A Man She Couldn’t Forget (5 page)

First she got out the chicken and browned it. As the smell wafted up to her, she remembered something.

Clare, girl, we just love it when you’re testing new recipes.

Honest, Clare, this one is my fave.

The voices belonged to Max and Delia. She saw vague outlines of them sitting at her kitchen counter as she cooked for them. And she knew it wasn’t the first time they’d been there. Suddenly, she knew she used to try out her recipes on them, and they’d give her honest feedback. The feelings elicited by the memory were all positive—warm, deep friendship. Intellectually, she’d known they used to be really close, but now she actually
recalled
it.

But they weren’t anymore. She shook her head, ludicrously regretting that had happened even though she couldn’t remember why. Maybe she could start to rectify that tonight.

She turned on the radio built into the wall. Fiddling with the tuner, she found a station she liked then returned to cooking. The process was soothing and surprisingly mind-blanking. There was something rhythmic about it, something fluid, and it made her feel “right in her skin,” as Grandma Boneli used to say.

Grandma Boneli—the woman who raised her when her parents died. Again, Clare closed her eyes and tried to focus. Soon the image came to her. It was the one from the dream she’d had: a tall, sturdily built woman in a house-dress, hair completely white and a smile the size of Sicily. Warmth seeped into her. She felt loved and cared for.

She continued to cook, humming along with the radio, remembering the melodies. They were golden oldies, from the sixties and seventies. They made her smile…and sent her reeling into a flashback…

“Come on, girl, join in.” Max was dancing with Delia and cutting a pretty mean rug, though it was on the kitchen tile.
Her
kitchen tile.

“I have to finish dinner.”

Brady, who’d been reading the newspaper at the counter, stood and grabbed her around the waist. “That can wait. Never be too busy to dance.”

She laughed and fell into a jitterbug with him, then they switched partners for the next song and she and Max did the salsa…step, step, quick step, step, step…She was laughing hysterically at the flubs she made and the teasing Max tossed her way.

S
HE WAS DRAWN FROM
the pleasant memory when she heard Brady call out from the front of the house, “We’re here.”

The clock said it was 6:00 p.m.; they were right on time. The three of them entered the kitchen, but instead of the camaraderie from her memories of earlier times, Max, Delia and even Brady all radiated anxiety.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Max spoke. “Been a long time since we did this, Clare.”

Brady said, “Max…”

“No, let him speak.” Clare wiped her hands on her apron and faced the big man squarely. Instead of fear, she felt…sorrow. “Every time you’ve been here—and you, too, Delia, to a degree—it’s been strained between us. The problem for me is that the memories I have of you two are good. As a matter of fact, I just remembered all of us dancing in the kitchen.”

Delia came forward. “I know, Clare. We have those good ones, too.”

“But too many bad ones to compensate?”

Delia shook her head. “Not for me.”

“Jury’s still out for me.” Max walked to her fridge, got out a bottle of wine and was pouring it before he stilled. “I forgot. I used to help myself all the time. Is it okay?”

“Of course it is. I like the familiarity you all have with my home. Helping yourself to things in the kitchen, coming in without knocking.”

“We used to.” Max’s expression was stern.

Crossing to him, she touched his arm and got another flash.
The two of them, out back in the garden, planting. He was talking about Stephanie. Another image, of a beautiful girl with caramel skin and gorgeous hair.
“Who’s Stephanie?”

He cocked his head, surprised. “My daughter.”

“Are you married?”

There was genuine emotion in his eyes, and Clare realized he was a man who felt things deeply but didn’t always show it. “No. I didn’t even know I had a daughter until about seven years ago. She found me on the Internet.”

“She’s a bright, interesting girl,” Clare said.

“How do you know?”

“I just do. I must have seen her, spent some time with her.”

“You did.” Max cleared his throat. “You taught her to cook on her visits here.”

“Isn’t that a pleasant memory, Max?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I guess. She, um, asks about you all the time.”

“We’ll have to catch up the next time she visits.”

“So,” Brady asked, picking up the wine bottle and pouring glasses for him, Delia and Clare. “Shall we toast?”

Clare smiled and lifted her glass. This, too, was familiar. “To new beginnings.”

Max hesitated, but finally clinked glasses with her. When she looked over, she saw that Delia had tears in her eyes. Brady’s stance was stiff, as if he was holding emotion in. Holy hell, how had things gone so wrong with these wonderful people?

Suddenly, Clare wasn’t so anxious to get her memory back.

R
OONEY’S WAS ONE
of the most popular restaurants in Rockford. Its wooden decor was sophisticated, not rustic, and pristine white linen tablecloths along with the low hum of a string quartet in the background created a chic ambience. On Jonathan’s first night back—Friday—he’d picked the spot for dinner with Clarissa.

“This place is lovely, Jonathan. Thanks for bringing me here.” She didn’t sound like she meant it, though. She seemed more distant than she’d been when he left on Monday. Damn it, he wished he hadn’t had to go away and leave her. He needed to keep her connected to him, for his sake and hers.

“Maybe tonight will jog more pleasant memories.”

She sipped the club soda she’d ordered. “Do we come here often?”

“Yes, it’s one of your favorite restaurants.”

She smiled. Her color was good, and the rosy tinges of her cheeks were highlighted by the soft silk of her peach suit. Jonathan loved how she looked and appreciated the fact that he never had to worry that she’d turn up dressed inappropriately for one of their nights out. When he entertained clients and prospective sponsors, she was a gracious hostess.

Reaching across the table, he took her hand. She stiffened a minute, then relaxed and rested her palm in his.

“I’m sorry I had to be gone these four days. I wish I could have taken time off and been with you.”

“You missed work all those days when I was in the hospital. I told you it was all right. Besides,” she said, drawing back her hand, “I had plenty of company.”

Exactly what worried him.

“Is your memory coming back?” They’d discussed this briefly on the phone but not again since he’d returned. He’d gone right over to get her after his plane had landed, and on the short drive to the restaurant, they’d talked about the deal he’d made with the Chef’s Delight people.

“In bursts and flashes. Sometimes I see images, sometimes I feel things. Then there are full-blown flashbacks, where even small details are there.”

“Anything significant?” He smiled at her. “Anything about me?”

“Ah, no. About my friends. Jonathan, I told you on the phone, that’s probably because I’ve been with them and not you.”

She’d been with him daily in the hospital but still didn’t remember him. “Perhaps.”

“I’m sure now that you’re back I’ll remember…us.”

“I hope so, Clarissa.”

Delicate little lines formed on her brow. “Why do you call me that and the others call me Clare?”

“Because when I met you, it was through
Clarissa’s Kitchen.
I never knew you by your nickname.” He cleared his throat, feeling anger sour his stomach. “Your friends think it’s pretentious, my calling you that, but to me you’ve always been Clarissa.”

“I think it’s sweet.” She frowned. “Jonathan, Brady and Max and Delia said I got busy with work. Too busy for them, or anything else.”

“That’s not true. You did a lot of things, good ones, for the community.”

“Like what?”

“We arranged to have the food you cooked at the station brought to the nursing home across the street, and sent more meals over when you were trying out recipes. You also did cooking demonstrations there. The older folks loved it.”

“I did?” Her face glowed. “Because I was close to Grandma Boneli, right?”

“Partly. But you have an affinity for older people. As do I. We have that in common.” He smiled. “One of my most pleasant experiences as a child was staying with my grandparents on summer vacations. I adored them, especially my grandfather.”

“That’s nice.”

“You also gave money to soup kitchens in town.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh. I used to work at one. Downtown. With a lot of hungry people and cooks who fed them.”

Damn, she remembered that and not him! “Yes. But that was one thing you had to stop because of the show and the demand for your cookbooks.”

Again, she frowned. “I wonder if I could go work there now, even if I don’t have my memory back. Surely I can serve food or cook for people again.”

“Let’s wait until we see the doctor.”

“I already did, Jonathan. On Wednesday.”

“I wish you’d changed that appointment so I could have gone with you. Talked to the doctor myself.”

“Brady thought it was a good idea to keep it. He drove me there.”

Of course he did. “I see. What did Dr. Summers say?”

“She told me I could do what I wanted within reason. Not to push too much with things like driving. But I played tennis, and it felt great.”

“Tennis?” Their game. “Let me guess. With Langston.”

“Yes. Jonathan—”

Frowning, he picked up the leather binder. “Want to look at the menu?”

Probably sensing his pique, she gave him a strained smile. She was right, too. While he’d been away, he’d thought long and hard about the situation and promised himself he’d stay cool through all this, not pressure her, and most of all not come down on her about Langston. Then the first mention of what they’d done together while he’d been gone had set Jonathan off.

“Everything’s good here,” he said in a more placating tone.

“Think I’ll know what I like?” she asked.

“Good question. I could tell you.”

“No, let me see.” She opened the red leather booklet and began to read aloud. “Mussels, escargot. Plantain shrimp. Salmon with artichokes and feta cheese over spinach. Hmm. Chocolate bombe.” Carefully, she studied the ingredients of each dish. “I’m surprised they put saffron in the chicken.”

He chuckled.

“What? Oh, I’ve said that before?”

“Yeah, critique the menu, and we’ll see if you’re true to form.”

It was fun, listening to her comments, which were right on target with what she thought before the accident. He settled some. Maybe she would evolve into the old Clarissa, with or without her memory. He wanted the woman back who loved him, valued him in her life.

“Now, the true test. What are you going to order?”

Staring at the menu, she said, “I’ll have the Blue Point oysters, the iceberg lettuce and blue cheese salad, and the mahi-mahi.” She looked up. “How’d I do?”

“Good choice. You’ve ordered exactly that before.”

“When before?”

He picked a pleasant time to recount. “On your last birthday. We went out to dinner here.”

“September 17. Brady told me.”

Her hand went to her neck; Jonathan smiled broadly and nodded at the diamond pendant she’d put on. “That was a present from me last year.”

She clasped the single jewel in her palm. “It’s breathtaking. I must have known it was from you and put it on for our date.”

“That makes my day.”

She frowned.

“What?”

“Brady asked about it when I came out of the bedroom after I dressed.”

“Why would he? Surely he’s seen it. And he knows we’re a couple.” Jonathan hated that Langston had been at her place so much while he was in Chicago, but especially tonight when she was getting dressed to go out with
him.
The guy had purposely waited until Jonathan had gotten there and told him to get her home early.

“You and Brady don’t get along, do you?” Clarissa asked.

“Did he say that?”

“No. But it’s pretty obvious whenever I see you together, and every time you talk about each other.”

“We’re not much alike, Clarissa.”

“I can tell that. But I care about you both. I know I do.”

“Yes, honey, you do. But sometimes it hurts that you remember more about the three of them than about me.”

“I’m sorry. Like I said, maybe now that you’re back, it will be different.”

“Maybe. I care about you so much.”

The dinner was terrific, and he enjoyed hearing Clarissa analyze the food. Apparently Langston didn’t like it when she was critical, saying she ruined the meal, but Jonathan enjoyed her comments. He enjoyed everything about her.

They ordered the chocolate bombe for dessert to share, and were halfway through the warm cake and creamy mousse filling when he reached over with his thumb to wipe some ice cream from the corner of her mouth. He left his hand there for a moment, his fingers underneath her chin. “You are so lovely, Clarissa. Sometimes you take my breath away.”

A genuine, grateful smile. “Why, thank you.” She blushed beautifully. “Let me return the favor by telling you how good you look in that sports coat.”

“Thank you.” He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers, just as a shadow fell over them. They both looked up.

“I thought that was you two cuddling over here in the corner.”

Clarissa smiled ingenuously at the two women who’d come to the table. The striking, blue-eyed, dark-haired one had spoken. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t remember you,” Clarissa said.

“Lucky you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m Brady’s sister Samantha.”

Clarissa looked pleased. “Oh, hi. Nice to meet you. Brady told me he came from a large family.”

“No memories at all?” Samantha’s tone was cool.

“They’re coming back. Slowly, though.”

The other woman spoke. “Hello, Clare.”

Again, the blank looks. Maybe this would help Jonathan’s cause. Maybe she’d recognize both these women, who were not a pleasant part of her life.

“Hello. I’m afraid I don’t remember you, either.”

“That’s okay, we don’t know each other well. I’m Lucinda Gray, Sam’s friend from high school.”

“Ah, how nice. Do you know Brady?”

The woman’s laugh was off-kilter. “You might say that.”

“Lucinda is Brady’s girlfriend, Clare,” Samantha inserted.

Clarissa stiffened. “Brady has a girlfriend?”

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. He’s been spending so much time with you.”

“I…I’m sorry if…I didn’t know.” Clarissa’s face drained of color and her hands covered her temples. “Oh, oh, God, my head.”

“What is it?” Jonathan asked.

“A lot of pain.” She looked faint, pale, sick.

Jonathan stood. “Excuse us, ladies. I’m taking Clarissa home.”

At least both women seemed concerned. Samantha said, “Sorry if seeing us caused that.”

After leaving his credit card with the waiter, Jonathan escorted Clarissa out, cursing the pain she was in. And as he got her to the car and she moaned, he tried to tell himself that seeing Samantha was what had caused the attack. Not finding out that Langston had a girlfriend.

“W
HAT THE HELL DID YOU DO
to her?” Brady asked when Jonathan practically dragged Clare down the corridor. He was waiting for them, standing in the doorway to his place, so he must have been watching as they pulled into the driveway.

“She’s sick, and it’s your fault,” Jonathan said.

“No, of course it isn’t.” Clare’s headache had abated on the drive there but her stomach felt queasy. All she wanted was to lie down.

She caught a glimpse of Brady’s face, his expression worried.

“I’m all right now.” She managed to walk through her own door without assistance.

Brady followed them in, but Clare went straight to her bedroom. She wasn’t up to watching the two men she obviously cared about go another round. She undressed without putting her clothes away, slipped on pajamas, washed her face and brushed her teeth, then went back out into the bedroom. Glancing at the door, she shook her head and crawled into bed. But because their voices were raised, she could hear them outside her door.

“What exactly did Samantha say to her?” Brady’s strong voice, angry now.

Equally strong came Jonathan’s retort. “It’s not what she said. It’s what she implied. I don’t know what you’ve been feeding your family about Clarissa, but it’s obvious Samantha hates her.”

“My sister does not hate her.”

“Your girlfriend didn’t help.”

Clare strained to hear Brady’s answer. “Lucy was there?”

Lucy, not Lucinda.

“Yeah, and she was hostile to Clarissa.”

“She’s always been jealous of Clare,” he said absently.

Really? Hmm. Clare wondered why.

“Oh, that’s just great.” A pause. “I’m tired of talking about this, Langston. You can leave now.”

“Why would I leave?”

“Because you’re not needed here. I’m back from my trip, and I’m staying over.” A pause. “It won’t be the first time, as you well know.”

“Damn it, Harris, you’re not going to put the moves on her now.” Brady’s voice had risen a notch. “She doesn’t remember who the hell you are.”

Oh, no! Clare hoped that wasn’t Jonathan’s intention. She shivered at the thought and burrowed further into the covers.

“That’s none of your goddamned business.”

“Clare’s welfare is my business.” Another pause, then a slam of the door.

After a few minutes, she heard Jonathan come to the bedroom. He didn’t turn on the light, but eased his way inside. Clare knew she should talk to him, knew she shouldn’t pretend she was asleep. But she had a lot to think about.

The exchange between Brady and Jonathan.

Why Brady’s sister hated her.

And why, when Samantha introduced Lucinda as Brady’s girlfriend, Clare’s heart hurt worse than her head.

So she kept her eyes closed and feigned sleep until it came.

I
N THE MIDST OF A GRAY FOG
, Clare hid in the bushes. She was freezing cold, the branches dug into her skin and her hands were numb. People were searching for her. Terrified, she crowded back into the cover of the foliage and the fog where she could hear them but they wouldn’t see her. One thing she was sure of: she had to avoid getting caught at all costs.

“Where is she?” Jonathan’s voice was raised, angry.

“I have no idea. I’m worried.” Brady’s tone mirrored his words.

“I don’t believe you, Langston. You’re doing everything in your power to keep her from me.”

“Ditto, Harris.”

“I had her.” Jonathan was yelling now. “I don’t have to get her back.”

“I know the reason she got in the accident. None of you can fool me any longer.”

At Brady’s words, Clare felt compelled to sneak out from behind the bushes. She could see both men, dressed in cowboy clothes, facing down each other. When he tipped his head back, she saw Brady’s face was furious. A pink glow emanated from him.