Page 99 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes
“As if I’d ever touch you.”
“You feminist types hate gentlemen, don’t you?”
“Don’t kid yourself, you’re a henchman.”
“And you’ve always been a brat. It’s about time Mr. Perry dealt with your embarrassment.”
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 UnclePerry 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 forfar 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 whatyouwant, 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.”
