Red Silk Scarf (26 page)

Despite years of
maturity, he was yet to learn even the toughest men need someone to, hold them
at night, soothe away the trepidations of the day, and nurse the wounds of the
soul, someone who would never consider a man who cried, weak.
 
Although they’d never admit it, even the
mightiest men need a partner for decision-making, someone willing to listen,
that knows when not to say a word.
 
Unfortunately, children rarely find out that most parental discussions
take place late at night, in the dark privacy of a bedroom, the comfort of a
bed.
 
Sorrowfully Vera never received the
credit she so richly deserved, most likely because she’d never tell her son the
decisions pertaining to his future, the things Shawn said and did as a father
were because she thought them best.
 
         

With all her
heart, she hoped that on his own, someday Patrick would learn no one is ever
complete without the love of a significant other.
 
That special someone was yet to come along to
teach the rest of life’s story.
 
She’d
been waiting and longing for that day finding little comfort as she wandered
alone in a private hell created from loving too much, worrying too much.

Right now, it
seemed an eternity ago that L.A.'s problems drew her attention.
 
Taking the initiative to seek the officials
in charge that needed men with her son’s qualifications had been
difficult.
 
Nevertheless, she was
determined to beg on her knees for Patrick’s acceptance if it was necessary,
thankfully, it wasn't.
 
All she asked in
return was that Patrick never find out about her interference.
  
The transfer promised a new start for her
son.
 
Relocating would remove him from
everything that held memories of his father.
   
Maybe then, he'd forgive Shawn for leaving so abruptly, so cruelly and perhaps
forgive her for being the one to survive.
 

           
To this day, Lady Luck was yet to
find her.
 
Patrick never discussed the
unexpected opportunity nor asked her opinion.
 
Instead, he shut her out and made the decision on his own.
 
After their move to L.A., withdrawing from
the very person who loved him the most, Patrick’s deep seeded grief sought
comfort in the arms of prostitutes and elusive drugs that began dictating his
life.
  
In doing so, Vera’s only son
broke every rule his father preached and what little remained of her heart.

There was no way
she could help Pamela, certainly not from the lack of trying.
 
Her daughter was too preoccupied searching
for a man that would offer the love and attention she lacked from her
father.
 
Pamela found a man all right,
one completely opposite from Shawn.
 
Of
course, Shawn loved Pamela, but for obvious male reasons, he favored Patrick an
alienation Pamela didn't understand.
 
       

Unbelievably, a
death in a family affected each member differently. Contrary to pulling
together, they pulled apart.
 
Pamela and
Patrick were hurting so badly they couldn't see beyond their grief.
 
Meanwhile, she suffered quietly in her own
private hell not simply because of Shawn's death, but from helplessly watching
her children slowly self-destruct.

Cassidy was a ray
of sunshine the day she burst into her bedroom.
 
Far from naive, Vera wondered why Patrick never mentioned knowing a
young woman so beautiful and brilliant, one that attracted her son more than he
dared to admit.
 
Oh, try as they may not
to make the attraction obvious, when sharing the same space there was a
magnetism neither could deny.
 
The
twinkle in Patrick's eyes identical to the one she saw in Shawn's the very
first time they met.

In the beginning,
Vera believed Cassidy to be another whore her son defiled, thankfully a
short-lived suspicion.
 
Women knew other
women, and it was there in Cassidy's eyes her sincere concern for others,
particularly Patrick.
 

Anticipating
Cassidy's visits brought new hope, and renewed faith.
 
Possibly, with her help there might be a brighter
future for both her children.
 
Today
especially, for Pamela received notification from a recording studio that she’d
met the qualifications for their receptionist position.

The fact that
everything seemed right made Vera uneasy.
 
Wandering aimlessly about the apartment brought her into the bedroom,
exactly where she didn't want to be, the hiding place for the terror that had
arrived six months ago.
 
Taking up
residency, it lurked in a dark closet in a shoebox safely hidden beneath a pile
of worthless possessions that she hoped would suffocate the atrocity.
 
Typically, Vera was home alone the day the
parcel came.
 
Since then she fought hard
to cling to her faith for God was testing it way beyond her limits, and for
some reason, still was.
 

Now inside the
closet, on her knees, shaking hands claiming the box placed it on her lap.
 
Oppressive was the need to, once again remove
the top, and go against everything she believed by destroying the contents that
would tear her family apart forever.
 

CHAPTER
20

           
Cassidy mentally prioritized her
list, the first of importance the most difficult.
 
After what transpired between her and Mark
though facing Margie would be emotionally draining, she desperately needed to
ask a question that required an answer.

Finding guards at
the entrance of Mark’s room was unsettling enough, but it was Sullivan’s
foreboding presence that almost changed her mind.
 
Pulling herself together took agonizing
moments.
 
Implausibly, gaining entrance
into Mark’s room required permission from the one person she preferred to
avoid, so much for spending hours shoring up courage.
 
As if she was a carrier of a deadly plague,
never saying a word Sullivan followed her into the room staying close behind
even when she stopped.
 

Mark claiming her
hand totally caught Cassidy off guard.
 
Considering their prior intimacy, she thought she’d die when he pulled
her close for a brief kiss, on the mouth, of all places.
 
Face flushed red, her expression of
embarrassment found Margie, then Sullivan, before returning to the trembling
hand Mark refused to release.

“Thank God you
weren't. . .” Mark's effort to speak brought a grimace of pain to his pale
face, and sympathy to the expressions of others.
  
“Margie, this is. . .” anguish's sword
stabbed again.

Thankful for the
opportunity to tug her hand free, she graciously extended it toward Margie
finishing the introduction, “Cassidy.
 
It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
 
Margie’s smile went unnoticed as Cassidy looked away blushing feverishly
from embarrassment.

Contrary to her
own, hot and sweaty from nervousness, Margie's hand was ice cold.
 
It was the warmth of her blue eyes, wide
smile and genuine greeting that eased some of the trepidation brought about by
the handshake.
 
Nevertheless, Cassidy
remained restless due to Sullivan's facial gestures that spoke of the audacity
of her presence.

Demoralized by
Patrick’s behavior, looking sheepish, without inhaling a breath an explanation
instantly spilled forward.
 
“I didn't
mean to intrude.
 
I just wanted to see for
myself that Mark was O.K,” her voice the lowest pitch ever, her chin almost
disappearing into her chest.
 
Despite
brave efforts, tears began to swell, one after another colliding and trickling
down her cheek.

Empathy struck
Margie.
 
Angry over Patrick’s behavior, a
reprimanding glare dissected him before replying.
 
“The doctors say he's doing amazingly
well.
 
Complete recovery is expected with
nothing to impede his return to chasing the bad guys,” she politely offered
maintaining a positive smile.
 
“It must
have been a terrifying and painful experience for you as well.
 
I'm very sorry for your loss.”
 
Again, Margie’s gaze swung to Patrick, an
upbraiding gaze that shrunk him to the size of a spider suddenly, frantically
looking for an escape.

After almost
losing her husband, how could Margie be so brave knowing he'd return to the
streets' that nearly claimed his life?
 
How could she extend sympathy to a “hooker” that had just lost her pimp,
a known “drug pusher?”
 
The answer was
obvious; Margie's demeanor spoke of, eloquence, gentility, and
understanding.
 
With love indelibly
written on her expressive, delicate features, she stroked Mark’s cheek, his
bandaged chest, and arm as if her touch alone could heal his injuries.
 

Having witnessed
Margie's state of sheer terror earlier, somehow she found the tenacity to
transform her physical and emotional dress.
 
Her hair was groomed, face scrubbed to a glow.
 
There were slight traces of makeup, just
enough, the pleasant fragrance of perfume, most likely Mark’s favorite.
 
Praise and adoration showed in Margie’s
smile, her voice vibrated with encouragement.
 
No wonder Sullivan loved her, any man would.
 
How could Mark cheat on such a fine
woman?
 
What a fool he was, if Margie
ever found out, he’d never survive the ramifications.

           
With renewed strength, no traces of
pain, Mark addressed Sullivan and Margie.
 
“Why don't the two of you take a little break?
 
Get something to eat.”
 

           
“I'm fine, darling,” Margie quickly
replied, her questioning smile wavering slightly as she looked from Mark to
Cassidy, then back again.
 

           
Mark's pleading glance swung to
Patrick.
 
“Margie's tired, hasn't eaten, and
hasn’t talked to the kids.”
 
Pain struck
again, this time, a terrible blow that made Mark gasp.
 

           
Hastily Sullivan came to his
friend's side. “Whatever you say, buddy.
 
Come on Margie, we'll make it a short one.”
  

Though she seemed
unwilling to leave, Sullivan's fingers folding around Margie's arm helping her
stand guided her to the door.
 
The same
tools used on Cassidy earlier to touch, stroke and play his magical games.
 
Making matters worse with Sullivan’s presence
only a few feet away, smelling his heady scent made warmth instantly gather in
a place inappropriate at the time that reminded her of new, very private
feelings.
 
Following close behind a
foreign emotion swelled her chest, one not easy to admit, jealousy.
 
Apparently, recovery from the loss of his
mouth, his tongue, and touch was not yet complete.
           

           
“If you need anything, we won't be
far.”
 
A statement meant for Mark yet
Sullivan's dark-glare found Cassidy, the expression raining over his face an
obvious warning.

Christ, did he
think she was going to jump Mark's bones under the circumstances?
 
Well, what would anyone expect from a
“Prostitute,” she answered herself.
 
Did
Sullivan believe what she did with him she'd do with anyone?
 
The slightest thought made Cassidy wish to
evaporate into nothingness.
 

As soon as the
door closed, Mark did not hesitate.
 
A
warm hand finding hers again, squeezed.
 
“Don't let him get to you, Casey.
  
We all know he can be a real ass hole at times.
 
Believe it or not, underneath that façade is
a lovable, gentle teddy bear.”
 
Mark did
not grimace; his sentences made without any shortness of breath leading her to
believe he’d been faking his pain earlier.

           
“I'm so sorry . . . I . . .” Aware
that Mark could feel her hand trembling, embarrassments tears came out of
nowhere, drops Mark's finger caught and flicked away.

“Don't cry over
me, Casey, I don't deserve them.
 
I haven't
been the best husband, father, friend, or police officer.
 
I guess God felt he needed to knock me on my
ass.
 
Then, just when I thought it was
over, apparently, he decided I deserved a second chance.
  
And, what I tried to do to you . . .”