Red Silk Scarf (28 page)

Holding him,
rocking him, while he cried like a baby, Margie explained, “Patrick, you crazy
fool, did you honestly think I could stop loving either of you?
 
Love isn't something you switch on and off,
the love I feel for you, for Mark, is the forever kind.
 
No matter what you crazy idiots do, I'll
always love you.
 
Yes, I’m disappointed,
hurt, and terribly worried, but inside I have enough love and faith to sustain
us through the tough times that are pounding down our door.
 
We'll get through this.
 
I know we will.
 
We have to.”

When the kiss
happened, it was so sudden Cassidy had no time to look away or close her
eyes.
 
Enveloped by the trance Margie
invoked, Patrick moved closer, his mouth slowly seeking hers laying claim
tentatively at first, skimming over the soft portals, a kiss desperately wanted
by both that turned into the deepest kiss a woman could ever experience.
 
Cassidy knew that kiss, felt it, and longed
to trade places.
 
A kiss that was saying,
I want you, need you, I love you.
 
Soon,
without releasing her mouth, he’d pick her up and carry her into the house and
it was killing her believing that Margie would surrender.

When Sullivan
made his move, Margie’s hands firmly moved him back.
 
“We can't do this, Patrick.
 
It would change everything we consider
precious between us.
 
I can't do to Mark
what he has done to me.
 
I can't live a
lie.
 
I love you, Patrick, you know I do,
but I'll always love Mark more.”

The back of
Patrick's fingers smoothed over Margie's cheek.
 
His thumb and forefinger found and clung to her chin.
 
“You're everything clean and beautiful, good
and kind.
 
The Princess in all the fairy
tales children read about.
 
Everything
I've ever wanted.”

A confession that
curved her lips into a smile as her head shook back and forth, “No,
Patrick!
 
I'm only what you think you
want.
 
What you need is a combination of
a Princess and a devil, good and evil, mostly tough, rarely weak.
 
The one you want is waiting for you just
inside that door and up the stairs.”
 

Anger jerking him
back disfigured his features.
 
Margie's
insight forced words out with a gruffness Patrick didn't expect.
 
“You're wrong, Margie, there's nothing
between Cassidy and me, never will be.
 
I
don't know anything about her.
 
She’s a
mystery, a mass of complexity, damn irritating, if you want to know the truth,
and a royal pain in the ass.”

“Right, that's
why you melt like a chocolate whenever she's around.
 
I know love when I see it.
 
Stop looking beyond me, Patrick.
 
Really look at me.”
 
He couldn't.
 

“It's there, in
your eyes whenever Cassidy is in sight.
 
Love has a funny way of sneaking up on people when we're least
prepared.
 
When you say you don't know
anything about her, does that mean you don’t want to, that you think you're
better, after what you've done over the years?
 
Maybe what you both need is each other, a fresh start.”

           
Patrick always became a puddle at
Margie's feet.
 
“You're unbelievable, do
you know that,” a compliment that never registered in Margie's mind.
 
God forgive her she needed to know.
 
Staring sightlessly forward, “She's one of
them, isn't she?”

           
Aghast over Margie's suspicions, Patrick
barked out a lie, “No!”
 

           
Margie's all-knowing eyes striking
his spoke of her disbelief.
 

           
Sheepishly, just as if a child
caught telling a fib, Patrick reconsidered, “Yes.
 
How did you know?”

“The fact that
you and Mark have a thing for her was enough.
 
Apparently, she's the type men prefer.
 
A fantasy they'd never admit.
 
Even dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, everything about Cassidy spells
seduction.
 
Go on, Patrick.
 
Go to her.”

           
Gripping Margie's shoulders,
Sullivan forced her attention that was sinking in despair.
 
“Nothing happened between Cassidy and Mark,
do you hear me, nothing.”

“What about you
and Cassidy,” Margie shot back.
 
“You
weren’t kissing me just now, you were kissing her.
 
I need to know right now Patrick, how the
hell are the three of you going to get out of the cesspool you’re drowning in?”
                

Hands mashing a
towel, bringing the softness to her face burying her embarrassment within the
folds, Cassidy prayed the terry cloth was absorbing the horrible sounds
bringing with them a gush of tears. As her legs gave way, the toilet seat
became the safety net her throbbing body sought.
 

Margie was no
fool.
 
Ultimately playing her role to
perfection Cassidy had managed to convince everyone, a performance that should give
her a sense of pride.
 
Instead, she no
longer wanted to be, “a prostitute,” or Cassidy Ilene Brady.
 
Most of all, she didn't want to be in love
with Sullivan.
 
She didn't want him to be
in love with her either.
 
Dear God, at
what point did “Love” complicate matters?

Always believing
herself to be intuitive, strong and brave, next to Margie, she paled in
comparison.
 
Right this second Cassidy
just wanted to be ordinary.
 
No, she
groaned, she wanted to be Margie, extraordinary.
 
Now she knew that whatever happened in the
end Margie had the tenacity to survive, but for the first time she began
wondering if she would as well.
 

An overwhelming
depression bringing on fatigue altered Cassidy’s intention to leave.
 
Lacking the stamina to escape, maybe later,
maybe after some rest, Cassidy reasoned, right now she desperately needed
sleep.
 
Managing somehow, listlessly she
made her way to the guest room, and slipped into the nightgown Margie offered
earlier.

Moving to the
window hoping to pluck some reassurance and strength from out of nowhere she
gazed beyond the branches of a tree, beyond the streetlight a half block away,
and saw Michael's parked car.
 
Possibly,
if not so emotionally drained so exhausted, she would have seen another
vehicle.
 
Burrowing into the warmth and
softness of the bed, she curled up and cried herself to sleep.
                
           

CHAPTER 22

Restless, unable
to sleep, needing to make sure they were alright, Patrick checked in on Margie,
and pudding face curled in her arms, then entered
the boys' room and
collapsed in an undersized stuffed chair.
 
Their room was a peaceful place where childhood dreams romped and played
and innocence dwelled.
 
Hearing them
breath, watching their sweet faces he could pretend all was right in the world
and enforced his belief that children were the reason to live.

 
The night was dark, the depth of which
magnifies loneliness.
 
A slight nip in
the breeze seeping through the screen cooled skin drenched with perspiration,
and, as an elbow on the chair arm helped support the weight of a heavy mind,
burning eyes found comfort from the massaging motion of a forefinger and
thumb.
 

Cassidy was in
the adjacent room, the spare room, his room, stretched out on his mattress, her
silken body sandwiched between his sheets.
 
Exhaustion honed his memory reminding of the comforts her body
offered.
  

Swift as
lightening Patrick, bolted from the chair, moved about needlessly picking up
toys before covering the boys with quilts all from the lack of anything else to
do.
 
At a loss as to what to do next, he
faced the wall separating him from what his body needed, what he needed.
 
Splaying a hand on the partition supported
his leaning weight, and as he rested his senses could, feel Cassidy, smell her,
and hear her breathing.
 
Strangely
enough, everything at night took on clarity, Margie was right; he craved the
comforts only Cassidy could offer.
 
Why
did she have to be a prostitute?

At the hospital
just looking at her, in jeans and a clinging shirt, hair that he had freshly
shampooed framing features kissed only by nature; Cassidy appeared the epitome
of sweetness and innocence.
 
No one would
ever believe she was a she-devil who used her body to claim prey.
 
A
s
a victim, he knew her capabilities, and tonight it had been torture sharing the
same space without touching.
 
Masking
desire did no good, Margie knew, and in all probability, Cassidy did as
well.
 
After deliberately saying things
to hurt her hoping she’d stay away, he should have known better.

____________

The spell of sleep
Cassidy fell under was brief she too was wandering about the bedroom, her
burning feet seeking relief from the cool hardwood floor.
 
Several times, she glanced out the window to
see if Michael was still there. Twice he was out of the car lighting a cigarette,
several other times pacing.
 
Apparently,
tonight restlessness was contagious.

Staring blankly,
somehow Cassidy wound up facing a wall.
 
Something compelled her; she didn't know what or why, maybe the thoughts
plundering her mind, one in particular.
 
From the very beginning Sullivan made her careless, she wasn't thorough
enough, wasn’t concentrating.
 
Well,
tomorrow things were going to change.
 

Niggling
intuition was telling her that the killer was right under her nose all along.
Mulling over plans for the rising sun brought on a sense of gratification that
enabled her to return to bed.
 
Despite
the cool breeze, the fires burning within provided sufficient warmth that made
covers unnecessary, as well as the cotton nightgown now in a soft pile on the
floor.

Tossing and
turning, lost somewhere in oblivion a slight movement of her hand brushed
against warmth that wasn't hers, in the air all around her a distressing
stillness.
 
Lazily opening her eyes,
sheer terror should have prompted a scream that was instead remarkably
controlled, her casual response due to the lack of vengeance in the eyes
examining her.
 
Vengeance she could
handle it was the visible yearning that left her no defense.
 
Cassidy’s meager touch had brought the
intruders body to a state of coiled readiness.
 
His jaw clenched.

How long Sullivan
sat on the edge of the mattress staring at her, Cassidy would never know, not
at just her face, but every inch of exposed skin, that covered a lot of private
territory.
 
Anyone else would have
instinctively sought covers, a brain wave that never registered.
 
Studying his eyes had lulled her into a
trance as though the windows to their souls were exchanging a silent
conversation until blue globes moved torpidly to other parts of more interest
to a man.
 
Shivering wouldn't begin to
describe the effect the inspection was having on her body, sensations in no way
connected to the cold.
 

Silence was
brewing, tension swelling with each tick of heartbeats until, as if Cassidy had
granted permission, Patrick cautiously placed his hand on her stomach, his
thumb covering her navel.
  
What desire
did to Sullivan's features was breath taking the slow way his lids closed and
reopened, hypnotizing.
 
A state of
unconsciousness rudely interrupted the moment his whisper invaded the room.

“Though you’ve
tempted me a few times too many, I don't have anything like murder in
mind.
 
You’ve made that too easy.”
 
His thumb began moving slowly back and forth
stroking her navel, a velvety motion that continued for long moments.
 
Finally satisfied, his hand gliding over the
plain of her stomach finding her hip claimed the soft flesh, his thumb coming
to rest on the bone to stroke anew.
  
It
could have been seconds, minutes, hours for all Cassidy knew, before his torso
moved in slow motion lowering his lips to the spot touched previously. Before
she could catch a gasp, it burst like a bubble as the soft membrane of his
tongue began blazing a trail around and around, a sensation made excruciating
by the warmth of the lips branding her there.