A Man She Couldn’t Forget (15 page)

Damn it. If only she hadn’t felt so good under his hands. Hadn’t clung to him as if she’d never let go.

But she had let go. Twice.

Situating himself in a position where he had room to draw, he studied the recipes that Clare and his mother had chosen, which he’d stuck in a pocket of the pad. He’d decided to put a member of his family in each sketch. He started with the pudding paint. That had been a hoot. He could still see himself slathering the pudding in the girls’ hair. Their readers would appreciate that story. He began to sketch Sam’s and Jules’s curls with gobs of pudding dripping from them—along with just his hands. The preliminary drawing made him laugh out loud.

“That’s good to hear.” Brady looked up to see Cathy standing by him. Engrossed in his work, he had no idea how much time had passed. “I know I’m interrupting, and I won’t stay long, but I wanted a minute alone with you.”

“It’s so good to see you, Cath. Of course, sit.”

She dropped down into one of the big wooden Adirondack chairs they’d painted forest-green.

“How was France?”

“Don’t ask. Chaperoning fifteen teenagers in the most romantic city in the world was not pretty.”

Again he laughed.

“How are you doing?”

He made a show of closing the pad and setting it and his pencil on his lap. “Great.”

Her smile gentle, she shook her head. “You’re not. You’re as upset as she is.”

“What do you mean?”

“She told me about last night.”

He didn’t expect this. “She did?”

“Brady, what’s going on with you two?”

“How much did she tell you?”

Cathy related what Clare had said.

“You know as much as I do. She feels like she betrayed Harris. For the second time. But she cares about me. And she’s bound and determined not to revert to her old ways of just abandoning people. That includes Harris, now.”

Her sister frowned. “Something doesn’t add up.”

“What do you mean?”

“For one thing, where was she for two hours that night after she left you?”

His stomach cramped as the nightmare of where she might have gone formed in his brain. He’d kept it at bay since Clare’s coma, but after last night, and here in her sister’s presence, it forced its way out of his unconscious mind. He just stared at Cathy.

“Do you think she went over to Jonathan’s house?”

“Uh-huh. And I’m afraid of what she did there.”

For a minute, Cathy looked puzzled. Then her eyes widened. “No, Brady, Clare wouldn’t make love with two men in one night.”

“He might have insisted.” Brady swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat at the thought. “If she told him what happened between us, and that she regretted it, he could have…asked her to prove her remorse was true.” Brady could barely utter the words, barely let in the ugly possibility. “I’ve seen my share of Lifetime television where something similar happens, Cath.”

“But Clare’s psyche—how could she handle that?”

He scowled. “Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe that’s what she doesn’t remember, because it was too much for her to take in.”

“Oh, God, poor Clare, if that’s true.”

“It’s my fault.” He rolled his eyes. “And then I did it again.”

“Brady, this is supposition, and I’m not sure I buy it all.” Cathy ignored his guilt comment. “Why wouldn’t Jonathan come forward with what he knows, then? Say she was there before the accident?”

“If that’s the kind of thing you were keeping secret,” Brady said hoarsely, “would you confess to it?”

“I don’t know. I’d at least say she was there.”

“He probably doesn’t want her to remember.”

Sighing heavily, Cathy rubbed the arm of the chair.

Brady asked, “Do you think she’ll talk to him about that night, now that she remembers what happened between us?”

“She doesn’t know what she’s going to do.”

Clare appeared on the back patio with her phone at her ear. Brady watched her as she frowned, listened, talked. When she clicked off, she glanced over at him and Cathy, then walked toward them. Her shoulders sagged, and the expression in her eyes was bleak.

“What now?” Brady asked when Clare reached him.

“That was Jonathan. He’s rescheduled with the Cooking Channel. He wants to go to New York on Friday, have the meeting late in the afternoon and stay for the weekend. I said I couldn’t because Cathy’s only here until Monday, but I have to go down for an overnight.”

“An overnight?” Brady said. The thought unpalatable.

Cathy stood. “I’m going to go keep Lillian company. You two should talk.” She headed to the house.

Clare dropped down into the chair. Brady watched her.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” she asked.

“Not much. You?”

“Mostly, I prowled around the house. I think I caught a couple of hours.”

“You didn’t go see him after you left me?”

“No! Of course not.”

He cocked his head. “Why is that thought so repugnant to you?”

“It just is, after what we did together.”

“Cathy and I were talking. She agrees that maybe you went to Jonathan’s house in the missing two hours that night.”

“I told you before, he’d have said something if I had.”

“You were feeling pretty guilty about what we did.”

“I do today, too.”

He looked away. “I see.”

“No, don’t be upset. I’m feeling guilty because I can’t stop thinking about last night. I can’t stop remembering what it was like with you the last time, too. Those details are all there. In living color.”

“Then, damn it, leave Harris for me.”

She shook her head. “I told you last night why I can’t do that right now. I’m done abandoning people. I just can’t walk away from him until I remember everything.”

His fists curled. “What you can’t do is tell me what you just did—that you’re thinking about me, us together—then say you’re going away with another guy.”

“I’m going to New York, Brady. You know how much I want that show on the Cooking Channel. I want to pursue it, and if I cancel again, like I did with your mom’s situation, I won’t get another shot at it.”

Because he wanted what was best for her, he didn’t try to refute her words. “You’re right. I know that. But I hate you being there with him overnight.”

Sliding to the edge of the chair, she took his hand. Hers was trembling a bit, making him feel like scum. He grasped it tightly. “I
do
know one thing, Brade. I won’t be staying in the same room with him.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Yes.”

“How’d he take it?”

“Badly. But I won’t stay in the same room with him, and I won’t sleep with him. I don’t want to. Not after us.” She ran her free hand through her hair. “Just the thought of making love with two men within a few days is untenable. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

She meant the statement to be comforting, but it wasn’t. Because Brady remembered Cathy’s words, which exacerbated his deeply buried fears.

Clare wouldn’t make love with two men in one night…her psyche…how could she live with that?

T
HE REST OF THE WEEK PASSED
in a blur. Clare finished choosing the recipes with Lillian and determining the family stories to go with them. Brady stayed over at his mom’s to work on the drawings. Clare knew he was being considerate of her feelings, and with him not around, she
could
think more clearly.

She and Cathy had had a wonderful few days, playing tennis, making fancy meals, looking through photo albums. Early memories flooded back as if a dam had been broken when she slept with Brady; now she recalled almost everything. She remembered most of her childhood, and when they came across pictures of their parents, and her mom and dad formed fully in her mind, once again Clare cried as if she’d just lost them. Friends, cousins, school—everything was just there!

She’d told Jonathan she was busy with Cathy, but she’d had to see him yesterday to prepare a strategy for the upcoming interview. The meeting hadn’t gone well.

“I
DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY
you can’t stay in New York for the weekend. The Cooking Channel people offered us tickets to any play we want to see.”

“Jonathan, Cathy’s going back Monday. I can’t leave her alone for the whole weekend. Look, get tickets for Friday night. I agreed to stay until Saturday.”

He became angry, which precipitated the next statement. “I’m reserving one room for us.”

It was then that her temper spiked. “We already discussed this! I said I’m not ready for that, and I resent you pressuring me about it.”

“You need to help your memory along, Clarissa. Remember the pictures I brought. It can be like that again.”

“No. I won’t stay in the same room with you. And don’t keep bringing it up. I mean it.”

He was upset by that, but this time, instead of feeling guilty, Clare got even angrier. “Don’t push me, Jonathan…”

T
HE DOORBELL RANG
. Cathy was having lunch with some of her old high-school friends, so Clare left her office to answer the door. She hoped it wasn’t Jonathan.

It wasn’t. It was the best thing in the world. “Donny!”

“Aunt Clare!” The little boy jumped into her arms. “I knew you’d remember me.”

“I do.” She hugged him close. She knew everything about him—his little-boy scent, the feel of his skinny body, even the texture of his red hair. And events: being his godmother, standing for the bus with Delia when he went to kindergarten, Christmases and Halloweens and overnights with just him and her.

“You can come out, Mom.”

Delia appeared in the doorway. There were tears in her eyes.

But mischief danced in the boy’s. “I wanted to see if you’d know who I was without her.”

She dragged Donny inside, and Delia followed. Clare’s heart, which had been heavy for weeks, and the past few days especially, lightened so much, she felt like a different person.

“Can we make cookies?” Donny asked.

“Of course. I got this great recipe for elephant ears.”

“Cool.”

“Donny, let Aunt Clare catch her breath.”

“I don’t want to.” Clare laughed as she took his hand and led him to the kitchen. “I want to spend time with my favorite man.”

“Uncle Brady’s your favorite man,” he said innocently.

Clare winced. “He’s one of them.”

“He’s my favorite. Since I don’t have a dad.” He looked to Delia. “Sorry. I had a dad, but he died.”

Clare ruffled his hair. “I know what you meant, honey.”

“Uncle Brady says he can be my…What, Mom?”

“Your surrogate father.”

“It means to act like my dad. He takes me to lots of things.”

Vividly, Clare could recall Brady picking up Donny for father-son scout banquets, taking the boy trick-or-treating, and going to open house at school with Delia. As in the past, when he did these things, she felt so much pride and admiration for him and the kind of person he was.

“I know he does. And he loves you as much as your father would have.”

In the kitchen, Donny dragged a stool to the other side of the counter, just as he had countless times, while Clare got out Lillian’s recipe and the ingredients. Automatically, she handed him the measuring cups.

“Why are the cookies called elephant ears?” Donny asked as he carefully scooped out flour.

“Wait till you see them. Their shape and the cinnamon lines swirling through them make them look like the ears of elephants.”

As always, he went right on to the next topic. “Mom says you don’t remember anything, but you do.”

“It’s all coming back,” Clare told him.

From across the counter, Delia smiled. “Really, all of it?”

“Well, the night of the accident is still fuzzy.” Except for making love with Brady. “But I’m remembering mostly everything else.”

As she looked at her friend, she had a flash of Delia crying over an argument they’d had.
How can you be so callous?

A flash of Delia yelling.
You’ve obviously made your choices, Clare. I might put up with this, but I won’t let Donny suffer. You’re to stay out of his life when he gets back from his grandparents.

That had happened when Clare had told everybody she was considering moving out. Max had been furious, but Brady’s reaction had been the worst. Brady had been crushed.

“Aunt Clare, you okay?”

“Dee, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You remember?”

“Yes, how could I…”

There was a loud knock on the door. Another interruption. “Hello. Anybody home?”

“In here, Uncle Brady.” Donny scampered off the stool and when Brady came to the doorway, the boy flung himself at the man. “I missed you.”

Brady hiked him up and held him close. He savored Donny’s hug. “Oh, man, I missed you, too.” Clare melted at the sight of their reunion.

Donny got down and pulled Brady to the stool next to his mother. “Sit with Mom while me and Aunt Clare bake. Like you used to.”

Brady sat and looked over at Clare. “Yeah,” he said, “Like old times.”

“Aunt Clare remembers me. She remembers everything.”

His face clouded. “Everything?”

Delia nodded. “About us.”

Clare was struggling to keep it together. The emotion of seeing Donny, what she had just remembered about Delia, especially, and the memory of how badly she’d behaved were all battering at her.

As if he sensed it, Brady got up and poured himself some coffee. Then he crossed to the side of the counter where Clare was, slid his arm around her, and pulled her close. He didn’t say anything for a second, then looked down. “Oh, man, you’re gonna love elephant ears, kid.”

Grateful for his silent support, Clare just leaned into him.

C
LARE RECOGNIZED
New York City as soon as she stepped out of the cab in front of the Marriott Marquis Hotel. The blinking lights of Times Square, the cacophony—horns blowing, the chatter of throngs of people on the street—were familiar to her. Not on a visceral level. But on an “I’ve been here” level. She’d stood in this exact spot before, marveling at the multistory hotel with its skyscraper-height, high-speed glassed-in elevators and the red sign. Clare knew she’d had lunch at the pizza place across the way. Oh, God, with Grandma Boneli, who’d always wanted to visit the Big Apple. Clare and Cathy had brought her here. Clare had gone to Broadway shows with Jonathan like revivals of
A Chorus Line
and
Spring Awakening.
Brady had favored
Seussical, The Lion King
and
Avenue Q,
of course. It was so good to remember details.

“Clarissa, are you all right?” Next to her, Jonathan grasped her arm, his voice solicitous. His pique at her had not diminished, but he’d been civil since picking her up today. She’d been equally polite.

“Yes, of course.”

“Too much?” There was tenderness in his tone. She’d always loved it when he talked to her that way, but today it made her seriously uncomfortable, and she had to force herself not to inch away.

“No, it’s helpful that I’m remembering.”

Guilt coiled in her stomach. Clare hadn’t revealed to Jonathan how much of her memory had returned this week because she might just have to tell him why—making love with Brady—and she wasn’t ready to do that.

“We should check in. Here, let me get your bag.”

“No, I’m fine. It rolls.”

With her memory’s return came a good deal of self-confidence and her characteristic independence. In some ways, she’d forgotten her real personality. And definitely, she’d been vulnerable and fragile for too long.
That
person simply wasn’t her.

She also remembered her personal preferences. She liked the clothes she was wearing today—the expensive silk, nice jewelry and designer shoes. Yet she felt comfortable in jeans and casual outfits, too. Not for the first time, she wondered if it was possible to meld the old and new Clare. Who would that person be? If she hadn’t had to take this trip, she would have gotten in to see Anna Summers to talk again, now that she pretty much remembered everything.

“Our appointment is at four. We’ve got plenty of time to check in and have a light lunch, since we’re doing dinner early, before the theater.”

“Fine.”

As they walked into the hotel, tension sizzled between them at what wasn’t being voiced—that she wouldn’t stay in the same room with him. And she was angry right back that he expected her to sleep with him, if he thought she remembered nothing! As a matter of fact, she did remember their sex life, but she had only vague images of it compared to the Technicolor memory of her and Brady. Once again, Clare realized that she’d thought for a long time she and Jonathan were perfectly suited, with the same tastes, the same goals, the same outlook on life. But she didn’t
feel
the same about all these things now that her closeness with Brady had come front and center.

The bellman on the ground level relieved them of their baggage, and she and Jonathan took the elevator to the eighth floor. He approached the registration desk and, after a speedy check-in, came back to her.

“We’re all set. Adjoining rooms, if that’s all right,” he said tightly.

“Yes, of course.”

“I didn’t know if it would be.”

“Please, don’t be surly about this.”

His eyes were grim, and Clare saw his insecurity and his worry. He was afraid of losing her. It made her feel bad, because basically Jonathan was a good man. He’d showed it to her many times. The conflicting emotions she was experiencing were overwhelming.

As if to confirm her thoughts, he said, “I won’t be difficult. I want this television show for you, Clarissa. I want you to be happy.”

They took an hour to settle into their rooms and dress. She put away what few clothes she’d brought, donned a professional two-piece mauve suit and freshened her makeup.

Odd, how the sophisticated woman staring back at her was familiar now. She
did
know she’d had longer hair. She
did
know she usually wore a considerable amount of makeup, but she’d been eschewing it since the accident for some simple blush and lipstick.

Because the woman peering back at her also remembered the Clare of ponytails and beer, of racing with Brady on one of their runs, of caring about him, Delia, Donny and Max as if they were her family.

And more, of course. With Brady. As she sat before the mirror she imagined him, standing behind her, leaning over, kissing her neck, sliding his hand inside her jacket, touching her intimately.

The knock on the adjoining door brought her out of not a real memory, but a fantasy. That intimacy had never happened, but since she’d slept with him, she found herself thinking about him like this all the time. “Damn,” she murmured. Then, aloud, “Coming.”

Jonathan was more amiable as they took the glass elevator down, giving them a spectacular view of the hotel in all its splendid glory. She’d always appreciated the open seating area, the huge potted plants, gilt trim everywhere.

“I made reservations at La Grande for lunch.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’s your favorite restaurant here.”

“Hmm.”

He watched her. “I hate this strain between us.”

She hated the sadness in his voice. Clare wanted to reach over and take his hand. That would be the natural thing to do. But she found herself unable to make the gesture. “Me, too.”

“Can we table it, for now? We always had so much fun in the city.”

“I’d like that.”

At his mention of fun in the city, another memory came full blown. She’d had fun here before she met Jonathan with Dee, Max and Brady, all of them exploring the Village with relish. She and Brady had once taken the literary tour there, to all the famous places well-known authors had lived and frequented.

Still, she’d made a conscious decision to come to New York with Jonathan, and to wait for her full memory to come back before she made further choices about her life, so she tried to show him she was enjoying herself.

And in truth, she was excited about the Cooking Channel possibility. As she’d told Brady, for as long as she could remember, even before she’d met Jonathan, she’d dreamed of a cooking show on national TV. And now, he’d made it a possibility. She was grateful, so she chatted through lunch with him like nothing else was between them.

“I’m anxious to see
Wicked
tonight.”

He smiled and this time it reached his eyes. “I am, too. It’s hard to believe it’s been out so long and we haven’t seen it.”

His intimate tone, his linking of their lives like this, made her uneasy again, so she was glad to see the food arrive.

Her grilled asparagus salad was wonderful and when she complimented it, Jonathan told the waiter who she was. The chef himself came out and said he was a fan of her cookbooks. It did her ego good, and she remembered how she’d savored her success, her fame, people recognizing her.

Maybe too much.

“I think we’ll forgo dessert, if that’s okay. I don’t want to be late or spoil our dinner.”

“Of course.”

As they waited for the check, Jonathan asked, “Are you nervous?”

“No. But I remember how much I want this. I’m excited about it.”

“Now that makes my day.”

They took a cab through the city and when they reached the Madison Avenue offices of the Cooking Channel, Jonathan helped her out of the car and, still holding her hand, whispered, “Ready to make all your dreams come true?”

She nodded, but her smile was forced. Because Jonathan didn’t know that those dreams had been altered by her amnesia and what she’d learned about herself in the past six weeks. She still had some of them—like the one she was about to pursue—but basically, she was a different person.

B
RADY STARED DOWN AT
M
ILLIE
and Raoul with a half smile. They were having a fight, and it didn’t take Freud to figure out where this bend in the story had come from. Hell, was no aspect of his life safe from Clare?

He sketched Millie, the cuddly little mouse with soulful eyes, a scowl on her snout and her paws on her hips. “Don’t badger me.”

“I’m a rat, not a badger,” Raoul responded sourly.

“Clacker is
my
friend, even if you don’t like him.”

“We don’t need friends. We have each other.”

Arrgh…Brady should just rip up this storyboard. It was going nowhere, and he’d let his personal life distract him from his work.

He was just about to tear the page out of his sketch pad when the doorbell rang. Hmm, who’d visit in the afternoon and not let himself in? Delia or Max would just come inside. Maybe Donny, Brady thought hopefully. He was always open to spending time with the kid, and sometimes Dee let him come up alone. They often talked about Millie and Raoul, so maybe Donny could help him think of another tack to take besides one that mirrored Brady’s personal life.

He pulled open the door and was shocked to see Lucinda on the other side. Her pretty reddish-brown hair was a mass of waves down her back, and she was dressed in white pants and a black-and-white shirt that showed off her body. “Hi, handsome.”

“Lucy, this is a surprise.”

She arched an auburn brow. “Didn’t you get my messages? I said I might stop by today.”

Shifting from one foot to the other, he felt like a kid in front of the principal. “Um, yeah. Things have been hectic. Come on in.”

She stepped into his condo. “I went with Sam last night to visit your mom. She’s doing well.”

“Well enough to kick me out.”

Go home, honey. Work things out there.

I don’t know if there’s anything to work out there, Mom.

Well, you can’t hide here forever.

Who says?

Your mother, who loves you.

“Brady?”

“Come into the living room.”

Taking a seat on his couch, which faced the back of the apartment, Lucinda patted the cushion next to her. “I thought we might spend some time together. I have the afternoon off.”

Lucinda ran a successful boutique in the city specializing in yoga wear. He’d met her there when he was buying a birthday present for his sister Juliana.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked after he joined her. He didn’t feel like going out with her, but he was also bummed about Clare being in New York with Harris.

“Now, there’s a question.”

Uh-oh. He hadn’t said that to be flirty. God, the last thing he felt like doing was…

“Don’t look so grim. I’m not going to seduce you…yet.”

“Lucy, things just aren’t the same for me now.”

“I know.” Her expression was sympathetic. She was a nice woman. “You’ve been involved in helping Clare, which I think is admirable since she did such a number on you.”

Thank you, Sam, for talking out of turn.

“And I know you’re exhausted from helping your mom. I thought an afternoon at the Little Theater for a Fellini film, then dinner at Síbon, might be fun.”

When he still hesitated, she gave him a sultry look. “All right, I’ll be honest. I know you’re backing away from this relationship. I can sense it. But I don’t want that. So, for now, I’ll settle for being together, no demands, no worries.”

He was about to decline when he caught sight of a picture of him and Clare on the table. He didn’t want to sit here, wondering about how the Cooking Channel interview was going, or whether she was seeing a Broadway show with Harris, or worse, where she was staying tonight. Even though she’d told him she wouldn’t sleep with Jonathan, he was agonizing over the fact that she could change her mind.

“You know what? I think going to the movies is a great idea.” He stood. “Give me time to change.”

She indicated his jeans and casual shirt. “You look fine.” She smiled. “I like you as you are.”

Nice to hear. “I want to dress up a bit. Make yourself at home.”

He left her alone in the living room and headed for the shower. He’d always liked Lucy’s forthrightness and her sense of fun. But he’d forgotten that she made him feel good about who he was. Today, he needed that.

T
HEY SAT ON LEATHER COUCHES
in the huge office of the CEO of the Cooking Channel, one befitting Abe Lewis’s stature. Up twenty flights, the space overlooked Madison Avenue through a huge set of windows, was beautifully appointed with teak accents and, if Jonathan guessed correctly, featured a real Monet landscape on the wall.

Lewis was a tall, imposing man with a corporate smile. “It’s good to finally have the chance to meet you, Ms. Boneli.” There was an undercurrent in his tone and Clarissa seemed to catch it, as did Jonathan.

“You, too, Mr. Lewis. I’m sorry about having to cancel our previous meeting. I’m afraid it was a family emergency and I simply couldn’t leave town.”

Family, my ass,
Jonathan thought, feeling the familiar anger rise in him. The Langstons were
not
her family and never would be, if he had his way. Brady Langston was
not
going to win her back. Jonathan had had a lot of time to think over the past week, and he realized Clarissa was trying to put distance between them. He’d resolved to do whatever he had to in order to keep her. Because of the accident, he had a second chance, and he intended to make the most of it. This appointment was a start.

“In any case,” Lewis said flatly, “let’s get right to the meat of the matter. I’ve viewed the tapes Jonathan sent me and can see, with a few changes, how your show might very well fit into our lineup.”