Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

O nly God Can Judge Me

Kandie

It's two days later, and I still feel like death warmed over. All the dirty looks and whispers I'm getting from the church matrons and the deaconess aren't helping, either. These mean heffas really acting like they think they are going to heaven when they are going to bust hell wide open for the way they treat people. It's nothing new, though these are some of the same ones that made my parents feel unwelcome. Had Nikki thinking our family wouldn't welcome her since a few are relatives, but everyone I know has family they don't really deal with for a myriad of reasons. People always think kids don't remember stuff or it will fade with time but one thing's for certain and two for sure is Kandie Love remembers. I smile at the Game of Thrones reference my sister used to use when it came to what she called as my amazing superpower to never forget things or an eidetic memory. The North Remembers And So Do I should be on a custom-made T-shirt with my name on it.

My cousin, Clover, is the same way which comes in handy in both of our chosen career choices, her an apothecarist and herbalist and me a baker. We can just recall our recipes for elixirs, pies, and cakes. I don't need recipes and she doesn't need formulas. My dyslexia is not my only superpower nor her autism hers. But you'd think I was setting out to poison folks with some of the looks and stares I'm getting as I set up my little booth of goodies I'm donating for the building fund.

The only reason I came was because I promised Mama-Pete I would bring some cakes. By the biblical way, we learned that in Baptist Training Union, churches are supposed to only have donations they aren't supposed to be selling stuff. That's the whole reason Jesus was turning over tables. They real funny with the things they chose to be upset about.

Ignoring them, I snap the tablecloth out over the table, watching it catch the breeze.

"Need some help?" The soft, honied tones of our assistant pastor, Nathaniel Simpson, comes up from behind me.

"Um." I cast a look over my shoulder, a sting of embarrassment making my face heat. "I'm good but thanks." Smoothing out the pink fabric, I strategically put vases filled with daisies I plucked earlier from my window boxes at opposite ends of the table in case the wind tries to act up as it always does when I do one of these things. I also learned never to wear anything too light and airy because sure enough, everyone is going to see I don't wear panties.

"I just thought I'd ask since everyone else has help," he says with easy confidence. He's right. Everyone else's little table is either mostly done or finished because they have a husband or their kids helping them. That, alone, would signify the scarlet letter of being single, but looking like I fell in a ditch — which is what literally happened also makes me look bad. It's a good thing I long stopped giving a damn what people think, being accused of murdering the sheriff in an arson when you're just a kid will do that. Being exonerated after everyone but your grandparents, a very few of your relatives, and the dead sheriff's wife, stood up for you will do the rest.

"No worries, friend." I give him a genuine smile reserved only for genuine people. Nathaniel moved here about three years ago to become a teacher. Instead of moving to the Shelby side and teaching at their elite private school, Shelby Academy, he came down to the Love side and used his impressive degree from Columbia for the Love Middle School and volunteers to teach ESL at the library on the weekends. He's not bad to look at either with his hair the color of rich molasses and eyes four-leaf clover green, and though he's not quite six feet, he does work out and it shows. Any woman would be lucky to have him interested in her. He's a nice guy. And that's where the interest stops for me. I don't like nice guys. Nice guys get folks trying to tear their families apart in the middle of the night even after they have jumped through all the hoops to save them. Nice guys rush into burning buildings to save kids, only to have them collapse on top of them and those same kids. Thank you, kindly sir, but no thanks.

Crestfallen, Nathaniel moves away, then stops. "I'm a little worried, Kandie." Eyes tempered by concern, he looks me dead in mine. "You have friends here."

Warmth steals over me. Reaching out, I grab his hand. He squeezes mine with gentle assurance. There's a beat, then another one. My breath catches. Are we having a moment?

"Alright?" he whispers, a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Alright." Suddenly shy, I turn away from him, tucking my head down, knowing like I know the sun is shining, that the rumor mill is going to be busting with the news that Nathaniel and I are courting. And so what if we are? We're not, but so what? I deserve nice things — a nice man, even if I don't want them.

"Got my Italian cream cake ready, hunnie?" Ms. Ernestine asks moments later as soon as I let people know I'm ready.

"Yes, ma'am." I smile over at the woman almost as tall as her husband, Bubba-T, standing right behind her with their two sons doing their best to catch up in both height and brawn. "You could've made an order at the shop," I say, sitting the already packed preorder on the table and sliding it over to her, which Bubba-T reaches over and picks up for her.

"I like the ten-dollar discount." Winking she holds out twenty-five dollars.

Waving away the money, I say, "That one is on the house. Bubba-T looked out for me the other night at The Shack."

"And didn't do a good job, by the looks of it." Throwing a scowl over her shoulder, she pins him with a fierce look. "Why didn't you make sure she got home?"

"I told him not to," I cut in, taking up for him. "They probably would have come to my place if they saw him drop me off and it would have been more than them running me off the road."

"Them boys from Epes did this?" Bubba-T's boom is so jarring, several of the ladies behind them in line jump.

"Hush," Ernestine and I both shush him at the same time.

"Uh-uh, don't y'all hush me. They don't come over here hurting our women and thinking they are going to get away with it." He swells up so big with each word I think he's sure to combust.

"Brutus-Brandon Taylor, I want you to think really hard about what you're saying and where you are saying it," Mrs. Ernestine tells him in a low voice, before turning back to me. "Hunnie, I swear he talks in school and out," she says, grabbing her cake.

I already know he, along with a few of my uncles and cousins, is going to be riding out on them boys. I could tell from the look Mama-Pete gave me earlier that I was going to be grilled at Sunday dinner.

The next few people come and get their preorders of bread, cakes, and pastries. Some ogle my bruises or outright ask what happened, being nosey. It comes with the territory of being in a small town and I'm not a hypocrite because I'm a known town gossip. If it were in reverse, I would be spilling the tea over pieces of cake and coffee sold at The Kandie Shoppe. If you want to know about anything going on in this town, you can come by The Kandie Shoppe and find out.

"Are you going to be at the market festival?" Little Aliah Robinson asks as she picks up a cinnamon roll.

"Yes, ma'am, I sure will." I smile down at her.

"Yay, that's my birthday." Dipping her head, she licks the icing before munching a big bite out of the roll.

"No way." I look at her beaming mother and daddy, who has a small frown playing around the corners of his mouth as he regards me.

"Ah, I'll make you something special for sure," I tell her, not sure what his problem is, well, other than me looking like I had my ass beat.

I don't have to wait long when he hangs back. "Kandie, everybody likes you." I nod in acknowledgment. "A-and I know you don't care what we think, but these little girls — they look up to you. I know you didn't ask for that, but they do."

Dropping a fifty-dollar bill into the donation jar, he moves on before my notorious temper flares. He needn't have bothered because one — we're at church and two — I knew full well what I was getting myself into coming here today, but I'll be damned if I hide because I said, ‘no'.

"Ms. Kandie." I turn to the twin girls in matching blue dresses, smiling over to me. "Esmerelda and Emmaline Cruz, I swear y'all get prettier every time I see you." Smiling at the girls, I glance at their father, Sebastian Cruz, our new mayor. I return his nod of acknowledgement, wondering if he, too, will be hanging back to lecture me for daring to show up after being attacked.

"Red velvet for my best customers," I say, sliding the cake over to the mayor.

"Gracias," the girls chime together.

"Thanks, Ms. Kandie," the mayor says, moving on without any words of admonishment.

"I didn't make a preorder, but I was hoping you'd have a caramel cake back there," the soft frail voice of Marlene Shelby, our sheriff emeritus, says. They let her keep her position so that her chemo could be paid for. Them being cut off from the family's wealth has never been a secret and as proud as they were, the people of this community loved Hezekiah and Marlene just as much.

"Now you know, I always have a caramel cake for you," I say, ignoring the behemoth standing behind her wheelchair as I turn to get the cake box with her name already printed on it.

"Hopefully, I will be able to eat a little of it. If not, you don't have to worry, it won't go to waste. Ulysses will tear it up. You know it's his favorite?"

"Um, I think you mentioned that five hundred times or two," I joke, pushing down the pang of knowing exactly when I first knew it was his favorite. Knowing and perfecting the recipe just for him all those years ago. Swallowing back the lump in my throat and the searing ache in my chest, I dare a glance up to his face.

He's not even looking my way or paying us any attention. His eyes are narrowed and trained on LaShaun Montgomery, fresh off her divorce from city councilman, David Montgomery, who got caught messing with his secretary.

Watching him watch her as she passes out her sweet tea, the only thing she knows how to make well, tells me everything I need to know about Ulysses Shelby. He's fucking her. I don't know why that hurts my feelings, but it does.

"Sweet girl. U, isn't she the sweetest thing?" Marlene beams as I lean over to put the cake in her lap because her dumbass son is too busy eye-fucking somebody who can't do anything but make diabetes in a glass of iced-tea. I swear that tea has more sugar than a whole caramel cake. I don't care how good it is, it needs a warning label: warning may cause you to lose your foot.

"Yeah." This motherfucker looks past me like he didn't just have his tongue down my throat hours ago, barely responding before taking his attention to Lashaun, the poisoner. I can't stand his ass, I swear. "If you get a craving, let me know and I'll bike it on over anytime."

She nods my way, giving me a wave as Ulysses takes her away. Despite my present hatred for his sorry ass, I can't help but watch as he takes her over to his brand new F-250. No electric for him, no, sir. He's driving as much of a gas guzzler as he can even with the new efficiency standards Ford has on board. I hope they move up going all electric on their whole fleet just so he won't have anything to drive.

Watching as he picks her up in big arms I can see rippling through his nice fitting dress shirt, I know I'm going to hell for lusting after him, for watching the way his back flexes as he places his infirmed mother into the cab of his truck. Not to mention the fact that my horny tail is doing it in the church yard like some loose Dalilah.

"And just what are you looking at, pretty girl?" my grandmother quizzes. Knowing I've been caught, I don't bother answering. "Do you want the German Chocolate or the Seven-Up cake for dinner?" I ask, changing the subject.

"The Seven-Up cake should do it," she says. "You know that's your cousin's favorite."

"Mama-Pete—" I start, knowing which cousin loves my Seven-Up pound cake — Ozymandias. My cousin started out as a football prodigy, went to college on scholarship, somehow found out that he was the son of a notorious mob boss, then transformed into a cold-blooded killer with more money than even the Shelbys.

My mouth drops just thinking of the way he's going to cut up on me about not taking my safety into account.

"Girl, hush. You knew the minute word got to us what them boys did to you. Your cousin was gonna be called to come lay 'em down. We can't have people thinking they can treat Loves any kind of way."

"By the time he gets here from Western Cape, Uncle Charles and them will have handled things anyway," I plead, but she's already shaking her head.

"He's already here working on something with Delightful's husband and his brother." She waves me away. "He says he's due for a visit, anyway."

"Wow," I say, knowing exactly how he's going to make the most of his visit.

"Expect the state's murder rate to go up," I tell her dryly.

My grandmother laughs like that's the funniest thing in the world.