67 - Day of Reckoning

“Why the hell didn’t you do that in the first place?” David demanded when Cassidy had finished piping ribbons and balloons around the base of the two-layer cake they’d baked and decorated the evening before.  She specifically offered to make frosting for it, but he had plopped down a little plastic tub that had a packet of Funfetti sprinkles tucked under the lid.

Cassidy cheekily replied with a grin, “As I recall, you said the ‘canned shit is fine’.”

After talking to Libby, it was about noon when she came downstairs wearing her ruby heels and offering to do whatever she could to help for the party.  David, however, had waved her away saying that it was a low-key family affair with only his wife and kids, and the kids were bringing pizza with them so there was nothing to do.

Left with idle time on her hands, Cassidy had foraged around in the cabinets and found the ingredients for a simple frosting, plus food coloring and a box of Ziploc bags.  It inspired her to pretty-up the simple Pillsbury confection with a little personality.  Hence, the balloon and ribbon border – and the inscription wishing Lily a happy birthday. 

It turned out nice, if she did say so herself.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t realize you were the fucking Cake Boss.”   

“You’re welcome,” she laughed, gathering up her decorating materials and depositing them in the sink to be washed.

“Yeah, yeah.  Thanks.”

While she turned on the water and located the soap, David sprawled on one of the stools at the island, one bare foot swinging from a frayed denim pant leg while he cradled a coffee mug that held his third cup that Cassidy had witnessed.  It reassured her that that alcohol wasn’t the only drink he downed nearly as fast as he could pour it.  Whatever the beverage, the man drank – a lot. 

“So what are your music plans, Cass?”

Glancing over her shoulder, the red bandana holding back her hair gave Cassidy a clear view of the man watching her with a question mark in his eyes.

In reality, she hadn’t given it much thought since the last time they were in the studio.  Jon wasn’t soliciting new band members, Obie had said he would be in touch and that was that.  She’d pretty much given it up for a lost cause, particularly considering the path life had taken these last few days. 

“I don’t know as I have any,” was her answer, turning her attention back to the utensils smeared with brightly hued frosting.  It would be just her luck to splash food-coloring stained water all over her white t-shirt.  “I figure I’ll go back to nursing once my family dispute is cleared up and then carry on with my regularly scheduled life.”

“I thought you were a bartender?”

She smiled down at the sink, having momentarily forgotten he wasn’t in that loop yet.  “That was just a little diversion for a while.  I’m actually an RN.”

“Ha.  I knew you weren’t the career bartender type.”

Turning the faucet off, Cassidy snagged the dishtowel sitting on the counter and began to methodically dry the utensils and lay them aside.  “Oh, yeah?  Why’s that?”

“Because.”  The dark sleeves of his skull-adorned t-shirt inched up with his shrug.  “Your face doesn’t look like a roadmap.”

“What in the world does that mean?”

Both bushy eyebrows waggled at her.  “Elementary, my dear Dixie.  Cigarette smoke causes wrinkling.  Bars are full of smoke.  Ergo, someone who has been bartending for ten or fifteen years would be visibly aged past their years – which you are not.”

It was a peculiar thought process, but she couldn’t fault the logic behind it and Cassidy gave him a playful wink before returning the kitchen tools to their rightful spots.  “I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere, so I’ll focus on that instead of your psychological abnormalities.”

“We can talk about either,” he offered generously through his smile.  “But my abnormal train of thought begs the question: how old are you?”

“Forty-one.”

The wheels in his mind started turning as he did the math.

Here we go…

“That means…”

“It means I was sixteen when I got pregnant.  How old are you?” By using a counter-interrogation method, she hoped to discourage any further conversation on the subject.   He hadn’t mentioned her medical school-aged daughter being a surprise last night, but it was clear that he’d now connected the dots on a topic that was very old news for her.

“Uh.”  His gaze found hers and she fixed him with a pointed look, confirming that, yes, he should definitely move on.  “Same age as Jon, but with enough vanity to still color my hair.”

Good boy, David.

“Vanity doesn’t seem to be one of his flaws,” Cassidy agreed, climbing onto the stool beside him and reaching for her cooled coffee. 

“I wouldn’t go that far.  My guess is that he let it go gray because the salon shit was just one more thing that was too much effort in the last couple years.”

“Maybe.”  Depression could do a number on some people, and she didn’t think it hadn’t been particularly kind to Jon, but Cassidy was doubtful that his natural hair color was a result of that.  In her opinion, he was just a man who was comfortable in his own skin and if nobody else liked it…  that was their tough luck.  “I don’t think so, but I guess it’s possible.”

“Mm.”  He toyed with his coffee cup and thoughtfully slid it onto the island’s surface.  “I’d like to consider us friends, you and me.”

“I’d like to do the same,” she concurred, curious as to where he was headed now.

“Good.  Then I’ll be honest.”  Navy eyes came to meet hers, and they were completely devoid of their usual lightheartedness.  “He was in a shitty place when he found you and, while I’m glad he’s returned to semi-normal, it is my concern that you have the power to leave him in worse condition than you found him.  Jon seems to think you won’t do it.  What say you?”

God love his overprotective heart.

“I told you some time ago that any information on mine and Jon’s friendship would have to come from him.”

“I’m not asking about your fucking friendship,” he told her harshly.  “I’m asking if you’re planning to indefinitely hang around playing second fiddle or if you’re gonna tell him to go fuck himself next week.”

There was no faulting David’s ability to ask a clear and concise question – or his bluntness for that matter.  Such directness deserved a reply of equal candor and Cassidy didn’t flinch or hesitate in offering one.

"I’ll tell you what I told him just last night.  After waitin’ forty-one years to give someone my love, I expect that he’ll have it for the rest of my life.  I can’t imagine a scenario in which I’d willin’ly hurt that man but, if one exists, it would have to be somethin’ extreme.  That good enough to suit you?”

His eyes rolled as expressively as the sigh that leaked out when he shook his head.  “I don’t know why in the hell he just doesn’t get a divorce and make everybody’s lives easier.”

“Because he wants a very expensive football team more than he wants his next breath, and a mistress is more cost-effective than a divorce.  So I’m told.” 

She relayed the information as a simple fact, because that’s exactly what it was.  The more he’d talked about it with the delighted eyes of a child, the more Cassidy understood that this would make the next phase of his life as exciting and fulfilling as the music had once been.  

“Wow.  He fucking said that to you?  I knew he was a douchebag, but he usually reserves it for the tour.”

“Oh, honey.”  Cassidy laughed at his indignation.  “What you call a douchebag, I call an honest man.  He and I don’t beat around the bush much and I like it that way, because the alternative has me lyin’ awake at night tryin’ to sort fact from fiction.  The Titans is his dream and I’ll do whatever it takes to help him get it.”

Blonde curls shook from side to side along with his head.  “I have mentioned that you two have a fucked up relationship, right?  Even so, it bears repeating.  You have a fucked up relationship.  But you both seem happy with it for some damn reason.”

Happy isn’t how Cassidy would describe her feelings about their relationship.  Being any man’s dirty little secret wasn’t something to celebrate, but she was slowly finding her peace with it because she liked being with Jon.

“Happy with him,” she clarified as a melodic chime sang from her back pocket.  “Content with the relationship.”

“I don’t have to guess who that is,” David sarcastically intoned and pushed to his feet when she pulled the phone out to see who was calling.  “The look on your face is my cue to leave.  I’m going to find out where my wife and kids are.  Later.”

“Later,” she echoed after him and swiped the phone screen.  “Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself.”

His salutation was nearly lost in the dull roar of background noise.  It sounded as though people surrounded him and Cassidy thought she could make out the sound of a PA system, prompting her to ask, “Where are you?”

“Yankee Stadium, waiting for a soccer match to start.  Since the boys are getting hot dogs and shit, I figured I’d take the opportunity to call and talk to you for a minute.”

The light caught the ruby jewels on her shoes as she contentedly dangled her legs from the kitchen stool.  “There’s nothin’ much goin’ on here to talk about, but I ‘preciate hearin’ from ya.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve wanted to mention something to you for days now and keep getting distracted.  It’s about your… legacy.”

Also known as “the gold” or the “pain in the ass”.  Cassidy wished she had dared to dig up that small box yesterday to see what was in the bottom of it, but with Gerald Ray and, potentially, Uncle Stanley aware of where she was staying, it hadn’t seemed like a good idea to leave a pile of freshly turned dirt to draw attention.  As a result, she still had no idea what MeMaw left behind.

“What about it?”

“Your grandmother said she wanted you to preserve it, right?  Putting it in a Civil War museum is preserving it, Dix.  You’d still be fulfilling her wishes, the… stuff would be safe from your uncle and so would you.”

Technically, he was correct.  Putting it in a museum along with the story of the gold could be considered preserving the legacy, and Cassidy would consider it.  After…

“That’s a really good suggestion,” she approved.  “But I also got a lead from Calliope a couple of days ago that I haven’t had a chance to tell you about.”

“So tell me now.”

“I am if you’ll hush just a second and let me do it,” was her amused response before relaying the information about a mysterious “something” being in the bottom of the smallest box and how it might ease her “burden”.

“Definitely worth following up on,” he agreed.  “Once this lawyer deal is settled, we’ll get you back out there and find out what it is.  I need to go now, though.  Probably talk to you tomorrow.”

That information was just a bit disappointing, because a part of her had hoped he might come over again this evening.  It was an irrational hope and she knew it, but still… 

“Okay.  Enjoy the game and your boys.”

“Yep.”

With nothing more than that, he was gone and Cassidy was left looking around David’s kitchen with little else but time on her hands.  The place was a baker’s dream and, since there was nothing else to be done, she hopped off the stool and hit the button to pre-heat the oven.

An hour later, the last batch of cookies had just been removed from that same oven when David came trouping in, followed by what she presumed was his family.  The small group he held in tow were a stunning blonde about Cassidy’s age, a darker blonde pair of young adults and a fair-haired teen.

“Now what the hell are you doing?” he demanded when catching sight of baked goods consuming his countertops as they cooled. 

“Passin’ the time by bakin’ sugar cookies.”  Seeing that the eldest blonde female appeared a bit put out, Cassidy wiped her hand on the leg of her Levi’s and extended it to her with a smile.  “You must be David’s wife.  I’m Cassidy and I apologize for makin’ myself at home, even though I blame your husband since he told me to do ‘whatever the hell’ I want.”

“That sounds like David,” the beauty laughed as she warmly clasped Cassidy’s hand.  “I’m Lexi.”

“Oh, yeah,” mused the man in question, as though he hadn’t realized they were strangers.  “Lex, Cassidy.  Cassidy, my wife and kids.  Colton, Gaby and Lily.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet y’all.”  She nodded to the trio of Bryan children and noted that the two oldest, whom she recalled had just turned twenty-one, bore a strong resemblance to their father.  His youngest was lovely, but she didn’t favor him quite as sharply. 

Colton put the pizza box he was carrying on the counter and submitted a quiet hello, while the girls offered appropriate greetings in the background. 

“So.”  Bored with cookies and introductions, David waved his hands like a magician over the island where the festive cake held center stage.  “I told you I’d make it and here it is. Feast your eyes on that baby.  Are you impressed, or what?”

“You bought that,” Colton flatly declared. 

“Bullshit!  That cake was baked in this very kitchen, I’ll have you know, and I made it.  Sort of,” David amended with a careless smirk. “I watched it being made, anyway.”

“Da-aad.”  The birthday girl was visibly displeased by his inability to follow instructions.  “The whole point was to make it yourself.  You’ve completely ruined this for me!  No offense, Cassidy.”

He gave her long ponytail a tug.  “You just wanted to make fun of me when I screwed it up.”

“Well, yeah.” 

Cassidy laughed at the typical teenage eye-roll and thought that Lily might not physically resemble her father so much, but she had his personality.  “I think the burnt mess from his first attempt is still in the trash,” she offered helpfully.

“Really?!”

Both girls immediately went for the can under the kitchen sink, not even registering the doorbell in their determination to revel in the disaster. 

“Colt, get the door,” David requested over his shoulder while simultaneously glaring at Cassidy and diving in front of his daughters to slam the cabinet door closed.  “We don’t need to be foraging in the trash like homeless people when there’s a perfectly good cake on the damn counter.  And the pizza is getting cold.”

The man really was amusing beyond words.  Living with him would be a stretch for Cassidy but, on a short term basis, he was excellent entertainment.   

“He always like this?” she inquired of Lexi and leaned against the counter beside her. 

“Twenty-four seven,” his wife confirmed with sparkling eyes.  “Why do you think I’ve been away for a week?”

“I’d say he owes you one week a month.”

“I hear you over there,” the object of their conversation informed them loudly after having relinquished the garbage can to his daughters, who were both laughing and using their phones to take photos.  “Don’t make me separate you two.”

Cassidy had just opened up her mouth to invite him to try when Colton re-entered the kitchen. 

“Uh, Dad.”  The younger man looked uncertainly to his father before shifting his attention to Cassidy.  “There’s somebody here to see Cassidy.”

Intuition knotted her stomach and Cassidy’s eyes drifted beyond Colton to the man behind him who held a Stetson in his hand.  The steely gray eyes and equally steely hair were unmistakable.  Billy Jack had somehow managed to track her to New Jersey.

I see reckoning day has arrived, Lord.  Thank You for postponing it as long as You did.

“Glory.”

She dipped her head.  “Billy Jack.”

“It’s time to go home, girl.”

This is not the worst thing that’s ever happened.  It’s a short-term situation until they find Beauregard tomorrow or the next day.  Hold your chin high and maintain your dignity.

“Pardon me if I’m not exactly thrilled by the proposition,” she said neutrally as he put the hat back on so that he could reach behind his back and produce a pair of handcuffs.  “Put those away, Billy Jack.  There’s no call for ‘em.”

“The hell there’s not,” he scoffed, side-stepping Colton and moving toward her.  “You’ve led me on a merry chase these last couple of months and slappin’ these shiny bracelets around your wrists might make me a little less bitter about it.”

“Hey.”  Finally registering exactly what was taking place before him, David inserted himself between the man who matched him in height and Cassidy.  “Who the hell are you?”

Peering down his nose, Billy Jack piously stated, “Billy Jack Matthews, Sheriff of Coweta County Georgia.  Who are you?”

“I’m the guy whose fucking house you just barged into.”

“Well, I apologize for the intrusion, sir.”  His tone of voice offered no remorse whatsoever, nor did the cold slate eyes that raked apathetically over David.  “The prisoner and I will be on our way momentarily.”

“Prisoner?  Oh, hell no.”

Her host was on the verge of getting wound up, and Cassidy couldn’t bear to watch while knowing she wasn’t worthy of his outrage.

“David.”  She placed a calming hand on his bicep.  “It’s alright.  Call Jon and tell him what’s happenin’.  Ask him if he’ll call my sister, too, and make sure he doesn’t try and go to Georgia.  Can you do that, please?”

“This is bullshit-“ he started, but her silencing grip stopped him.

“There’s no point in fightin’ it.  You’ll help me more by callin’ Jon and findin’ Beauregard.  Okay?”

He didn’t get a chance to respond before Billy Jack pushed forward, leaving all the Bryans to watch on as he locked his meaty paw around Cassidy’s forearm.  The click of the first handcuff locking around her wrist was sickening and her nausea only intensified when he recited, “Glory Star Cassidy, you’re under arrest.  You have the right to remain silent…”

Unable to listen, lest she become convinced this was really happening, she muted the rest of the cliché legal rigmarole routine by praying. Cassidy prayed for Jon, prayed for David, prayed that this would move quickly, and prayed that Billy Jack wasn’t going to be a horse’s hind-end about the whole thing.  Her prayer became more rambling after that and involved love, good people, fate, destiny, good stewardship and anything else she could conjure to tune out the most publicly humiliating episode of her life. 

It was all a blur, only becoming focused again when she was strapped into the passenger’s seat of a nondescript sedan.  Hard metal dug into the wrists that were resting in her lap atop the purse that someone had thought to shove at her as she was going out the door. 

“How’d you find me?” 

Morbid curiosity made her ask the question as her local sheriff turned the vehicle around and started down the length of David’s driveway.  His smug laughter made her regret the impulse.  It also made her want to reach across the seat and pound him in the nuts, but that was an impulse she was able to stifle.  Barely.

“You ought not entice somebody else’s fox into your hen house, girl.  The other hen usually don’t like it much.”

Jon’s wife?  That wasn’t possible.  How in the hell had Dorothea known where to find her?

“It didn’t take her a hot minute to give me this address,” the arrogant lawman carried on, clearly proud of his accomplishment.  “Oh, and she sent a message along for you, too.”

A message for her?  She couldn’t imagine what message Dorothea Bongiovi might want to send along, but she’d bet dollars to donuts it wasn’t well-wishes for a speedy delivery of justice. 

If only she had the wherewithal to suppress the morbid curiosity that was once again rearing its nosy head.  She didn’t want to ask.  She didn’t.

But she was going to. 

“What is it?” Cassidy relented dully.

“Well,” he mused while maneuvering the car through a right turn out of the driveway.  “It don’t make much sense to me but, apparently, some NFL thing her husband has in the works will crumble if he keeps… mentoring you because he can’t have it both ways?   She said it was only fair you understand what’ll happen if you ‘continue to accept his generosity’.  That’s a direct quote.”

Cassidy’s shoulders stayed squared and her spine remained Southern belle rigid against the upholstered seat, but her eyes fell shut in agony.

Sweet baby Jesus.  It’s the Titans or me.

Next post: Friday, August 4