Candice
Seven Sisters Book Six
by Amelia C. Adams
With thanks to my beta readers—Amy, Barbara, Cheryl, Dorothy, Joseph, Mary, Meisje, and Shelby.
Don’t miss the previous books in this series:
Heather
Jessica
Gaylynn
Rebekah
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill
Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter One
September, 1985
Candice looked up from the want ads as Marti, her younger sister, came into the house and closed the door. “Is it ever going to stop raining out there?” Marti asked, kicking off her shoes and putting her umbrella in the stand.
“That’s the strange thing—I can’t see an end to it,” Candice replied.
Each of the seven McClain sisters had developed some sort of gift or special talent a year and a half previously when there was a weird power outage in their dad’s den. Candice’s was the ability to predict the weather. She was still trying to figure out what good that was. Her sisters had gifts that she considered a lot more useful—Heather could tell when two people were supposed to be together. That was an awesome gift—just think of all the heartache that could be avoided if you knew right from the start that it wasn’t going to work out. Jessica dreamed about things as they were happening, and she’d been able to help find a lost boy because of it. That was useful—saving children had to be one of the best things a person could do.
Oh, and then there was Gaylynn. If you told her a story about something that happened, she could see it in her mind and know if you were lying. That had helped her a ton in her counseling practice. Rebekah had saved lives with her ability to diagnose disease and illness, and she would be hearing back any day now if she got into medical school. Tracy could diagnose and fix machinery—she’d saved Candice hundreds of dollars in car repairs that year alone.
And then let’s not forget about Marti, who was a precog and could see the future. That was the ultimate in helpful gifts. But weather prediction? Come on. The most good Candice could do was saving someone from ruining their favorite shoes in a rainstorm. That was hardly earth-shattering.
“Find anything good?” Marti said, sitting down next to Candice on the couch.
“A couple of things, but they all want a ton of money. Why do apartments have to be so expensive?”
“You know you can stay here as long as you want—Mom and Dad haven’t kicked you out, have they?”
“No, but I really like living on my own. It’s the whole independence thing, you know? Dad offered to give me some money for a better deposit, but I don’t want to take it—I know I’m being stubborn, but I don’t know how to stop it.”
Marti nodded. “Yeah, you always have been stubborn. Maybe the most stubborn out of any of us, and that’s saying a lot.”
Candice gave her sister a look. “Gee, thanks. Anyway, I just don’t understand why my landlord had to decide to sell the building. I was happy there. I had all my stuff exactly where I wanted it, I had great neighbors, I was within walking distance of the bank and the library . . . and now I live at home with my parents and my little sister. It’s taking a huge step backwards on the growing-up ladder.”
“And I think you’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” Marti replied. “A new job and finding a new apartment all at the same time? Why not settle in at work first and then look for a new place? Take it in smaller chunks.”
“Because I never do things the easy way. You know that.” Candice put the paper aside and scowled. “Do you see anything for my future? Like, where I should live or how this job’s going to turn out?”
Marti picked up a throw pillow and whacked Candice’s shoulder with it. “I see you driving yourself crazy if you don’t settle down and take this a little slower. Go to the movies with me tonight—let’s do something fun.”
“What’s playing?”
Marti grabbed the rest of the newspaper and flipped through it. “Blah, boring, boring, dumb . . . Hey! Teen Wolf! Come on, Candice—let’s go see it!”
“Really?” Candice shook her head. “You just heard me talk about how much I want to be an adult and move forward with my life, but you want me to go see Teen Wolf? How does that even make sense?”
“It makes sense because you need to have some fun. Honestly, between you and Jessica, you carry more stress than any twelve people should. Have you talked to Gaylynn and let her do her shrinky-dinky stuff on you?”
“I don’t need counseling. I just need to find a place to live that isn’t three million dollars a month. And don’t let Gaylynn hear you talking like that—she’ll never let you live it down.”
“Tell you what. Come to the movies with me tonight, and tomorrow, we’ll spend the whole day looking for a new apartment. It will be good for me—I’ve got to be thinking about that for myself pretty soon, and I should see what the market’s like.”
“I’d offer to have you move in with me, but I think we both know we’d get on each other’s nerves without Mom and Dad there to referee us.”
“Oh, definitely. And I want to try this independence thing too.” Marti stood up. “I’m going to change because I’m going to the movies. Are you coming, or am I going to be all by myself? You wouldn’t want your baby sister to be out after dark all by herself, would you?”
“Fine, fine, I’m coming,” Candice said, pulling herself out of the couch as well. “But only because it’s Michael J. Fox. You can take care of yourself perfectly well in daylight or in the dark—you don’t need me.”
“Oh, but I do. I need you to keep me from dying of loneliness.”
“You’ll never be lonely, Marti—with your personality, you draw people to you like flies. Although, why that’s supposed to be considered good, I don’t know—things that swarm with flies aren’t usually the most awesome things.”
“Change your clothes and come on. You’re overanalyzing again,” Marti said, grabbing Candice’s hand and pulling her down the hall.
Once in her bedroom, Candice stood in front of her closet and scowled. She had plenty to wear, but she didn’t feel like wearing any of it. Her new job at Downtown Chic had her staring at clothes all day—hanging them up, taking inventory of them, recommending them to customers, ringing them up—and she would be happy never to touch another outfit again. It had only been a week, so really, it was too soon to complain, but she’d complain anyway.
It’s not that clothes were bad. Clothes were awesome to keep you from being naked and stuff. It was just the way people acted—if they couldn’t find just the right acid-washed jeans, they thought it was the end of the world, and they just had to be cooler than their friends. Candice remembered being in high school and what it was like wanting to fit in—looked like not much had changed in the four years since she’d graduated.
Finally, she pulled a T-shirt and jeans from the closet. They weren’t super trendy, but that’s what she was going for. When she went to work the next day, she’d have to totally rock her outfit, but for tonight, low-key was best—she’d wear her pajamas, actually, if it wouldn’t embarrass Marti to death.
She was just pulling on her high-top sneakers when the phone rang. She reached the kitchen just as Marti picked up the receiver.
“Hello? Oh, hi, Greg. Yeah, Candice is here. Just a sec.”
Marti handed Candice the receiver, cupping her ha
nd over the mouthpiece. “Hurry, okay? I don’t want to be late.”
“We’re not going to be late,” Candice replied, shaking her head as she took the phone. “Hey, Greg. How’s it going?”
Greg Burton’s rich voice filled the receiver. “Great. In fact, that’s why I’m calling. I took my first real steps without support today.”
“What? That’s fantastic!” Candice grabbed a kitchen chair and sat down. She knew she was keeping Marti waiting, but she needed to hear the rest of this story. “So, the surgery was a success, then!”
“Thanks to your sister, yes.” Greg paused. “I still don’t know how she knew to recommend that specialist to me, but I’m so grateful she did.”
“Rebekah’s got great instincts,” Candice replied, trying to figure out how to explain it without really explaining it.
Rebekah was engaged to Greg’s brother Jeremy, and she’d been able to use her gift to diagnose Greg’s spinal injury and a way to surgically correct it. The whole family had gotten to meet Greg and the Burton parents soon after that, and Candice and Greg had hit it right off—mostly because of their shared love of Bon Jovi and double bacon cheeseburgers. There was nothing romantic going on—they were just friends, and Greg called once in a while to update Candice on how his physical therapy was going.
“Yeah, she really does. So, I won’t take up your whole night—just wanted to share my good news. My therapist says she didn’t expect me to walk for another two months at least, so apparently, I’m awesome.”
“Well, we already knew that.” Candice grinned. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
When Candice hung up the phone, she looked over and saw Marti standing by the front door, her hand on the knob. “Are we going?” Marti asked, sounding impatient.
“Yes, we’re going. I couldn’t cut that call short—Greg’s walking again.”
“He is? That’s so great! Now you two can really start dating!”
Candice looked at Marti, startled. “Start dating? What are you talking about?”
“Dating. Like, two people going out . . .”
“But Greg and I are just friends. We don’t have any plans to date each other.”
A strange expression flickered across Marti’s face. “Okay. If you say so.”
“Wait.” Candice held up both hands. “Are you precogging on me?”
“Precogging? Is that an official verb or something?”
“I don’t know, but it should be. Are you seeing something about me and Greg?”
Marti sighed. “Sometimes I see things that are definitely going to happen, and other times, they could happen. So let’s not worry about it, all right? Let’s just go to the movies and enjoy ourselves. That’s what tonight’s supposed to be about, remember? Relaxing and not worrying?”
“Um, sure.” Because now not only was Candice working a new job and looking for an apartment, but her precoggy little sister had just dropped a pretty big hint about Candice’s future, and she wasn’t at all sure how she felt about it.
***
Greg Burton hung up the phone, then held on to the counter for balance as he made his way back to his wheelchair. His mother, Hannah, watched him from the doorway to the laundry room, a concerned look on her face.
“I don’t want you to overdo it,” she said as she carried a basket of towels into the room and set it on the table. “Remember what the doctor said—if you push yourself too hard, that will cause inflammation, and that swelling will push on your nerves. We don’t want that.”
“I know, Mom. I’m being careful—it’s just hard to be patient.”
She took out a towel and folded it. “I understand. We thought you’d never walk again, and then we were given this miracle. It’s not easy, waiting to see how long it will take for you to heal, but let’s not push it, all right?”
“I’ll try.” Greg reached up and pulled out a second towel. There were still things he could do to be useful even if he did have to rest more often than he wanted.
“Who was that on the phone?” Hannah asked casually—a little too casually to be natural.
“Candice McClain.”
“Rebekah’s sister?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess I didn’t realize you knew her well enough to be talking on the phone.”
“We talk every so often.” Now it was Greg trying a little too hard to be casual.
Hannah shook her head. “Son, are you getting your hopes up? You’ve been off the dating scene for almost three years now—you’ve got to focus on yourself and your recovery before you can even think about a relationship.”
Greg set down his folded towel and reached for another one. “That’s just it, Mom. All my focus has been on my infirmities. I don’t know what my feelings about Candice are right now, but I will say one thing—when I’m talking to her, I forget that I was ever in a car accident. She makes me feel like myself again, the person I was before all this happened.”
Hannah pursed her lips, then nodded slowly. “All right then. You have my blessing—anyone who can do that for you must be good for you.”
“Well, don’t start planning my wedding yet—concentrate on Jeremy’s,” Greg said with a laugh. “Chances are, Candice and I will just be good friends forever, and it will never move past that. I’m okay with that—I believe someone else will come along if she’s not the one. And I didn’t used to feel that way—I thought I’d be alone my whole life, living here with you and Dad. I have hope now, Mom, and I’m clinging to it.”
Hannah grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and wiped her eyes. “You don’t know what it means to hear you say that. I’ve prayed so hard for you ever since the accident, and even more so since the surgery . . . all I’ve ever wanted was for you to feel joy in your life. You’ve always had a good attitude, but there’s so much more to it than that.”
“I’m closer now than I’ve ever been.”
“Then so am I.” Hannah wiped her eyes again. “I’d better get these towels put away—your father’s already wondering where his dinner is. I don’t usually run so late.”
“Well, that’s because you were busy taking me to physical therapy.”
She waved that off. “He likes his dinner at a certain time, and I should have been mindful of that. The roast should be done now—I’ll just finish whipping the potatoes and we can eat.”
Greg shook his head. His parents were both still living the roles they’d seen their parents live—the doting wife, the providing husband. There was nothing wrong with stuff like that unless it caused stress in the relationship, and he didn’t like it when his mom was stressed out about things like dinner running a little late. There were more important things to worry about—like the starving children in Africa. He’d watched the Live Aid concert on television that summer and had been moved deeply by it. Things like a late roast and potatoes didn’t even register after that.
“I’ll do the rest of the towels, Mom. You go ahead and finish dinner.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Greg. I know it seems like I give way to your father a lot, but he works hard, and he deserves good, hot meals.”
He wondered if she could read his thoughts. “Just so long as you get good, hot meals too, Mom.”
She laughed. “Don’t you worry. I’ve gained five pounds this year—I’m definitely eating my dinner. I might even need to pick up one of those Jane Fonda exercise videos if I’m not careful.” She scooted the basket closer to Greg, then stepped over to the oven to check the roast. Greg shook his head as he reached for the next towel. Jane Fonda? Gaining weight? His mother had never mentioned things like that before. He felt like more was going on here—things he’d never picked up on before. Something had changed in his house, and while he wasn’t sure it was any of his business, he sure wanted to figure out what it was.
Chapter Two
“All those apartments smelled like must, mold, or mice. Sometimes all three.” Candice grabbed her red marker from the top of he
r purse and drew an X through each listing. “What do you think? Is apartment hunting still exciting and educational?”
“Oh, definitely. Mostly I’m gaining insight into my sister. You exhibit your frustrations rather creatively,” Marti replied, turning a little in the passenger seat to look at her sister.
“What do you mean?”
“Your little speech there about must, mold, and mice. You like alliteration. Earlier, you said one of the apartments had creepies, crawlies, and crusties.”
“Well, it did. I’m expressing myself accurately.”
“And creatively. I’m impressed.” Marti glanced at her watch. “What time did you need to get to work?”
“I start in an hour. We’d better head back so I’m not late.” Candice started the car and pulled onto the road. “I’m starting to lose faith that I’ll find anything here, and my job definitely isn’t something I want to do forever. Think Mom will freak out if I moved out of town?”
“She’ll definitely freak out, but you can’t let that stop you if it’s the right thing to do,” Marti replied. “She’ll freak out no matter where you move, even if it’s across the street. That’s kind of her thing.”
“Yeah, she’s always felt that went along with being a mother,” Candice said. “Do you think we’ll be that way when we have kids?”
“Some of us, probably yes. Some of us, probably no. I plan to be the totally hip, cool mom. Gaylynn will always be seeking for her children’s insights, and you . . . yeah, I think you’ll be the freaking-out kind. But in a good way,” she hurried to add. “I mean, your kids will always have their gloves in the winter because you’ll see to it, and they’ll appreciate that.”
“Lovely. I’m the mom who keeps track of the gloves. You make me sound so glamorous.” Candice guided the car onto the next street. “Should I start collecting my dozen cats now, or wait until later?”
“Well, later, obviously. You don’t have an apartment to keep them in yet.”
“You’re so right. And that just brings us right back around to the start of this conversation.”
Candice (Seven Sisters Book 6) Page 1
