Red Silk Scarf (11 page)

The coffee was
hot and strong, filled with caffeine, just what “Doctor” Brady ordered, Cassidy
snickered mischievously.
 
Vera needed
something to dilute the residue of depression, something to jar her into the
here and now.
  
Her first good decision
of the day Cassidy beamed, for the coffee combined with casual conversation
gradually relaxed the women sufficiently to begin conversing about Patrick and
his father, how they resembled each other, shared the same mannerisms, as well
as beliefs.
 

Throughout the
conversation, an unexpected enormous case of homesickness clutched Cassidy’s
heart.
 
The Sullivan men seemed very much
like her father and brothers.
 
Becoming
lost in reflections of her family, she wondered what changed Patrick, and then
considered how drugs, whores and living in L.A. might alter a person.
  

Whenever the
conversation turned to Cassidy, conjuring up fantasies, using animated
movements and expressions, she rambled on and on about Patrick and herself, in
a short time, managing to manufacture from thin air a believable
relationship.
 
Wild comical renditions of
a make believe friendship that widened her captive audience’s mouths and made
it difficult for Cassidy to suppress the laughter rumbling inside.
   
However impressed she was with her
performance, she couldn’t help but wonder what level of hell she’d wind up on
upon meeting her maker.
 

Finally, at a
loss for words, Cassidy added, “I'm going to be in L.A. for a few weeks.
 
As long as Patrick sleeps days and works evenings,
I guess it’s just the three of us,” an insane idea that as soon as it filtered
out said she was becoming careless.
 
Her
drive to find out more about Sullivan and solve the murders would surely become
her Waterloo.

Horror struck
best described the women's facial contortions.
 
Having lived in L.A. for two years, Patrick never allowed them to
venture out alone.
 
They couldn't, they
wouldn't, but never before did they know anyone quite like Cassidy Ilene Brady.

           
Suddenly, frantically searching for
conversation, reasons to stay, anything, Cassidy inquired, “When do you expect
Patrick?”
 

Lowering her gaze
to the floor, “He's rarely home anymore, most of the time he stops by only to
administer mother's medicine before leaving for work.
 
He hasn't been himself since father died,”
Pam elaborated.

Assessing the
pair, Cassidy understood Sullivan's absence, and couldn’t help but think what a
can of worms she'd opened.
 
“Well, then
there should be plenty of time to prepare his favorite meal while we wait?”
 
The suggestion leaping from her mouth proof
positive she'd gone completely mad.

Wobbly, Vera
stood, her excuse of needing to use the restroom offering Cassidy an
opportunity to single out Pamela.
 
“How
long has your mother been like this,” she prodded.

           
“Since father died.”
 
Obviously ashamed, her head sagging more with
each word, Pamela added, “She became worse with each bout of abuse I suffered
from my husband.”

           
“I'm so sorry.
 
No one deserves abuse, an illness that causes
others to suffer as well.
 
My father
believes women should be strong.
 
Depending upon someone else is not healthy; surely the day will come
when they'll let you down.”

           
Eyes focused on a corner of the
ceiling, with swelling tears clinging to her lashes, Pam confessed, “I really
loved my husband.”

“My guess is you
loved him too much.
 
By now, you must
realize physical or mental abuse is not a healthy expression of love. There are
plenty of men who would appreciate such a lovely young woman as you.”

“Young, lovely, I
don't think so.
 
I wouldn't stand a
chance in today’s world.”

           
“Not with that attitude.
 
Not if you seal yourself away.
 
If you were to be honest, you're simply too
frightened to take the first step.”

“I have no work
skills.
 
My husband always took care of
me.”

           
“And, now you expect your brother to
do the same,” a statement that unintentionally stung like a hornet and abruptly
brought Pam's soggy eyes to Cassidy's.
 

           
Removing her foot from her mouth,
Cassidy sympathized,
  
“Somehow that
doesn't seem quite fair, does it?
 
I’m
sorry if I've offended you.
 
I'm so
independent I know nothing else.
 
I
prefer it that way.”
  

Though unnatural
for Cassidy, lying had become a habit today.
 
Despite believing independence was wonderful, she was lonely, and longed
for the day a significant other would come along.
 
The day she'd have her own family to bring
some resemblance of normalcy into her life.
 
Shit, they were dreams she hadn't entertained in a long time.

           
“I don't like living here.
 
I want to be on my own.
 
I just don't know where to begin or if I
can.”

“Then, I'll
help.”
 
Heavens to Betsy, what did she
just say, Cassidy almost gasped.

           
“You will!”
 
A shriek filled to the brim with
excitement.
 
Patrick promises to help,
but never has the time.”

“Pam, that’s an
excuse you use because you're afraid.
 
Positive thinking makes dreams come true.
 
What would you do if something happened to
Patrick and your mother?
 
The day may
come when you'll have no one but yourself.”
 
Sighing inwardly Cassidy thought, little did Pam know the day was just
around the corner?

Upon Vera's
return, Cassidy inquired about Patrick's favorite meal. Seconds later, with
surprising enthusiasm, all three began rummaging through the cupboards
searching for the necessary ingredients.
 
Insisting they hadn't cooked in a long time; Cassidy turned a deaf ear
no one realizing how much time had slipped away.

____________

           
Knowing why the pager was beeping,
Cassidy chose to ignore the summons three times previously.
 
The fourth left no choice or the Calvary
would be at the door.
 
In the privacy of
the bathroom, Cassidy answered.

“Jesus, Joseph
and Mary, I was just about to come after you.
 
Are you crazy,” Michael shrieked, a man known not to raise his
voice.
 
“Ben will have my ass if you
don't get yours out of there!
 
Sullivan
just entered the building.”
 

           
Cassidy never knew Michael to panic,
he was screaming like a girl.
 
She could
almost see his facial features transposing, so fearful was he, especially when
she declared, “I'm staying.
 
Don't worry;
I'll beep if I need you.
 
Sullivan won't
make a move in front of his family. Honest, I know what I'm doing.”
 
Another outright fib, Cassidy didn't have the
faintest idea what she was going to do or say.
 
Deep seeded revenge had seized control.

If he'd taken a
sniff of cocaine, Sullivan would have better understood what greeted him.
 
With the aroma of homemade sauce inundating
his senses, his eyes flicked from his mother to Pamela and back again.
 
Maybe he should have exploded years ago, he
concluded, recalling the confrontation with Pamela earlier that morning.
 
Fed up he was with her self-pity, and
laziness.
 
She either shaped up, carried
her load, and took care of their mother or shipped out.
  
It was bad enough she'd turned her mother
against her by marrying a no good bum.
 
Pamela never considered how her choices affected their family.
 
Losing their father wasn't the only reason
for their mother's condition.
 
Maybe
Pamela deserved the beatings.
 

No, what was he
thinking, had he completely forgotten right from wrong?
 
God, no one deserved what Pam went through,
on the other hand, neither did he.
 
Anger
had poisoned his insides, anger toward his father for dying; toward Pam for the
anguish she’d brought the family, anger toward his mother for becoming so weak,
toward himself for allowing drugs and whores to ruin his life, one in
particular who was driving him mad with desire.

Wearing smiles
that held a trace of mischief unbelievably his sister and mother sat at the
kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee leaving no doubt in his mind that
something was seriously wrong.
  
Vera was
actually in the kitchen, dressed, her hair brushed.
 
Was that lipstick on her lips?
 
Patrick’s glance found the table displaying
four place settings, the first time in two years, four, why four he
wondered.
 
As his eyes scanned the
kitchen, suddenly it seemed unimportant that it was a disaster with dishes
spilling from the sink and sauce splattered here and there, everything appeared
so normal, he didn't know what to say, or do, for that matter.
  
He just stood there.