The Case Manager
The Case Manager:
Shattered Lives Series
Latoya Chandler
www.urbanbooks.net
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
PART ONE - Where It All Began
Chapter One - Memories: This is My Life
The Early Years
Chapter Two - Camera Eye: Life-changing Events
Chapter Three - Memorial: From Bad to Worse
Chapter Four - The Voices: You Hurt Me
Chapter Five - Scared Emotions: Lonely Heart
Chapter Six - The End: Life and Death
Chapter Seven - Motherhood: The Journey
Chapter Eight - Nightmares: Sins of a Father
Chapter Nine - Love: To Love and Be Loved
Chapter Ten - Lessons: Life on Your Terms
Chapter Eleven - Love: A Mother’s Love
Chapter Twelve - The Boys: Brotherly Love
Chapter Thirteen - The Grief: United in Pain
Chapter Fourteen - Life: Can You Stand the Rain?
Chapter Fifteen - Tag Team: My Sister’s Keeper
PART TWO - Five Years Later
Chapter Sixteen - The Truth: Beauty and Terror
Chapter Seventeen - Resentment: The Blame Game
Chapter Eighteen - The Truth of the Matter
Chapter Nineteen - Confessions: The Awful Truth
Chapter Twenty - I’m Sorry: Clearing the Air
Chapter Twenty-one - Poison: A Brother’s Hurt
Chapter Twenty-two - Reunited: Sister-Sister
Chapter Twenty-three - Blackout: Bittersweet
Chapter Twenty-four - Free: The Cost of Freedom
Chapter Twenty-five - Alone: Lonely and Confused
Chapter Twenty-six - Family: My Support System
Chapter Twenty-seven - Dear God: Why Me?
Chapter Twenty-eight - The Unexpected: The Past vs. the Present
Chapter Twenty-nine - Open Wounds: Talking It Out
Chapter Thirty - Consequences: The Karma Effect
Chapter Thirty-one - My Life: The Weight of the World
Chapter Thirty-two - Family: I Am My Sister’s Keeper
Chapter Thirty-three - Breakdown: The Ugly Truth
Chapter Thirty-four - Open Wounds: Hurt People Hurt People
Chapter Thirty-five - The Past: The Issues That Lie Deep
Chapter Thirty-six - Guilt: A Blessing and a Curse
Chapter Thirty-seven - Frenemies: The Love of Money
Two Years Later
Chapter Thirty-eight - Rehabilitated: Time Served
Chapter Thirty-nine - Self-determination: Learning How to Understand
Chapter Forty - Giving Heart: It Always Comes Back Around
Chapter Forty-one - New Beginnings: The Good Outweighs the Bad
Urban Books, LLC
300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109
Farmingdale, NY 11735
The Case Manager: Shattered Lives Series Copyright © 2019 Latoya Chandler
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-6016-2905-0
eISBN 13: 978-1-60162-906-7
eISBN 10: 1-60162-906-0
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
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Prologue
Nakita took the upstairs bath and I decided to use the bath in Ms. Nancy’s room since she was in the hospital. It felt as if I hadn’t bathed in years the way that hot water relaxed my body. The moment I stepped out of the shower, my worst and recurring nightmare was in living color staring me dead in the face.
“Did you really think you’d be able to avoid us forever? As long as you’re under this here roof, you belong to us. Now lie down,” Anthony growled.
“No, please I just had a baby,” I whimpered.
“Yeah, two months ago. Now lie down! This can be easy on you, or difficult. It’s up to you.”
After those words escaped Anthony’s lips, tears, fear, and panic rushed me instantly. All I remembered was everything going black thereafter. When I came to, I was back in the bathroom being bathed by Nakita as she sobbed uncontrollably.
“Wha . . . what happened to me? The last thing I remember is walking out of the bathroom straight into Paul and Anthony.”
With distress painted across her face, Nakita closed her eyes, and teardrops slowly ran down her chocolate face as she blubbered, “You were taking too long, so I came downstairs to see if you were all right. I thought you were dead, Candice. You weren’t moving at all. Your body was lifeless when I opened the door. Those bastards didn’t even care. He just kept having his way with you. At that point, I didn’t care what happened to me, nor did I think about what I was doing. Before I knew it, I was on top of Anthony, pulling him off you. I even bit a chunk out of his arm, and he squealed like the debutante he really is. Dumbass Paul was sitting in the corner crying like a sissy. There was no way I was losing another sister. I just cannot lose you, Candice. Please promise me you won’t leave my sight ever again, even if we have to shower and take craps together.”
PART ONE
Where It All Began
Chapter One
Memories: This is My Life
Candice
November 18, 1975, Camilla Marcellino-Brown gave birth to her first child: me, Candice Brown. My conception and birth were unplanned and prohibited my mother from pursuing her law degree. She did in fact finish school to become a paralegal, but that wasn’t sufficient enough for her. Without question, she blamed me and my dad for that. From the age of fourteen, Mother had her life strategically outlined. However, she fell for a Jamaican. Una scatola di cioccolatinis: her box of chocolate, as she called him. He was also known as my dad, and her life had been shipwrecked ever since if you let her tell it. I could actually speak on it verbatim as if I’d experienced it with her. It’d been drilled into my head from birth. However, I could recall vividly at the age of twelve when the verbal lacerations began to permanently scar me. There are some things one just cannot forget, no matter how hard you try. Trust me, I’ve tried, but her words were like tattoos: permanent, and the removal process has been very painful. They say the only way to remove a tattoo is to have it lasered, and even that would leave scarring. Consequently, no matter how much counseling I’d undergone, the mutilation remained.
Being the offspring of parents who were high achievers placed a huge amount of pressure on me from birth. Mother had her life all mapped out on her vision board. She would be a wife by the age of twenty-three, become a lawyer, have three children, daughters who would follow in her footsteps and become attorneys as well, and live happily ever after. Well, that came to a screeching halt when she found herself pregnant at the tender age of sixteen by my dad, the 23-year-old African American and Jamaican flight attendant. Being that my mom was Italian, her parents disapproved of her dating a Moolie, as they referred to him. As soon as they caught wind of her being pregnant with me, the family completely disowned her. She was labeled a disgrace to the family and was now considered dead to them. This outcome weighed heavily on my father, which he continued to co
nceal as he uninterruptedly lived with decades of guilt because of it. So I thought.
I must admit, my dad wasn’t as bad as Mother. Or maybe he was. He lacked a backbone and allowed Mom to wear the dress, stilettos, and pants. Dad did whatever she said and how she said it. Primarily out of remorse. It was her world. We were just her squirrels trying to get a nut. Of course, ones she handpicked for us. Everything changed for our family, especially me, November 14, 1990, when my mother gave birth to my identical twin sisters, Casey and Cassidy. It was the same day I found out I was sixteen and pregnant. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Mother put me out with the quickness and sent me straight to Hope House, a rooming house for teen mothers. Now I had a boatload of new scars.
Reflecting on the verbal assault still hurt, as the memories were a constant reminder that my mother never loved me and hated me no matter how hard I tried to make her happy. In the beginning, she would insult me here and there. That all changed when I was around 10 years old. The words that escaped her lips while she combed my hair still haunt my heart and mind day in and day out, like a permanent fixture.
“Candice, come in here and let me comb that Brillo head of yours. I don’t know how I ended up with a daughter with untamable hair. That’s what I get for losing my virginity to a black man,” she mumbled.
“Mother, do I have to hear this again?”
Slapping me clear across the face as I approached her, she said, “You need to know how you ruined my life. You were not planned, and I am now paying the consequences because of it. Every time I look at you, I get sick to my stomach. Why does your skin have to be so much darker than mine? The least you could have done was come out a shade darker than me, and not have the looks or be the mirror of a black woman’s child. You need to hear me and hear me good. No man will ever respect you or take you seriously, because of the color of your skin. The only thing you will be good for is lying on your back. You better make it your business to do exceptionally well in school. Your beauty will not help. You are too dark. No man wants a woman he can’t see when the lights are off. Why do you think your father chose me?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, Mother.”
“You should be sorry, but sorry will not get you anything except babies you didn’t want or plan for. Do you know when I was two or three years older than you are now, I had my life outlined? I planned to have three daughters, and each of them would be born two days before or two days after my birthday, November fifteenth, if not on the same exact day. How in God’s name an unplanned pregnancy resulted in me giving birth three days after my birthday is beyond me. I think you are a curse and I am paying for my infidelities. The best and only good thing that has come out of all of this is your father taking me in as soon as he found out I was pregnant after my parents threw me away.”
“Mother, can I ask a question?”
“What is it?”
“How can a woman plan the date she has a baby? I thought the doctor tells you the date.”
“How and why would a mutt like yourself know anything about what a doctor would say about a baby? The last thing you should be concerned with is how or when a child is conceived, unless you’re planning early to be like the rest of these Aunt Jemima–looking women, living off the system, having baby after baby. Is that what you want?”
“No, Mommy. I was just asking because—”
“What did I tell you about calling me Mommy? That name is for children who are planned and look like their mommies. Not blackened little girls like you. Mother is my name to you, and I am not going to tell you again,” she scathed, yanking my hair as she combed it.
“I am sorry, Mother.”
“You were born sorry. That is why you look the way you do. You’re not pretty. Not even makeup will help you. I don’t even think they make cosmetics for your color anyway, so you’re really headed up shit’s creek. In any event, to answer your question, since you’re not learning anything in that public school you attend, the doctor you are referring to is called an ob-gyn. They will determine your progress, but you have to do the homework and research. For instance, if your cycle typically falls within the first week of the month, you would start trying about five to seven days after it finishes. This is what I originally planned on doing in order to give birth to my successor and protégé, but it never happened, considering I struck out with you.”
“I’m sorry for asking, Mother. I didn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t know that. They don’t teach things like that in public school, and as you know, private schooling is out of the question for you. You wouldn’t fit in with the other kids. You’d probably make them feel uncomfortable with your skin tone and all. Listen, I am not here to sugarcoat anything. I am preparing you for what’s out there. It will be very difficult for you, but if you listen to me and get an education, you might get somewhere in life. You don’t have time for any hang-ups. You already have one strike against you that you were born with. I’d blame your father for that, but I know he and I both are being punished for rushing things. God in heaven knows that had I not gotten pregnant with you, my parents and family would not have disowned me. Just thinking about it infuriates me. Go to your room now!”
Running into my room, dropping to the floor, I silently prayed. ‘God, it is me, Candice. Why did I have to come out like this? No one likes me. My dad is the only one who’s nice to me. Mother pretends to like me when he’s around. Why does everyone hate me? Why did you make me like this? Every night I take a bath in bleach, and I am still darker than mother. I sit in that tub for hours even when it burns my eyes, and nothing. What am I to do? Help me please!” I cried before sleep took over.
Just reminiscing about my childhood angered and hurt me to the core. I tried my best to be the perfect child my mother wanted. No matter what I did, it wasn’t good enough for her. My grades were noteworthy, and I stayed on the honor roll. The only time I could enjoy myself and let my hair down was at school. I dreaded the weekends, holidays, and summer vacations. Mother didn’t allow me to have friends over or go to anyone’s home. However, all of that changed when I was forced into my first job at Burger King.
Honestly, at the onset, a job was the last thing I wanted after being in school all day. What I did want and longed for was to run track. Needless to say, when I proposed the idea to mother, she rejected it without a second thought. She had plans of her own for my “idle time.” It was a Monday afternoon, and I could recall it accurately because it was the day after my fifteenth birthday. November 18 was the day I was born and never celebrated because it was the day that completely ruined mother’s life forever. As for my dad, he was rarely around. He worked around the clock to accommodate Mother’s lavish lifestyle, one she said I could only dream of having and had to work extremely hard and nonstop for if I wanted any part of it.
“Candice, did you do what I asked you to do?”
“Yes, Mother, I picked up my working papers.”
“Good, because I was able to pull some strings, and as long as you have your papers you can start work at the Burger King on Main Street tomorrow after school.”
“What about track? I wanted to join the team. My gym teacher said I have potential.”
“Potential to be like the rest of the porch monkeys sitting around eating chicken and watermelon, thinking sports, a man, or God forbid becoming a rapper is going to save them? Save yourself and run your wide ass straight to work. Listen, if you want the finer things in life, you have to work for them. I hope you know the cotton fields weren’t just made-up stories for you to read or learn about in your textbooks. Those were real-life situations to teach and reinforce responsibility. You will excel in life. You will not be like any of them. Not with my DNA pumping through your veins. I don’t care how dark you are. Look at your father. He wouldn’t think twice about working because he knows where he came from and who he has the privilege of coming home to. And it’s not one of those lazy jungle bunnies.”
“Yes, Mother.”
>
“Yes yourself into that kitchen and get ready for dinner.”
Sometimes I wondered how my mother had friends. She could be the meanest person in the world at times. Maybe that was just toward me because I didn’t look like her and my skin was a brownish tan. All I knew was my dad’s skin was darker than mine, and she loved the ground he walked on. I didn’t get it at all, but this was my life, and it looked like I was stuck with it.
I had to go to bed. I had a long, dreadful day ahead of me tomorrow.
The Early Years
Chapter Two
Camera Eye: Life-changing Events
Candice
Mother was so upset and disappointed with me about the way I looked that I now detested my appearance. When I looked in the mirror, all I saw were flaws. I’d covered up the mirror in my bedroom with pictures of Mother in hopes to look like her one day. I didn’t know how that would happen, but I did pray every day for it to miraculously take place. I just wanted her to love me. In school, all the other girls just stared at me. I knew it was because I was not as pretty as they all were. I tried to befriend everyone who allowed me to so I was not alone, and for the most part, it had been all right.
Working at Burger King forced me to talk to people, smile, and have them stare in my face while speaking to me. That had been the most uncomfortable feeling in the world. Most of the time, I just wanted to cry, but if I messed this job up, my mother would be disappointed in me. I knew when they looked at me they were disgusted with what they saw, and I didn’t blame them. All I could do was smile and do my job to avoid any further problems or trouble with my mother.
Because I was a quick learner, I was bumped up to the register and was able to stay later to help with closing the store once a week. My manager, Alonzo, said it was illegal and I shouldn’t tell anyone, but it would put extra money in my pocket, so I went along with it. Mother didn’t care as long as I was out of the house working. I guessed she was used to it since Dad was never home and worked all the time.