A Man She Couldn’t Forget (19 page)

It took a minute to gather himself, then Brady crossed to the door. Just before he walked out, he turned around. “Take care of her, Jonathan.”

E
MOTIONALLY EXHAUSTED FROM
what had been revealed over the past few days, from her therapy session and from the weight of the decisions she’d made today, Clare pulled into her driveway and got out of the car. As she headed up to the porch, she stopped short on the sidewalk. There was a For Sale sign in front of the house. She wondered if Max was moving out.

Or…no, no! She raced up the steps, let herself in and banged on Delia’s door. No answer.

Then she went to Max’s. No answer there, either.

Hurrying upstairs, she opened Brady’s condo with her key to find no one there. She knew the place was empty, could feel the lack of his presence. A very bad feeling assaulted her. She checked his bathroom and saw toiletries were missing; she walked around, her anxiety escalating. Brady was gone. On a pass by the window, she caught sight of Max and Delia outside.

She hurried downstairs and out to the yard.

They were perched on top of the picnic table, feet on the bench, each holding a beer. Each looking forlorn. And when they saw her, both their expressions turned hard.

“What’s going on?” she asked, though by God she knew.

Dee spoke. “Brady’s gone.”

“Where is he?”

“He asked us not to tell you.”

“Are you kidding? I need to stop him from leaving.”

Max stood and straightened to his six-foot-plus height. “I’ve never felt less like kidding in my life. And why are you surprised? You drove him away. Again. But this time, he left us, too. We were fools to believe you’d changed, Clare, or would change. Brady’s wised up, and so have we. We’re done with you. Leave us all alone. It’s the only decent thing to do.”

She shot a panicky glance to Delia. “You, too, Dee?”

Delia’s eyes were dry, but Clare could tell she’d been crying. “Yes, Clarissa, me, too.”

T
HE WEEK AFTER
B
RADY LEFT
was a nightmare. Clare had been unable to sleep Monday and Tuesday nights, wondering where Brady was, worrying about him, and feeling devastated by Max’s and Delia’s rejection. Every time she saw the For Sale sign on the lawn, she was heartbroken all over again. But when prospective buyers came to look at the apartment, reality sank in. Brady was gone.

Anna had a lot to say about that when Clare saw her on Wednesday. “Clare, let’s suppose you don’t ever discover all that happened that night, if indeed there is more. What do you—the woman you are right now, with the memories you have—want to happen?”

She told Anna what she’d decided on her afternoon alone after the last session. That she cared about both Brady and Jonathan, and that she needed time to make a decision. But even that was changing in the wake of Brady leaving. She knew deep down that she couldn’t live her life without him. She simply couldn’t.

“Hmm. I believe it’s possible to love two men at once. But you obviously can’t have them both. If you had to pick right now, today, who would you want to be with?”

“It doesn’t matter. Brady’s gone.”

“You could get him to come back.”

“Max and Delia, and Brady himself, said the only decent thing to do was leave him alone.”

“What does Clare think?”

“Clare’s a wreck and doesn’t know what to do.”

Anna chuckled at their lapse into third person, though at times over the past few months, she had felt as if she was talking about someone else. “Then I’ll reiterate what I said last time. Clare should just lie low for a while.”

Still, when Clare left the office, she was bereft.

Unexpected solace came on Thursday, when Lillian Langston called and asked her to come over to visit. Clare was so glad to see Brady’s mother that she burst into tears when they met on her porch.

Generous like her son, Lillian hugged her. “Oh, honey, don’t cry.”

Clare drew back and swiped at her face. “Has he called? Do you know where he is?”

“He’s called, but he doesn’t want me to tell anyone where he is.”

Biting her lip, Clare was ashamed to face Brady’s mother. “Not anyone. Just me. He doesn’t want to see me.”

“That would be my guess.”

Lillian linked their arms and they went around back and sat at an umbrella table Brady had bought for his mother. July had turned hot, especially in the afternoons. Clare tried to take pleasure in the profusion of colorful flowers surrounding the cement patio, but she couldn’t. The sight of the hammock, of the yard, reminded her of good times she’d spent here with Brady. “Are you angry at me, Lillian?”

“No, not now. But I was when you got involved with Jonathan Harris.”

“Join the club.”

“
That
Clare hurt a lot of people.”

“I hate that Clare.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I’m not her anymore. I have some of her good traits, but I’m more like who I was before I got so…famous.”

“She was the woman Brady loved.”

Hearing that hurt. “What I’ve done is irreparable.” Then she colored. His mother didn’t know what had transpired between her and Brady.

“I know the gist of what happened, dear. Brady came here when he couldn’t handle the events alone. But I’m not sure what you’ve done is beyond repair.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve always thought that very little between men and women is irreparable. Brady’s father and I went through some things the kids don’t know about. And we survived. I think your problem is you haven’t really made a choice.”

“Why did you ask me here, Lillian?”

“Brady called and wanted me to check on you.”

Clare buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God.”

“And I’m alone tonight, Clare.”

For Lillian’s sake, she pulled herself together. “Really? Have you stayed alone yet, since you got home?”

“Yes, I have. But I’d like you to stay with me tonight.”

“Why?”

“For company. And so I can keep an eye on you. I think it would be good for us both.”

“All right. I’ll run home and get a few things.”

“No need. There’s stuff here.”

After a nice dinner that Clare prepared, and some idle chitchat, Lillian showed her into Brady’s room. That
stuff
she’d alluded to earlier turned out to be one of Brady’s T-shirts, a toothbrush and toiletries in his bathroom upstairs, and his bed for the night.

When she saw all his things, she whispered, “Lillian, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“You need to rest, dear. You’ll sleep better in here.”

“I—”

“Shh. Just go to sleep now.”

“All right.”

But it wasn’t all right as she put on Brady’s T-shirt, crawled into Brady’s old bed, pulled up his quilt and buried her face in his pillow. Quite simply, Clare was miserable.

B
RADY TOOK THE STAIRS DOWN
to the pub he was temporarily living above in the Village. He was meeting his agent; they were celebrating tonight. Charlie was behind the long mahogany bar, washing glasses. Though his sons ran the place now, the old man still helped out.

“Hey there, Brady.” Charlie angled his chin. “Leo is over by the window.”

“You doing okay?”

“Getting by. Thanks to you.”

Brady found his way to Leo, who hadn’t lost the glow from their meeting with Random House this afternoon.

“Hey, Leo.”

When Brady sat, Leo nodded to Charlie. “The old man looks good.”

“Yeah.”

“He thanked me for the clients I sent his way.”

Years ago, when Charlie had been struggling to keep the pub afloat, he’d had the idea to make the upstairs into two suites to rent out. Brady, Max and Dee had stayed here whenever they could, and Leo had recommended the place to people he knew. Luckily for Brady, one of the spots had been empty this month.

Leo’s shrewd gaze rested on Brady. “Though I’m not sure you should be staying here now.”

“I know.” There were a lot of memories in the place.

“You hear from her?”

“Nope. It’s over.
Finis.
She’s probably celebrating the Cooking Channel deal with Harris.”

“Forget about it. We’ve got our own deal to celebrate.”

Brady’s grin was genuine. “I know. I can’t believe they offered me so much money.”

“And I got them to give you more.”

“Yeah. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.” Charlie brought Brady a beer and Leo a Manhattan. They clinked glasses. “To seven figures and five books,” Max said.

“I’m still in shock I agreed to that many.”

“Why did you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, trying to rid himself of the weight he felt due to the choices he’d made. “I told you. I’m done with cookbooks. I’ll have a lot of time on my hands.” And this way, he wouldn’t be tempted to let Clare give up her dream. In any case, he was excited about this new series of books. It was geared to older kids and had some magic in it. Brady needed a clean slate everywhere.

“Cheer up, boy. When you’re the next J. K. Rowling, you’ll be a bigger star than she ever thought of being with the cooking thing.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, slugging back his beer. “That’d make me feel great.”

A
T THE END OF THE WEEK
, Jonathan awoke from a fitful sleep, depressed and guilty. This wasn’t working. He climbed out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. In the mirror over the sink, he could barely look himself in the eye. It had been four days since Langston had come to the office, four days since the man had confronted Jonathan, wanting the truth.

And Jonathan had lied. He’d tried to confess, but he couldn’t, and the demons he’d kept at bay for weeks refused to be quelled any longer. Because of that, in the cold light of day, he could no longer hold his head up.

Trying to push away the thoughts, he finished in the bathroom and found his way to the kitchen. Coffee helped wake him up, but it also made him jittery. He kept seeing Clarissa, sick in the Marriott bathroom, shaking in the hotel room, fearful and anxious on the flight back. And he had the power, the knowledge, to make it all better. He turned and stared out at the backyard of his house. As he watched the birds at the birdfeeder, he admitted some things to himself: the most important was the fact that he could no longer keep the last piece of the puzzle from her. He did love Clarissa as much as Langston did, and it was time to start acting that way.

C
LARE WAS LYING ON THE COUCH
in her living room watching no-mind TV when the doorbell rang. She’d gotten home early this morning, after a surprisingly restful night.

She and Lillian had had breakfast outside under the umbrella table. The chirping of the birds and the warmth of the morning had soothed Clare’s frayed nerves. They’d talked a lot about Brady’s dad, and Brady himself, but it hadn’t upset Clare.

The bell rang again just as she reached the door. The peephole revealed it was Jonathan. A bolt of fear went though Clare, confusing her. The calm she’d experienced with Lillian this morning evaporated, and she was reluctant to let him in. But she owed Jonathan that much. Besides, she needed to tell him the decision she’d finally been able to make.

He looked terrible. She’d never seen him with a growth of beard, other than when she’d woken up in the morning with him. And his shirt and pants were wrinkled. “Jonathan, hi. Are you all right?”

“No. Can I come in?”

She held open the door. “Of course.”

In the foyer, he paced and ran an agitated hand over his face.

“Come in and sit down.”

“I want to stand.”

“Okay. Let’s go into the living room.” He followed her inside, and she leaned against the back of the chair. “What has you so upset?”

“I’m not the man Brady Langston is, Clarissa.”

“Jonathan, if this is about—”

“Let me finish! This is hard enough as it is.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist, remembering the alligator, sensing danger.

“Langston came to see me before he left,” Jonathan told her abruptly.

“Why?”

“For information. About what happened right before the accident.”

Clare thought of the theory Anna, Cathy and Brady had, that Jonathan had insisted on sex, and Clare’s conscious mind couldn’t deal with the aftermath. Could he possibly be here to confirm that? She pressed her hand over her mouth.

“I didn’t exactly lie to you that night in New York. I simply left some things out. It was all true, but something else happened before you left.”

“Wh-what?”

“You told me you were sorry for what you did. And I…” He drew in a heavy breath.

No, please, this couldn’t be what the others thought. “You what?”

“I did tell you I could forgive you. I did ask you to marry me, but you insisted things weren’t all right. You said you’d done something unconscionable, but…”

“But?”

His throat convulsed as if he couldn’t get the words out. “But that you’d driven around a while after you left Langston and realized something. That you didn’t regret what you’d done with him because it made you realize how you really felt.”

“That I loved you, right?”

His eyes closed briefly. “No, damn it, that you loved
him.
You told me you wanted to be with him, and if he’d have you, you were going back to him.” The words were wrenched from Jonathan, his tone a combination of real sorrow tinged with an underlying bitterness.

It was like getting hit by a lightning bolt. The scene came to her in living color…

S
HE WAS STANDING
in the living room of his big colonial across the city. “I’m sorry that I cheated on you, Jonathan. But I love Brady.”

Jonathan looked shocked. “No, I won’t accept this. How can you even think about leaving me?”

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to accept it.”

“What kind of person are you, that you would do this?

He’d hit her Achilles’ heel. She started to cry.

“Don’t you
dare
cry over another man in front of me.”

“Please, I—”

“Get out of here. I can’t stand to watch you suffer over him.”

She was crying so hard she could barely see straight. “I need to call Brady. I’m too upset to drive.”

“You have to call
him?
You’d tell me this now?” Enraged, he flung the liquor glass he’d been sipping from across the room, smashing it against the fireplace. “For God’s sake, Clarissa, just get out of here.”

C
LARE STARED AT HIM
. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and he didn’t deserve the awful suspicions everybody had had about him. But he should have told her all of it. What he’d done when she’d gotten amnesia was inexcusable. He knew she’d chosen Brady and he’d tried to win her back. And under the circumstances, pushing her to make love with him was totally wrong.

“I caused your accident, Clarissa.”

With startling clarity, Clare realized that in some ways he had. “You should have told me this before.” Her voice was heated.

“You’re right to be angry. You chose him, and I sent you out into the night upset. I’m a horrible person.”

For the first time, she could see his crippling guilt. Though it would take her a long time to forgive him, she wouldn’t add to it. And she bore some guilt for what she’d done. What good would all these recriminations do, anyway?

“I know you were upset by what I’d done, Jonathan. Rightfully so. And you didn’t know I’d left my cell phone at home. That I’d drive, after all.”

“Until right now, I didn’t know that’s
why
you drove.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. There’s blame on both sides. I acted badly, too, when I made love with Brady.”

He shook his head, his eyes bleak, his whole posture sagging. “I guess it doesn’t.” He stared at her a long time. “This is the end of us, then.”

“It is.”

After a long hesitation, he said simply, “Goodbye, Clarissa.”