Page 50 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes

Lamarka’s genial front dropped. He drew back, loathing in his dark eyes plain, and left Candace to follow. Fine by her; she didn’t like pretending to be someone she was not. Why should he do the same? As far as she was concerned, it was far easier when bigots let their brain-dead flags fly.

As they entered the main house through a reinforced door, he keyed in a code to the electric lock. Candace feigned fixing her hair while she scoped the digits. She rolled her eyes, realizing that it was Peter Perry’s birthday backward.

They walked in through the kitchen, with all its high-end equipment that would have made Daisy drool.

Not that Uncle Perry ever cooked in his life, but, again, bragging rights.

When his friends and their wives came over, he wanted them to know he had it all.

He could go on endless diatribes about how special his imported Calacatta marble countertops were, sourced from the most exclusive quarry, bold veining, blah, blah, blah…

He did not give a single shit about the marble.

To him, it was something expensive he had that someone else did not.

From the kitchen, they made their way through the cavernous central living area.

The floor-to-ceiling glass along the back wall gave a terrifying view of the storm’s continued raging outside.

Hurricane Mandy shook the tall pines along the property’s perimeter like they were matchsticks.

Candace flinched as she watched a whole branch snap free to be whipped away into the fury.

She was so distracted she did not notice Uncle Perry until he spoke.

“Over here. Now, Candy. You know I don’t like waiting.”

Of course he was already safe and hiding away.

There was no need for him to go take shelter with Wonderwood riff-raff over at the public school.

He sat in his favorite leather recliner, bourbon in hand, dressed in his usual neatly pressed slacks and collared shirt.

Even in his own home, the man did not look comfortable.

He was always trying to put on a show, she realized, and had taught her to do the same.

Not anymore.

Candace stood before him in her rain-dampened tanktop and sweats. Unafraid, unhidden, and wholly herself. The disdain in his regard, the undercurrent of covetous filth as his gaze lingered on her exposed flesh, only made her stand taller.

She answered, “No one likes waiting. But you called me here to talk, and now you can sit there while I do.”

To her surprise, Peter Perry did wait. He watched her over the rim of his glass with the barest trace of interest as he downed a sip.

Candace drew in a steadying breath. She’d mentally rehearsed what she wanted to say on the way over, but, in truth, the words had been on the tip of her tongue for far longer.

“When you took me in, I had no other options. I was a child, and I needed someone to protect me. You didn’t do that.

I was a burden from the moment I arrived, an embarrassment and reminder that your family was not perfect.

You never saw me for me, but as another thing to control.

I’ve had enough. From here on out, I don’t need or want you in my life.

“Whether you like it or not, I’m dating Daisy DeMarco.

Yes, I will be public about it because I’m madly in love with her.

We know you did something underhanded to take that beachfront land from her parents, and that you’ll do whatever you can to ruin the Bagel Bombs!

brand—go right ahead. You can’t scare us apart.

When we get married, don’t expect an invitation. ”

Candace let that sink in. Then, she pivoted to face Lamarka.

“We’re done here. I’m going to order a car, but if I can’t get someone to pick me up in this weather, one of you is going to drive me home. My phone.”

Candace held her hand, waiting. Lamarka looked to her uncle, and a silent communication passed between them. A pit opened up inside her stomach. She knew that look. They were humoring her. Too late, Candace realized her mistake. They never intended to let her go.

Calling out to a side room, Uncle Perry said, “Didn’t I tell you she was difficult?”

Another man, someone Candace did not recognize, came into sight. He looked like a medical professional in his teal scrubs and gloves. The logo on his shirt and badge read Pleasant Meadow Recovery . Nodding at Perry, the man began to write on a clipboard.

“What is this?” Candace demanded, hoping the terror in her voice sounded like anger, “Who the hell is he?”

No one answered her. Instead, the scrub-wearing man subjected her to a series of humiliating questions.

“Has the patient always displayed such contempt for authority?”

“Is the patient a risk to herself or others? ”

“What is the patient’s sexual orientation?”

“Does she have a history of seeking out dangerous sexual situations?”

It went on and on, while Perry answered in half-truths and exaggerations. When Candace tried to escape, Lamarka’s vise-grip held her in place.

“Why?” She begged, “Why can’t you leave me alone? I don’t want your money or anything else. Please, just let me live my life!”

Scoffing, her uncle complained, “See how dramatic she is? No, I can’t ‘leave you alone.’ No matter what you want, you are a Perry, and what you do reflects on me. You’re right, though. I’m tired of policing you. This situation calls for professional help.”

“You can’t,” Candace argued. Searing panic ran through her veins as she began to understand his insinuation. “Dr. Long—”

“Patricia? Yes, I’ve been in contact with your doctor for some time. She faxed over your file, along with a detailed write-up on the toll your career has taken on your health. The nervous breakdown you had was particularly troubling. And you’ve stopped taking your mood-balancing medication.”

“What? I didn’t have a breakdown. I don’t take any meds other than aspirin! I… No. This isn’t right!”

“According to Dr. Long and signed witness statements, it’s been a drawn-out, sordid affair. I warned you, Candy. The working world is a harsh place. You can do everything right, and your coworkers will still throw you under the bus for client recommendations or a little bonus cash.”

Candace shook her head. Tears fell unbidden as she went limp in Lamarka’s grasp. She recalled what the henchman said when he first threatened her after her date with Ted: ‘Hiccups’ happened to difficult girls, and she had ‘more to lose than a silly career.’ He’d been taunting her with the truth.

“You did it, didn’t you? You’re the reason I was let go… Why I couldn’t get a new job, no matter how many applications I put in… It wasn’t my fault. It was you this whole time. You hate me that much. ”

Peter Perry did not need to say it. Candace could see it in his eyes—the same seafoam blue as her own, but so very cold—how he wished she were gone.

“Why? Can you at least tell me that? We’re family. Why can’t you care about me?”

“Care?” He said with venom, “I care that you’re not normal. You won’t be normal, no matter how much I’ve tried to help you. I can’t let you ruin the Perry name.”

“I… I don’t understand. That’s what this is about? My name?”

“My name,” he repeated in a yell, like a toddler claiming a toy.

“The Perry name is mine . I built it up from nothing, with no help from your dead witch mother or anyone else. She had no right to keep that name after she hitched herself to your useless father, much less give it to you . I’m not going to let you jeopardize my reputation any more than you already have.

So, if you won’t behave, I’ll have to make you. ”

Disbelief warred with revelation within Candace.

She had always thought his hate came from some nebulous, undefinable place.

But he knew, and she could hear in every word his righteous conviction.

Hated for who she was not and for who she was through no fault of her own.

His reasoning was so illogical, so unrepentantly disgusting , she could not think of any way to defend herself.

Uncle Perry turned his attention back to the man from the “recovery” center. “When can your facility take her?”

“Well, there’s a waitlist, and—”

“Janice sent over my donation earlier today, correct?”

“Erm, yes… Thank you. It was very generous, which is why I’m here in person to do this evaluation. There is also the issue of your conservatorship paperwork. Once you’ve…”

Conservatorship.

A loud, tonal ringing filled Candace’s ears as that word echoed inside her head.

It drowned out the rest of what the men said, their thinly veiled haggling over how much more Perry would need to bribe for the exchange to move along.

For just a little extra, some missing paperwork would not be a problem; a little more for a woman’s freedom.

Hurricane Mandy was her only saving grace.

“I’ll send a transport over once the arrangements are complete,” he told Perry. “It may take some extra time for them to arrive depending on how the roads are, but—”

“End of day, or I’ll find a more cooperative facility.”

“Y-yes, alright. End of day it is.”

A single, satisfied nod bobbed Peter Perry’s head. With a flippant wave, he added, “In the meantime, give her something to keep her quiet. I’ve heard enough tantrums.”

“Fuck you!” Candace thrashed in Lamarka’s hands as her mute shock slingshotted to wild indignation. The man underestimated her strength. She managed to land a good blow to his ribs, but he held tight. “You can’t do this! Daisy will find me and we’ll… we…”

It was only belatedly that Candace felt the needle pierce her neck.

The man from the recovery center came up behind her and jabbed her skin with expert precision.

Heaviness tugged her whole being, wiping her will to fight…

or run… or do anything to save herself. She fell into Lamarka’s hold and drifted into darkness.