Page 11 of The Deadly Candies

He held her tighter, his grip firm and reassuring.“It’s okay, Kathy. You’re here with me now.”

6

Harlem, New York (Present) - 1978

“Hey!” Daphne’s voice cut through the quiet of the house. “You up?”

Sandra set her mother’s diary aside and sat up in bed. Her cousin stepped in. Daphne’s smile brightened the dim room.

“I’ve been up for hours,” Sandra said, gesturing to the three diaries stacked beside her. “Just finished Mama’s first one. Those are next.”

Daphne frowned, hands on her hips. “So, you’re just gonna sit here day after day and read Aunt Kathy’s diaries?”

“What else should I do?” Sandra snipped. She had buried her mama only 24 hours ago. The diaries were all she had left.

“Mama’s gone. I don’t have a job, and I don’t want one. I can’t even get through the day without crying. These diaries… they giving me something. Her feelings of being lost and confused is my feelings right now. It’s like we the same in ways I can’t explain.”

Daphne closed the bedroom door and leaned against it. “Well, you’ve got the bakery,” she said..

Sandra’s brow furrowed.

“Ma said to take you by there today,” Daphne continued. “Meet with Ms. Gladys, then the attorney to sign the papers. The bakery’s yours now. Ma don’t own it. The house, too. She mentioned you wanted me to move in and live with you?”

A small smile tugged at Sandra’s lips. “Interested? I don’t want to be alone. I know you’ve been saving for your own place, but we could fix this one up. Be roomies?”

Daphne’s grin widened. “Interested? Hell yeah!”

Sandra chuckled, but her smile faded as quickly as it came. “What happened last night? Junior came back to the repast without you. Said he took you to Mama’s grave and then left with his boys. What does that mean? My Mama’s grave?”

Sandra hesitated. She didn’t want to lie to her cousin, but sharing the truth was too explosive. Junior considered his mother’s relationship with Matteo Carmelo blasphemous and unforgivable. He and her cousins didn’t know the truth. Not only had she learned that Matteo Ricci was their father, but her Aunt Debbie and Matteo were on some kind of crusade to prove that her mother and Carmelo were still alive.

“What do you know about the Penny Man?” Sandra asked, shifting the subject.

Daphne’s expression darkened. “You mean the Butcher? I don’t call him the Penny Man anymore. Junior said to call him the Butcher.”

Daphne walked over to the edge of the bed and picked up a book; her fingers traced its spine. “He’s Mama’s friend. Always has been. He was around when he wasn’t in jail. He was Daddy’s friend, too. Bringing gifts, having dinner with us, and fixing things around the house with Daddy. He was pretty close to Junior. He’d take him in his car and they be gone all day. Mama used to be pissed when they came back at night. But Junior loved it. Sometimes daddy would travel to California and he’d stay the night, sleep on the sofa.”

“He was good friends with Uncle?” Sandra asked.

“That’s what is said. He and Daddy were good friends. They’d share a beer and laugh about sports. They were all friends. Junior remembers it differently though.”

“So, you have your own good memories of him?” Sandra pressed.

Daphne frowned; her gaze was distant. “Good? I guess. I don’t have bad ones. Not like the time I told you about—when I saw him and Mama fighting… and then kissing. But Junior hates him. Like I said, he calls him the Butcher. A killer. Scum. He says he’s responsible…for Daddy being... says Daddy didn’t leave us. He said the Butcher threw him out a window.”

“What?” Sandra sat up.

“That’s what he said. He said it to Mama’s face, and she slapped him. He and Mama haven’t been speaking lately. I think it’s cause the Butcher’s back. I dunno. Junior on his own path,” Daphne sighed.

Sandra gave her a sad smile. “I wish I’d known all this was going on. I wish I hadn’t gone off to those schools, thinking those girls were my friends. I always had you, but I never took the time to really know your life here in Harlem. And I can barely remember anything about us as kids.”

“Yea, you got a bad memory,” Daphne mumbled. “You were there. You choose not to think on it.”

“Huh? I mean, yeah, but not really. I was at school,” Sandra stammered.

Daphne rolled her eyes and sighed. “You know what I wish?” Daphne’s smile was bittersweet. “I wish Aunt Kathy was here. I wish it didn’t take her dying for you to come back to this family and care. To see us. For us to be close again.”

“Me too,” Sandra whispered. “But Daphne, I always came home. I always saw you. Loved you.”

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