Candy cringed. The mere mention of her father always did that to her, and including her precious daughter in the same sentence with that... that man... made it worse. Stephanie was getting big, developing physically earlier than most girls--just like Candy herself once had--and Candy wasn't about to have her baby around him just so he could become that thing again, that touchy, creepy, awful thing he had become to Candy all those years ago.

No goddamn way.

Stephanie was all she had left--her everything--and no one was ever going to harm her. Ever. Just as her memories always had, people had come and gone from Candy's life, moving in and out with perverse randomness. But not Stephanie. She was the one constant, the one joy, and no matter what it took, Candy would protect her, just as she had secretly protected Tina once upon a time.

No matter what it took.

And, besides, what the hell did Tina know about what was best for her daughter--she didn't even have kids of her own. 'Course, what did Tina know about a lot things? Maybe if she knew more, she might be a little more worried about the millennium than she was.

And about... him.

But Candy wouldn't wish that kind of knowledge on anybody, especially her little sister. Her mind was made up. She spoke calmly.

"I can't, Tina. I just can't. I'm sorry. But Easter time, I promise: we'll get together. Please understand."

Tina didn't understand. "I don't get it," she stated flatly. "I just don't get it. If you ask me, I think this is all about your divorce, how strange you've been lately. But, whatever--do whatever you want. I just hope this doesn't spoil it for Steph. A kid really does need to be around family, you know."

Not all family, they don't, Candy thought. Not all.

Tina continued: "Well, happy New Year anyways. We'll miss you."

"Us, too," Candy replied. "Bye, Tina." She hung up the phone.

If you only knew, little sis. If you only knew.



At 10:28 p.m., Candy was most definitely shit-faced, sitting on the floor in front of her old hope chest, fumbling through pictures from the past. She was crying--big, wet, drunken tears.

Baby pictures of Stephanie. Wasn't she cute then, in her Pooh Bear outfit. And Grandma Stevens holding her old dog Percy. Candy had loved them both, her grandma and the dog. So much, so long ago. She took another drink. Oh, and here's me in high school, in the marching band. God, I used to be so musical. She looked at each photo for a second then dropped them individually to the floor. And... and... shit. A picture of her ex-husband John, holding a rainbow trout he'd caught one summer. Look at 'im... smiling that fucking smile of his. I thought I got rid of all these.

Shit.

She stood up clumsily, the picture in one hand, the half full cup of wine teetering in the other, and stumbled into the kitchen for a re-fill. She nearly emptied the second bottle into her cup, spilling a good amount onto the counter top at the same time. She drank some more, holding the photo up in front of her as she did.

I remember that fish, she thought. Cooked it good. Delicious...but, geez, it smelled. She looked at John's face. It all stunk.

She wanted to tear the picture up, shred it into little pieces. Fillet it, she laughed to herself. But she couldn't. John's smile always did have that kind of control over her.

She remembered telling Stephanie about monsters once. Monsters didn't hide under your bed or in your closet. No, real monsters sneaked into your bed in the middle of the night, wanting to cuddle, wanting to touch things they weren't supposed to touch, wanting to... to... "love" they called it. Then, after, they told you to lie, to hide ugly secrets, to keep quiet or... or...

Else.

She sipped at the wine, dribbling some on to her chin, and stared bleary-eyed at the picture of John.

Other monsters make you feel special, she thought. Make you think you aren't bad for what you've done. Make you believe. Then they take off with the first bimbo secretary with a short skirt and big tits who spreads her legs and...

She dropped the picture and cup to the floor and began sobbing--so hard it hurt.



At 11:06 p.m., Candy sat on the floor in front of her television set, watching Dick Clark host a party for New Years revelers in Time's Square through barely open eyes. She'd abandoned the McDonald's cup and was now holding the second wine bottle in her hand. It was empty. She'd finished it off.