Chapter 46: Raindrops

January 25, 1981

No study group today. Mike’s house was packed to the gills for Anderson’s Super Bowl party. We’d be fine. The timing was pretty good; we’d had exams in most classes last week, so we could afford the missed day.

I watched the game with Angie and the parents. We weren’t the biggest fans of either team. In fact, I somewhat disliked both of them. That didn’t matter. I had money on this game — which, of course, no one else knew. Well, Gerry did. I sure hoped he did; it wasn’t like he gave me a receipt.

I hadn’t watched this game the first time around, but I knew how it came out. And it came out just the same. Thank goodness, because I would’ve been pretty broke, with no good explanation, otherwise.

January 26, 1981

Angie slipped in, hugged me, and snuggled. “How are you holding up? You know, if you need to talk about Candice, we can. Well, I know we will, but, you know.”

“I’m ... OK. Of course I wish desperately that things had gone differently. But, she’s alive and getting help and that’s the important thing.”

“I didn’t mean that. It’s more ... how do you feel with her gone?”

“I feel ... like I have to feel. There’s no way to fight for her, or win her back, or forgive her, or whatever. And I can’t just dwell on it. I really can only move forward.”

She bit her lip. “OK, but, if you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m here.”

“I might, but I think I’ve done my crying. But if I need to, believe me, I know you’re there.”

She gave me a look that I couldn’t decipher. “I won’t push, just ... don’t ... don’t get closed off because you got hurt, OK?”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Another look. Something was up. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong. I’m just concerned.” Was she being too quick in answering, or was I just paranoid because I was living in 20/20 hindsight all the time now? Probably the latter.

“Thanks, sis. I love you, and I promise, if I need a shoulder, or anything, I’ll come see you.”

“Love you, too, big brother.”

To be honest, I wasn’t as OK as I told Angie. It hurt to be without Candice every single day. I hadn’t seen her in over a month. I’d spoken to her twice in that month. Once, she was drugged nearly out of her head. The other, she wasn’t herself at all, or at least, not the person I knew. Not that I expected more. I didn’t. Of course she wasn’t herself.

Or ... perhaps she was. Had I ever really known Candice? My heart said ‘yes’. My head said ‘maybe’. My heart said that the girl I knew was the real Candice, that the haunted, damaged girl wasn’t who Candice was. My head said that neither was the real Candice, that the real Candice was a mix of both. Strong and smart, beautiful and enthusiastic, fun and playful, but also self-doubting, self-loathing, and desperate.

I’d missed clues. I knew that. Many clues. I had to restrain myself from beating myself up over whether I’d missed too many clues. What could I have done? Said, ‘Hey, Candice, are you the way you are because a sexual predator has been hurting you for years?’ That would’ve been a stunning success, right?

I’d occasionally questioned whether Angie should be as sexual a person as she was, when the girl I’d needed to question had been the one who was going to bed with me. Speculated about whether Sharon and her awful boyfriends had damaged Angie, when the reality was that an evil cousin had damaged Candice over and over.

Good lord, I’d told her we’d be fine, that family was important, that she should enjoy Thanksgiving, when she was being degraded by a family member on that very trip. I’d kicked my own ass about that a few times, no question. What I said was true for almost everyone, and that made it excusable. For Candice? I can’t even imagine how much hearing that must have hurt, even with her knowing I couldn’t know what I was saying.

In terms of the loss of our relationship, though, I was as OK as I could be. I knew Candice wasn’t coming back. No illusions, no doubts. No false hopes. I wouldn’t give up on dating. I wasn’t going to close off my emotions. God knows, if I could date again after my divorce, I could bounce back from most anything. Plus ... hormones. They’d be back.

But not this week. Not next week. Not, god forbid, Valentine’s Day. Finding some girl and asking her to be my Valentine was a terrible idea. I was seeing, more and more, the scars from my failed marriage. But I could also recognize the damage from losing an intense relationship in such a dramatic fashion.

My first real try at romance had been a noble effort, but doomed from the start. My second? A noble effort, doomed from the start. Both were doomed by the flaws of the girl I’d been with. From far enough away, they were even similar; both girls had been damaged by other people. My wife, by her parents. Candice, by her evil cousin.

In the first case, I should have seen the warning signs and ran away. I didn’t; I’d learned what a horrible idea that was. In the second, the warning signs were far more subtle and, had I seen them, running away would’ve been the worst possible thing to do.

I would try again. Date, find romance, find love. But right now it’d be the worst sort of rebound. Not only that, but I’d be paranoid about missing things that would explode in my face. I knew the world was full of girls without such baggage. As the saying says, there are many other fish in the sea. I didn’t know when I’d try fishing again, but I would.

I’d shared everything I could share with Angie. In the ways that I could explain it, right now, I was OK. Just ‘OK’, nothing better, but not depressed, not giving up, not closing off. I had too many great people in my life. But in other ways? Not so much OK. I was much more OK now than I would ever have been, left to myself in 2021. Hormones and a perhaps-too-eager girl had shaken off scars I hadn’t even realized were there, but not all the scars.

I had to hope that Candice would heal, too. Would find someone special, would love again. She deserved so much happiness, and if I could help her find it, I would. And helping her would help me, too. I couldn’t help my wife; god knows I tried. Helping Candice wouldn’t make up for that, but it would bring me great joy.

January 27, 1981

I told Angie I’d meet her at study group in order to pick up a couple books at the library. We hugged, and she headed on her way past the library. I went in and got the books. Then I headed to the Stop’N’Go and found Gerry.

“Hey! Kid! Damn, you killed me, man! Of course...” he rubbed his fingers together, “I made out from all the suckers. But damn. You called it on the nose. How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess. Plunkett was due. And Al Davis really, really wanted this, to shove in Rozelle’s face. I mean, everybody wants it, but the elements were there.”

“Hey, I need to get advice from you! Imagine! Snot-nosed kid!” He chucked and got a chunky manila envelope. “Count it if you want.”

I laughed. “In your business, I suspect I can trust you. It’s not like I could break your legs, but...”

“Yeah. Always a risk. You’re a good kid. I like you. We can do business anytime. Even if you clean me out. I just need to push the other side.” He winked.

I liked Gerry. Like I said, Dad could’ve done his job. Same people skills. Dad’s job was honest. Gerry’s officially wasn’t. Gerry was just providing a service people wanted. Gambling itself harms people, no question. But that’s like blaming TV for lazy people. You turn it on, or you place the bet, you’re responsible for the consequences.

I bought a soda and took off, envelope in my backpack. I was carrying more cash than at any point before this in either life. By a margin in the five digits.

Mel and Cammie walked in holding hands this time. Rita greeted them. “Why, aren’t you two the cutest couple? Reminds me of my step-daughter and her lovely girlfriend!” They both blushed, just a bit, and hugged Rita. Warmed my heart.

I was even happier when Andy showed up a minute later, while I was saying hi to Rita. He pulled me into a bear hug. “Man! I am so thankful for you for stepping up on this! I just don’t know what’d happen, if, well, you know. Half the team tosses ‘fag’ around like it’s an excuse for every bad thing in the world.”