Chapter Fourteen

Candice is reeling from a successful vocal audition when she receives a not-so-happy visitor.

I roll over in bed from my back onto my stomach, my forearm and hand beneath my abdomen. This is usually how I lay when I’m feeling sick or uneasy.

                Tonight is different.

                Tonight I feel anxious, nervous even, but it is not in a bad way. Every note that I sang in that audition got a smile from the choir director. Every last one.

                I’m not used to pleasing people. I’m not a people pleaser. I’m not even usually tolerable to be in the same room with. At least that’s what I used to think. Now I don’t know what the truth is.

                The sound of strands of beads being parted then smacking against each other indicates that someone has entered my room. Why bother looking? It sure as hell isn’t my mom.

                “Hey, superstar!” I can feel the weight of the bed shift in an instant, my body bouncing as Connor leaps onto my bed and sends me into the air.

                “Ow!” I groan as I roll back onto my side, my palm still against my abdomen. I chuckle, shaking my wrist in an attempt to eliminate the pain of landing on it.

                The smiling begins, and that’s enough to draw a look of concern from my brother’s face. We’ve been a little rocky lately. Between him fighting with my mom and us fighting over Adam, it just hasn’t been the best time for us. But that look on his face is a testament to our relationship as siblings. We still care. We still worry. And we’re still curious when we see things that are uncharacteristic. In this case: me smiling.

                “Why the smiles, Candy?”

                I sigh as I bring my free hand up to my forehead, two fingers covering my eyes in an attempt to block the bright purple light from my lava lamp. “I had my vocal audition today and I just… I rocked it. At least I think I did.”

                “Candice…” Connor begins. He’s trying to reassure me that I’m awesome while carefully avoiding stroking my ego too much. So I decide to just lay here and wait for the words to come, and they don’t. Nothing follows my name out of his mouth except silence.

                I peek out from behind my hand. “Connor…” It’s when I peek that I can see the downtrodden little look on his face. I know I’m a negative and self-loathing person sometimes but I’ve never seen it cause anyone that much grief before. No. Something else is wrong. “Connor, what’s wrong?” I sit up so I’m at his eye level, even if he is now refusing to look at me.

                “I, uh-” he nearly chokes on his words. I’ve never known him to be one to cry. He’s always been strong. He can scream, shout and lose his temper. But he doesn’t cry.

                “Connor Robert Cornell,” I use his full name, a stern voice in full effect to emulate a parent.

                “I lost my job today, Candy.” He says it so non-chalantly but as soon as the words leave his mouth he drops his head, the ridges of his spine visible in his neck.

                Of all the things he could’ve said, this is probably the worst possible thing.

                With the purple light still radiating off of my small token of 70s replica TV infomercial furniture, I see a tear. A purple tear rolls down his scrunched up face. I’m behind him, my knees drawn up. I have to twist my torso and hips just to be able to wrap my hands over his shoulders. I rest my head against his back, and I just hold him.

                My head keeps bouncing as his sobs force his body to shake. It doesn’t deter me, I just squeeze him harder. Worry sets in and my own tears fall, but I remain completely silent. I don’t want to disrupt him. One of us has to stay strong. It’s always been him. Now that role has shifted to me.

                After a few minutes, I finally come to the conclusion that maybe talking about it can get him to relax and work through it. “What happened?”

                “The producer miscued me again and I got blamed for it. Again. Son of a b***h has been half-assing his job then pointing the finger at everyone in that booth. Some people just don’t grow up, you know? They just f**k up then point the finger to cover their own a*s.”

                “Oh, Conn…” I sigh as I begin to scratch his shoulder, my head never leaving his back.

                We sit in silence for a while longer. His verbal sobs stop but I feel a tear fall onto my hand every now and then.

                It’s the silence in one place that makes the noises from another seem amplified. The cars as they pass by seem less like they’re in a neighborhood and more like they’re on a race track. The sound of a tennis ball connecting with a baseball bat rings out as if it were a real ball connecting with the wood of a bat inside of Wrigley Field.

                I also hear the sound of aluminum smacking against more aluminum. And then the refrigerator door closes. I’m suddenly reminded of why my brother’s job was so important. We need his income because the woman juggling beer cans downstairs can’t hold down a job. Hell, she hasn’t even tried to any time in the last six years.

                “Candy, what are we gonna’ do?” he finally manages to get out, drawing me away from my slightly negative thoughts about our mother. I think it’s the first time he’s asked me a legitimate question that he didn’t already know the answer to. Sure we’re close and sure we talk, but I’ve always been the kid sister. I’ve always been talked down to. Now he’s asking me what we’re going to do to secure an income and keep our house.

And I have no f*****g clue. None.