“Is that Candy Thibeault?” Clint whispers more to himself than to us.
My stomach drops. “That’s Candace Anderson, our head of security.”
“No, I’ll never forget her wide-set eyes and that pointy chin. That’s Candy.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “I grew up with her.”
“Honey, that’s your brother’s—I mean, Lucas’s wife. She’s your sister-in-law.” As I say the words, my mind starts to tick like the spinner on the Life game tucked away in the basement. If Candacehas history with Clint, then what Lucas told me about how he met her was a lie.
“Lucas married Candy.” Clint staggers back.
“Who’s Lucas and who’s Candy?” Erika tugs the picture from Clint. “You have family, Dad? I thought there was no one.”
“There is no one.” He yanks open his shirt drawer and throws a few tees in his bag.
“I don’t understand. Why are you so upset? What did this woman do?” Erika walks over and stands next to him. “You tell me to talk to you. You say it’s bad to keep it all bottled up. Take your own medicine. Talk to me.” She looks over her shoulder. “Talk to us.”
He sighs.
I hold my breath.
Clint’s shoulders edge down as he looks at both of us. He blinks and then nods. A gossamer of fear begins to wrap itself around my heart.
We decide to go downstairs. I’m thankful we won’t be having this conversation in our bedroom. Echoes of difficult conversations already crowd the space.
Erika pours us each an ice water. I can see the bounce in her step. To be included, to be trusted, gives a powerful sense of belonging. But I hope Clint knows what he is doing.
Clint takes a long swallow and then sets his glass on the side table. “Candy grew up in Maine too, in our neighborhood in Windham. She was Lucas’s age.” He gives Erika a sad smile. “Lucas was my brother. I don’t remember a time of not knowing her as one of us. In the summer, we’d play outside all the time. The summer I turned ten was tough for my mom.” Clint swallows hard but plows ahead. “Dad had left years before, but he still sent a monthly check. That summer they stopped. She always made excuses. I could barely remember our father, but Lucas, he remembered, and it made him angry.” Clintstops talking, like he’s back in his two-bedroom shotgun house watching his family crumble.
“Must have been so hard on your mom, so young and raising both of you,” I say.
Clint sucks in his upper lip and then nods. “She refused any assistance and instead took another waitressing job. This one in the evenings. She always hated leaving us. And that night she was supposed to be home. We were outside. Before the porch lights even came on, my whistle blew. I was so mad. We hadn’t even started playing. And then as I was trudging home, my brother’s whistle blew.”
Erika’s brows furrow.
“That was how your dad’s mom told them to come in at night. She blew a whistle. Two short puffs for your dad. One long for his brother. Your dad was younger, so he’d usually have to come in much earlier...” I let my words fall away as I feel the intensity of Clint’s eyes on me.
He knows where I learned those details, because in all our years together, October fifth has been his day of remembrance but also his day of silence. He’s only shared select details of his early years and never told me about the whistles.
“But... that night you both had to come home early?” Erika’s words pick up the pace as if rushing her dad through a story with which she’s losing patience.
“Yeah.” He takes another sip. “Mom had been called into work. She left and Candy came over. She pulled on drawers and opened cupboards in the kitchen. Lucas marked her movements from the living room, but I confronted her. I pleaded for her to stop. She chucked me against the sink, and I dropped to the floor, my ankle twisting under me. Candy was only two years older than me, but she was bigger, and she was a bully. Her dad was a Marine, and she’d been taught how to fight.”
He takes a large gulp of his water. “I later figured out she’d been looking for alcohol. She’d recently developed a taste.”
“Hold up. You were ten. She was drinking at twelve?” Erika is back on the edge of her seat.
“She was the youngest. A girl with three older brothers. She was growing up fast. Anyway, instead of drink, she found my mom’s cash. I didn’t even know my mom kept cash. She’d probably been saving her tips. Candy took it. All of it. And left the old beat-up Folgers can in the cupboard. She threatened to kill me if I told. She was specific in her process, and I believed her.” Deep furrows line his forehead. “Worst thing I could have done.”
“Not tell your mom?” Erika eyes him over her glass.
“Believe Candy. Let her control me. She grew up rotten. I slipped away from her, but Lucas, he became her pet.” Clint stares across the room at nothing, but everything from his past.
“Her pet?” Erika wrinkles her nose.
Clint’s eyes find mine. “She’s the reason.”
I cock my head at him without dropping my gaze.
“She’s the reason Lucas left us when Mom got sick. Why he emptied her account.”
