Red Silk Scarf (41 page)

Finally on the road to recovery from the emotional trauma
she’d survived, nothing was going to make her go after Sullivan, hell would
freeze over first.
 
Besides, if he wanted
her, he would have come after her by now.
 
After six months’ of withdrawal, she wasn't about to become addicted to
any man again.
 
Apparently, Sullivan felt
the same.

Besides a Brady and a Sullivan was a lethal combination,
much like TNT.
 
“Sex” was all they
shared.
 
Forget a “relationship.”
 
Come to think of it, they never once engaged
in a rational conversation.
 
Infatuation,
that's all, brief encounters that were over, definitely over.

The couple in the elevator kissed, again.
 
Why didn't “she” take the “other” elevator,
Cassidy moaned.
 
Why didn't “they?”
 
“Excuse me,” sharp words that split the air,
a poor attempt at politeness while shoulder nudging the lovers aside.
 
Fighting lurking hysteria, searching for a
breath of reality, “Excuse me, please,” her voice snapped before finally gaining
access to the open doors.

____________

While taping the last overstuffed box, attempting to
convince himself, Sullivan mumbled for the hundredth time, the transfer would
be a welcomed opportunity for a new beginning.
 
Before accepting a new assignment, he took time off to help his mother
achieve her dream of becoming a restaurant entrepreneur.
 
It was the least he could do to make up for
lost time, for being so pig headed.
 
Though Vera pleaded with him that it wasn’t necessary, planting a kiss
on her hand on bended knee Patrick apologized.

Vera’s forgiving nature became the healing ointment for
life’s imperfections.
 
“At one time or
another everyone makes mistakes, the true teachers of life’s lessons,” she
lectured lovingly.
 
“What doesn’t kill
you makes you stronger, my son,” she continued patting his shoulder.
 
“Life must go on. “

It was amazing the weight a mother’s heart could carry, as
well as their capacity for forgiveness.
 
Working together helped relieve anxiety and built a foundation Sullivan
vowed would never crumble again.

Pamela’s outlook had also altered.
  
She, was dating a professor, loved her new
job, and a month ago moved into her own apartment.
 
A self-esteem boosting decision that made her
outward appearance shine with pride.
 
As
impossible as it once seemed, Pamela was well on her way to becoming a
confident modern woman.

During the past months, the Sullivan family had gotten it
together, everyone except Patrick.
 
During a going away party given in his honor, Vera encouraged, “The
assignment will offer an opportunity for growth and happiness.
 
Go on.
 
I'll be fine.”
 
Mark and Margie
agreed.
 
The hardest part was leaving the
children, the reason Sullivan was still brooding, or was it due to his new
girlfriend Jessie.
  

Having only been in San Francisco a month, Patrick began
dating, thanks to an introduction by a new partner.
 
Jessie was, pretty enough, young, Ms.
Personality plus.
 
The problem was, in
her presence his temperature never rose above normal, and at times even lowered
a degree or two.
 
Considering that he was
once accustomed to a new bed partner every night, Patrick wasn’t
interested.
 
Saying goodnight, while
looking into eyes filled with disappointment was becoming increasingly more
difficult.
 

As usual, Sullivan would be home alone before midnight where
he’d spend the remainder of the evening in darkness wallowing in memories that
would interrupt thought processes barely suppressed during the light of
day.
 
After six months, he was convinced
that Cassidy would wander the avenues of his mind today, tomorrow, and
always.
 

What they shared wouldn't have lasted, he kept telling
himself.
 
When the “sex” wore off, what
would they have, nothing!
 
Still, Patrick
pined pitifully.
 
Plain and simple, though
believing he was trying to get on with his life his attempts were futile.
 
Tomorrow, he reasoned, he'd call and
apologize once again to Jessie, ask for another chance, once he got off the
elevator, once he began to breathe again.

Keys in hand, his eyes focused on the carpet while
sluggishly walking the hall, Patrick suddenly felt as though he penetrated an
oppressive atmosphere.
 
Drawing in a deep
breath didn't detect anything unusual, yet, there was something smothering
him.
   

Turning right at the end of the corridor brought Cassidy to
the door of her new apartment before she remembered the proprietor still had
the key.
 
Again, she'd encounter the
elevators' confines, a dreaded place that increased anxiety with each second of
delay.
 

In a rush, when she rounded the corner, at first Cassidy
didn't recognize the giant approaching.
 
Then, bang, like coming up against a brick wall, she did.
 
There was a gasp, just as quickly suppressed,
the hand threatening to find her mouth to capture it thankfully stalling
instead.
 

Sullivan, Jesus, Sullivan, scrambling thoughts while
silently screaming at feet wanting to bolt in between mentally upbraiding a
somersaulting heart.
 
Her lungs weren't
functioning properly either.
 
There was
no-where to run, no-where to hide, not when bruises remained on her memory, and
tears had left stains on her hands.
 

Jonathan, damn his interference, Ben, Dan, and Michael too,
their endless encouragement to take the new case had been unbearable.
 
Knowing they’d never give up the primary
reason, she relented.
  

A thought abruptly coming to mind made her seethe
inwardly.
 
Holy Shit, Sullivan couldn’t
be her contact, could he, surely, the explanation for, his presence, sharing
the same apartment building, the same State for that matter.
 
Wringing everyone’s neck came to mind, along
with colorful expletives barely choked down with a dry swallow.

 
          
Walking
away, no running clamored to the forefront, reactions that would not only call
attention to her presence, but also make her appear a complete idiot.
 
Unlike the multitude of others, this time
there was no way to ignore the lies she'd been telling her heart.
 
Just like her father had always predicted, God
was presenting a sizable bill for her sins and expected instant payment.
 

Thankfully, her presence went undetected allowing her a few
seconds to gain control, enough time to stuff back into place the fraying
threads of her soul.
 
Leaning against the
doorjamb to an apartment, unaware that it was Sullivan’s, raising a sagging
chin Cassidy forced a smile.
 
Amazingly,
she felt ready.

Sullivan's casual glance finding Cassidy, then his keys,
jerked back to Cassidy.
 
A shocking
presence that reminded him of the last time he felt anything at all.
 
Certainly, he was hallucinating.
 
Following close behind thoughts of Jonathan
Brady‘s encouragement to take his new position, no, doubt the explanation for
Cassidy's presence as well, damn the old coot.

Keys clattering to the floor landed at the toe of Cassidy's
high-heels.
 
With embarrassment flushing
his face, Sullivan made a quick retrieval.
 
In spite of ordering his eyes not to examine the luscious legs filling
his field of vision, they strayed briefly.
 
Losing his wits, becoming mush, wasn't going to happen, no way, never
again.
 
Calm, and in control, that's the
way he’d play it.
 
“Hi, Casey,” a casual
acknowledgment, as if he’d been expecting her all along.
 

Seconds thickened the air while Cassidy scrambled for
something to say.
 
However, brain dead
she believed herself to be, amazingly words rolled off her tongue, “What,
you’re not going to invite me in for a night cap?”
 
A remarkably cool approach, she thought,
under the circumstances.
 
A shoddy
attempt at teasing combined with a crooked smile that jerked Sullivan's heart
from his toes into his throbbing eyeballs.

Cassidy was wearing the “black dress,” the one she wore the
last time he saw her, the one he had built nightly dreams around for six long
months.
 
The problem now she was one
hundred times sexier than he remembered, except for the obvious signs of
exhaustion.
 
Well, she didn’t deserve
sympathy.
 
It was her fault for not
slowing down.
 
If she quit being so damn
brave, quit accepting assignments all over the country, then, maybe he'd stop
worrying.
 
Maybe he'd sleep.

Damn her, why did Cassidy show up now.
 
Of course, you idiot, Patrick all but
shouted.
 
Cassidy was his contact for the
new assignment, after which, she'd walk away again, sure as hell, leaving
behind a pain worse than ever.
 
During
the past months, all she had to do was call; say something, one lousy
word.
 
“Hello,” would have been enough,
his name.
 
Come to think of it, she never
once said his name, she was a Brady, and they were too damn independent, too
proud.

“I don't drink,” a sharp tone accenting quite favorably eyes
flickering with anger that returned their concentration on the lock.
 
Light blue eyes made darker from the rolling
thunder within.
 

Cassidy swallowed hard, “Coffee, tea, perhaps,” she goaded,
satisfied with the punishment she was wielding.
 

Eyebrow arched, Sullivan's eyes targeted hers, and you can
just forget “Me,” he thought, but said nothing.

“Pray tell does the mighty warrior drink orange juice!
 
Can you believe it?
 
Must be the extra “C's” provides the energy
your job requires,” Cassidy, mocked.
 

Why didn't she just stab him with a dull blade?
 
Cassidy's smile had widened, he, just knew
it, he felt the blast of heat.
 
How could
she be so casual about an unexpected meeting that was killing him?
 
Certainly, she didn't know who her contact
would be, or she wouldn't have come.
 
Aggravating him further, the key was shaking worse than the fingers
holding on for dear life.
 
A key that did
not fit a lock that was no longer visible.
  

Moving in behind, Cassidy was crowding him, making
disgusting, unnecessary, exaggerated movements while her hand too easily
claimed the key.
 

After easily unlocking the door, she hesitated a moment,
then taunted in a hair-raising whisper, “Let's dance.
 
All you have to do is turn around.”
 
She was rubbing salt into an old wound,
saying and doing all the things he’d taught, using her deep throaty voice that
made his skin want to crawl away.
 
The
scene, all too familiar, that brought back memories of an incident of long ago.

Well, he decided, there would be no “sex.”
 
Conversation would have to be enough,
beginning with an explanation.
 
A
reasonable demand he believed that was scattered by the breeze Cassidy's body
stirred on her way to the kitchen.
 

Before Sullivan regained mobility, two glasses were on the
shelf, the refrigerator door ajar, and a pitcher of orange juice was in her
hand.
 
Pretending that everything was
perfectly fine the only way Cassidy could survive the uncomfortable
circumstance.
 
Disguising her emotions,
her thoughts, ignoring her heart, reasonable expectations for someone with her
expertise, she believed.
 
A false bravado
considering she was on a sinking ship and had forgotten how to swim.

Idiot that she was now how was she going to escape.
 
How was she going to avoid “Sex?” All she
wanted was an explanation, damn Sullivan's stubborn pride.
 
Apparently, the tides had shifted in his
favor for once again; he was blocking the only exit.
 

“Stop it,” she screamed inwardly at clicking knees.