rather vicious game of volley-ball by spiking the ball meanly at each other, while attractive bikini-thonged girls gleefully watched. Sticking a finger in my mouth, I made a gagging sound.

&nbs
p; I watched a couple of geeky boys stroll back and forth past some pretty young girls who pretended not to notice. The girls were rubbing sun-tan lotion on each other to tease the boys. Little children darted in and out of the water, splashing and chasing each other while their parents stood guard. It seemed as though everybody in the world was having fun, except for me. Hell, even the rollicking waves looked to be in a playful mood, spraying foam on the hot, white sand.

  I wanted to play, I wanted to run, and because I could do neither, I wanted to scream. Closing my eyes for a second, I could almost feel the cool water around my ankles and the soft sand under my feet, squishy and warm, while my toes burrowed in.

  Shading my eyes, I watched some kids building a sand castle. A boy and a girl, both blonde, both the same size. A nicely built man dropped a big load of sand next to the kids and plopped down between them. Because he had a nice body and I was bored out of my skull, I pulled up a chair and sat down to watch. His big hands folded over his kids’ as he helped them shape the walls, turning the small castle into a fortress. They had a regular routine going, I noticed, and the sand-castle business down to a fine art.

  Squinting now, I noticed the guy looked a little like Jed Harrison. He had the same tousled dark blonde hair, the same breadth of shoulder, the same lean and lanky body. His kids would be about the same age, I knew. Curiosity got the better of me, and I went into the bedroom to retrieve a pair of binoculars to have a better look.

  Damn! It was him.

  I started to wave and realized what I was doing. Putting the offending hand down, I kept the other on the binoculars that had him in my sights. He looked good. The sun had warmed his golden tan, and I could see the beads of sweat on his lower tummy. Sand and sweat stuck to his muscular legs and matted in the golden blonde fuzz on his chest, but my eyes didn’t stop there. They followed the trail that led down to the waistband of his trunks.