Chapter 26

Now that the club is closed, there's not much to do but wallow in self-pity. I was so close to having it all together, only for Angel to snatch the rug out from under me. Once again, I'm back at the starting point, with no idea of how to pull my weight in the family, other than to drive Simon further into the dope game.

It's not like I have much of a choice. Most of the girls have been quiet since I gave them their first and last checks. Nobody has even bothered to entertain the idea of coming back to the club once the investigation is over. I don't know what I'll do when I'm able to step back inside. There's already so many changes I have to make and I just got shit started.

I sigh in my bed, counting the last few stacks of cash I have. The night got cut short, meaning the money I had for bills was not enough. With the four stacks of fifties in my bed, I have enough to either make good on my deal with Marcus, or pay the bills. It's honestly a lose-lose situation no matter what I choose. Marcus made it clear that if he didn't get paid then he would take his cut out of our mortgage. So, if I don't pay him, we'll have heat and light on for a house we can't even live in.

Once again, Simon flashes in my mind like the light at the end of this long, exhausting tunnel. Clearly, I couldn't be trusted to get the family out of debt. Maybe I should lean on Simon a little more.

Then again, that's not what he signed up for. That's not what I signed him up for. He forced my hand cause there was no other way for him to pay Caesar back without selling drugs. But is it really worth the risk of putting him in a worse situation than he was in before? Right now, Simon only sold a few days out of the week, when Calvin could spare time away from being a corner boy. If I asked Simon to carry the load, then he'd be alone most of the time, operating the trap and watching his own back. He barely had his anger under wraps when we were all there so I can't imagine what would happen if he was alone. Simon would have caught ten bodies and none of us would even know or be able to tell.

Now that I don't have the club to keep me occupied, I could stay at the trap and watch him since I don't trust Calvin and the three stooges to do it. But, I doubt Simon would feel comfortable having me there. I didn't do a good job of keeping my composure last time.

Maybe I could go back to selling in nightclubs? The idea dies as soon as it settles on my brain. I know both Caesar and Simon would have a fit if they saw me on the frontlines again, especially after what happened with Connor.

"So that settles it," I huff.

Simon has to step into the shoes Ace once filled, that I tripped and stumbled into. Hopefully he does a better job at being the man of the house than I did.

"Simon!" I yell.

"Yeah?" I hear down the hall.

"Can you come here for a second?!" I yell back.

"Stop that yelling across rooms! Some of us are trying to sleep!" Mama's voice travels up the stairs.

I bite back a smile. Hearing her voice is as sweet as honey. For awhile she's been a shadow of herself, barely talking to any of us. Slowly, she's starting to unfold into the mama we all need. I do an okay job at keeping the bills paid but we need more than that. We need a head of household to keep all of us centered. She's nowhere near blooming stages yet, but it's getting there. That's all I can ask for.

After a minute, I hear footsteps bounding down the hallway. Simon steps into my room in a white T-shirt and black basketball shorts. His feet are crammed into white socks. When I look up at his hair, I'm all too happy to know that he had no plans of going outside today. His once neat braids are now frizzy, probably from him sleeping on them. His parts are barely noticeable but that's not to be blamed on him. Daddy left us a strand of DNA that comes with unruly hair. He kept his tamed by keeping it into a low bush. Simon and I took the route less taken.

"Wassup?" Simon asks from the doorway.

"Close the door. I wanna talk to you about something," I pat the space on the bed next to me.

Simon pushes the door closed then walks over to me.

"Grab the comb for me," I say.

He detours to the dresser containing my red, Kandi Redd wig that's now collecting dust on its styrofoam head. He picks up a wheat rat tail comb before sitting on the floor at the end of the bed. I let him get comfortable as he leans his head in my lap. His back is flat against the bed, his head pointed down so I can have easy access to the back of his head. He unlocks his phone, scrolling through his feed on Facebook, then his timeline on Twitter, before closing out both apps and opening a game on his phone.

I get to work loosening the plaits in his head with the rat tail comb, and then the rest of the braid unravels easily in my hand. I use my fingers to comb through the braid while I try to find the right words.

I know it's wrong to ask this of him just like I know Ace would have never dragged me into the drug game to keep us afloat. But he sort of left me no choice when he up and left the way he did. As a girl, there's only so many ways I can earn and with Caesar up my ass, my options are pretty slim. So, naturally, the burden falls on Simon.

I try to reason it in my mind but it doesn't make me feel any less shitty when the words form in my mouth.

"Candyce, wassup?" Simon asks.

"I need your help," I say.

He locks his phone screen, exiting out of the battle game he was playing. His eyes find mine while I sort through his hair.

"Is this about Angel? 'Cause I don't care who Caesar says the nigga is. If you need me to handle it, it can get done," He says.

All this coming from the boy who was just playing Battle Royale on his phone. The irony of the situation is overwhelming. Me helping Simon take out his braids, while he plays the game reminds me of how easy life was a few months ago. Now Simon is offering to go headfirst into war with one of the most dangerous people I've ever met, while I prepare to tell him that he'll need to start selling more drugs. Our predicaments are so different it's almost painful.

"It's not about that," I say.

"Then what is it?" He asks.

I take a deep breath.

"I know you only agreed to work for me to pay Caesar back, but I need you to consider putting that aside for now. I need you to think about going full-time with another goal in mind," I say.

"What goal?"

"We need money, Si. Like, for the family. Mama hasn't worked a day since she married Daddy and she's still grieving Jonah so she ain't gonna' be job-hunting no time soon. And honestly, I don't want her to. With all the shit we put her through, she shouldn't have to," I say.

Simon nods his head. I watch his face through the black phone screen sitting on his lap. He's relaxed, while I talk, letting me know he's open to what I have to say.

"Well I tried to take on the bills and the mortgage payments but I got ahead of myself. I thought the club would be doing well enough so that I can pay the bills while you continue doing your own thing. Shit didn't really work out that way and now I owe someone a lot of money."

Simon's eyebrows furrow as he picks up one of the piles of money I have laid on the bed. He waves it at me as if to ask "Is this not enough?". I really wish it was.

"Nah, that's what I mean. That's only enough for the deal I made with someone when I thought shit was looking up for us. I have to pay him that or he's gonna take what he's owed from the mortgage on the house. We're not making enough money to pay the bank back before they kick us out. So, I gotta use what I made from the club to keep a roof over our heads," I say.

"This where I come in at?" He asks.

I nod my head, "If you started working seven days a week, we'd have enough to pay the bills and keep the lights on. We'll also be able to pay this man back and keep a friend if we need one. With all these enemies popping out the woodworks, we might need someone to handle money for us. Especially if that Fed bitch is watching."

Simon stares up at the ceiling, flipping the stack of money in his hands.

"I guess Caesar gon' have something to hold over my head a lot longer than I want him to," He says.

"Caesar isn't the type to count favors, Si," I say.

"Maybe not for you. I just know he's Ace's best friend."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"It means I don't trust him. And I don't put nothing past him."

I don't know what to say to that so I say nothing at all. We fall into one of our comfortable silences as I continue to un-braid his hair. Instead of returning to his game like I really wished he would, Simon spends the rest of the time staring straight ahead. He's lost in thought and it breaks my heart to watch him struggle with his hate for Ace --and by association, Caesar--and the love for his family. Ultimately his heart wins out because he doesn't say anything when I'm finally done with his hair. He simply grabs a scrunchie from my dresser and ties his hair into a ponytail before heading out the room.

...

I stay cooped in my room for as long as I can take it. Reruns of Bad Girl's Club play on the screen but I'm only half-interested. Guilt is still fresh on my mind for forcing Simon into Ace's shoes, without bothering to ask how they fit. I don't know where Simon's head is at with all this but I won't ask him either. I feel like I've bothered him enough as is.

Still, I can't shake the feeling that I'm not doing anything to help us out. Bringing Simon in? Going hands-off myself? It's all making me feel like I'm burying us deeper in a hole, rather than getting us out of it.

After awhile I'm not able to focus on the TV anymore. I press the power button on the remote and leave the room in search of peace of mind. With Simon holed up in his room, I figure I'd find it with a tub of vanilla ice cream.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I do my best to open and shut drawers quietly. I remember Mama's warning that she was trying to sleep and I don't wanna' wake her.

Once the bowl is filled with ice cream, I sit at the breakfast bar, doing my best to appreciate the deliciousness in front of me. But, the house is too quiet. There's no thuds in the ceiling that would indicate people are moving around upstairs. I don't hear a TV sound, a snore, or anything. It's like I'm actually here alone, which is ironic 'cause that's exactly how I feel inside.

Turns out, the ice cream doesn't give me what I'm looking for. Instead of easing my mind, the quietness of the house makes me miss Ace. It makes me miss the way shit used to be. We were a family of seven; a quiet house used to be something I could only dream of. Now that half our family isn't here, I realize the grass isn't greener on the other side. I'd give anything to go back to a chaotic Saturday in the Ortiz house before Daddy died. I'd even settle for the morning Caesar came to visit, despite the fact that I practically hated Ace for embarrassing me the night before.

God, I miss Ace. I miss talking to him, even if we did fight all the time. I missed my brother like I missed my dad. The messed up part about that is that only one of them is dead.

A door closes quietly in the distance, pulling me away from my pity party. Mama emerges out of the dark in a white nightgown. For a brief moment, I swear she's an angel. An angel sent down to rid me off all my sad thoughts. Then she steps into the kitchen light and the bags under her eyes come into view.

The last time we were in this kitchen together, she had a glow to her that I couldn't place. Whatever is left of that happiness has shed from her looks. She moves around sluggishly as she comes to kiss me ontop my head. She slides around the kitchen in her pink slippers, finally bringing a familiar sound to the otherwise quiet house. She grabs a spoon from the dish rack and sits in a stool across from me, inviting herself to some ice cream.

"I thought you was sleep," I say.

She shakes her head slowly as she brings a spoon of the confection to her mouth. It doesn't bring any more light to her face than it brought me peace of mind. We're both just eating our way through the bowl like the answers we're looking for is at the bottom.

"Paryis is sleeping. I finally got her to get some rest. She's been walking around here like a zombie these last few days," Mama says.

"Yeah, I noticed that. I think she misses Ace," I say.

"That makes two of us," Mama says.

The silence that falls over us isn't awkward. It's painful. We scoop more bites of vanilla before the pain subsides.

"I never told you or Simon happy birthday. I'm sorry," Mama says.

I shrug my shoulders, "It's alright, Mama. We didn't celebrate it either. It just didn't feel right."

She nods her head thoughtfully. I abandon my share of ice cream, letting the spoon slip into the milky rivers of vanilla bean. I slide the bowl to her completely.

As I watch her eat, something occurs to me. It may sound stupid, but sometimes I forget how close Mama and Daddy were. Ace reminds me of him so much that if I ever felt the need to talk to Daddy, I could go to Ace and it would almost feel like the real deal. Ace spent so much time with him, that he got to see all sides of him, except, maybe one. A side of him that Santana only trusted Mama to see and be able to understand.

"Ma, can I ask you something?"

She looks up at me with watery eyes.

"Wait, Mama, what's wrong?" I ask, caught completely off guard.

She waves her hand dismissively in the air.

"Nothing, baby. Is that what you wanted to ask me?" She says.

I watch as she uses the palm of her hand to wipe the tears away. I almost push the question off but she encourages me to keep talking once she's done. I really need advice and she might need a distraction. I just hope this doesn't stir up the wrong feelings. I don't think I can take her crying again.

"It's about Dad," I say.

She sighs.

"What about him?"

"I know you don't know much 'cause Daddy never got help but I wanted to know if you could tell me how he acted right before his disorder took over. Like, what provoked him?"

She pushes the bowl back into the center of the table. Her eyes look sadder if that's even possible.

"The only thing that ever got a rise out of Santana was business. I always knew something was wrong when he'd get real quiet. He would lock himself in his office so y'all wouldn't see him like that. It would take days before he finally opened up about what was on his mind but it wasn't easy. I would have to beg him to talk to me, constantly remind him that he wasn't alone and that our rings actually meant something. And out of nowhere, he'd just...explode."

"He never hit you did he?" I ask.

"No, no, no, Candyce. Santana never hit me. But he would break some shit," She laughs.

A smile works it's way onto my lips hearing her laugh at the memory.

"Girl, would he break some shit!" Mama yells, laughing and laughing.

"I don't remember none of that," I say.

"'Cause I would make Ace take y'all outside while I cleaned up the mess or talked your father down. You would think it would take hours to calm him down after the way he would explode like that but it didn't. I didn't have to do anything. He'd stand off to the side, breathing heavily, trying to pull himself back together. I'd leave him to it while I cleaned up the mess but after fifteen, twenty minutes, he was back to his normal self. He apologized but for the most part, he acted like nothing ever happened. Y'all would come inside from playing and he would be all over y'all full off hugs and kisses like he didn't just destroy everything in his path ten minutes ago."

I swallow the knot that's made it's way to my throat while she talked. Hearing her describe how Daddy would blow up then act like nothing happened, reminded me so much of Simon. Even with all my suspicions, the similarities still hit me like a freight train. I knew something was off with Simon's emotional control but suspecting something and knowing it to be true is two different things. It's like history is repeating itself all over again.

"So the first time it happened, you didn't think anything was wrong?" I ask.

"Not really. Baby, when I met your daddy, I was sixteen. Santana saved me from an abusive father so I was used to men getting mad and breaking shit. I was just happy Santana didn't treat me like a punching bag the way my daddy did. He kept his hands off of me and his anger away from y'all. That's all I could ask for at the time," Mama says.

"So when did it become a problem for you?" I ask.

"When it started happening more and more. Usually, it would take something happening at work to take him there. But as the years went by, it didn't take much to set him off. If one of y'all scraped your knee on my watch, he was yelling at me. I'd tell him 'They're kids, Santana. That's just how they play' but he wouldn't listen. It's like things he should have been patient about, he would treat like it was a life or death situation. Then, he got paranoid and that only made things worse..." Mama gets this faraway look in her eye.

"Mama?" I ask.

"I don't wanna' talk about this right now. Why you asking about Santana's illness anyway?" She says.

I don't want to worry her about Simon. She's got enough on her mind. It's clear she's not in as good of a place as I thought she was so the last thing I want is to shovel more shit on her plate.

So, instead of being honest, I shrug my shoulders and put a fake smile on my face.

"I just miss him, that's all. I thought hearing about him would make me feel better," I say.

"Did it?" She asks.

I shake my head no.

She picks up the bowl of ice cream that's now more like milk. She carries it to the sink and drops it inside.

"Yeah, I don't like thinking about that side of him either," Mama says.

"It's not that, it's just..."

Mama turns her back to the sink and faces me. The wrinkles on her forehead start to make an appearance so I bite back the words before they're in the air.

"Nothing. Like I said, I just miss him," I say.

I get up from the table and walk over to her. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. The whole time she's eyeing me like she knows something is up. I walk away from her with a migraine behind my eyes.

I pass by her room on my way back up the stairs. The door is still closed, but I can hear the covers shuffling around like Paryis is turning and tossing again. Instead of opening the door and waking her out of the nightmare, I head back to the kitchen to hopefully do something that would actually help her.

Mama cuts the water off when she hears me come back in. She turns around, wiping her hand on the oven towel.