by Kathryn Shay
She found herself pleased at what he told her and wanted to know more. “I have a cooking show, too. Are you part of that?”
His expression darkened. “I’ve been a guest. Your viewers wrote in that they liked it when I was there.”
Though she couldn’t recall any of what he was telling her, she could imagine someone with his good looks and apparent charm would be a hit with women watching the show.
But he didn’t seem too happy about his part in her career. “Are you still on the show?”
He shook his head. “Clare, you don’t remember anything about this?”
“No.”
A deep frown creased his forehead.
“Why aren’t you on the show anymore?”
Not answering, he stood and went to the fridge. Pulling out a beer, he uncapped it and took a long swig. She watched his throat work and felt something…warm inside her. He set the beer down on the counter, and stood across from her, his hands braced on the granite.
“Your boss, Jonathan, wanted the show…scaled up, you might say. A scruffy artist hanging around in a state-of-the-art kitchen didn’t hit the target audience he wanted.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, did I call you a scruffy artist?”
“No! He did.”
She struggled to remember. Instead, images of snakes clouded her mind, just like in the dream. Her temples hurt again. “I don’t remember any of this.”
He didn’t say more, just watched her. Hurt clouded his eyes.
“Why didn’t I stand up to him?”
“Ah, the sixty-four thousand-dollar question.” Before she could respond, he asked, “Do you remember anything about…our relationship?”
She nodded. “Yes, good things. I had flashes as soon as I came home yesterday—cooking for you, you carrying up grocery bags, helping with the garden.”
“Those are early memories.”
“From how long ago?”
“About eight or nine years.”
“My therapist told me that research says those memories often return first. The ones closest to the event that caused the amnesia—if it is psychological—come back last.”
“Yes.” He appeared embarrassed. “I read that on the Internet.”
“The memories that aren’t coming back? Those are the times when I hurt you, aren’t they?”
“I didn’t say that, Clare.”
“You didn’t have to. And it isn’t only you. Delia, too. My own sister doesn’t even call much.”
“Cathy’s sensitive where you’re concerned, ever since you were little and your parents died. But she loves you, Clare, and she’s coming as soon as she gets back from Europe. You’ll have a great reunion.”
“Still. It’s so odd feeling good things for all of you and them not being returned.”
“They are returned. We’ve just had a rough time of it lately.”
Standing, she circled around the bar and approached him. This close, she could see the nick from shaving he must have gotten this morning. His chest rose and fell, and his features were taut. “Brady, I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you in the past. I sense we were really close.”
“We were.” His voice was husky, calling forth a memory that fled before it fully formed.
Suddenly she wanted this man to hold her again, like he had when he’d carried her last night. So she moved into him and slid her arms around his waist. As natural as spring rain, his arms encompassed her. His sigh matched hers. Closing her eyes, she placed her head on his heart.
Though she didn’t remember what she’d done, it was obvious she’d hurt this heart of his. The thought shamed her.
* * *
“How is it going at home?” Anna Summers, Clare’s psychotherapist smiled over at her from where she sat on a stuffed couch in her hospital office. Clare had taken a chair opposite her in the cheery space—sand-colored walls, nice Berber carpet, wooden accents. She felt good in here, too, and had been more than willing to come back on this Wednesday morning.
“It’s better than being in the hospital. Some of my memory’s come back.” She told Anna about the flashes she’d had about Brady, Delia and Don, Max and cooking.
“Interesting. They’re all about the people from the house.” She cocked her head. “None about Jonathan?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I’m not remembering him because he’s away and the others are around all the time. I’ve talked to him every day on the phone but truthfully, the conversations are strained. It’s hard enough facing people you don’t know in person.”
“Maybe. But you’ve known him the shortest time. Remember, with retrograde amnesia, the earlier memories come back first.”
“I was just talking to Brady about that.”
Anna crossed her legs and adjusted the skirt of her beige suit. “How does it feel to be in your house?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it like sleeping in a stranger’s bed? Like you’re wearing someone else’s clothes?”
“Not at all. I sense everything’s mine. I chose something to wear this morning without fretting and felt immediately at home in the kitchen.”
“It’s good that everything isn’t foreign.”
“I guess. But other things aren’t so good.”
“Like?”
Clare fidgeted with the bracelet she’d put on with khaki pants and a yellow blouse. “I’ve found out some other things about my life. About me. Some bad things.”
“From these flashes of memories?”
“No, those were all good. But the tension among Max, Delia and me became obvious right away. So I asked about it.” She told Anna that she’d grown away from her group of friends. “The problem is I don’t feel that way about them now. I’m sad that they’re so wary and I want to be closer to them.” She thought for a minute. “Anna, do personalities change when someone has amnesia?”
“Sometimes. Especially in cases of permanent amnesia. There’s a movie called Regarding Henry where Harrison Ford gets shot and turns into a totally different person from who he was before the incident. He never regains his memory, though, and he retains the new personality.”
“So I could stay the person I am now?”
“Maybe. But keep in mind, you won’t do anything with amnesia that you wouldn’t normally do. That often comforts people who are afraid they’ll act in a negative manner. In your case, who you are now is the real Clare, too.”
She frowned. “But I could turn back into who I was right before the accident?”
“Perhaps. We’ve discussed how nebulous this malady is. Here’s another way to look at it. You can make any changes in your life that you want. You’re in control of that with or without your memory.”
Clare stared at Anna. “I wonder if I’ll still want to be close to them when my memory returns.” The thought made her incredibly sad.
“Take one day at a time.” Anna held her gaze. “What about Brady? He was at the hospital every day, too. And you seemed to gravitate toward him. Is there any tension between you two?”
“No. Just warmth. A lot of it. I feel safe with him.” She crooked a shoulder. “Safer than with Jonathan.”
“You and Brady were close for a longer period of time.”
“Maybe. It feels like more than that, though.”
Anna leaned forward. “Go with your gut, Clare. Act on the instinct that remembers things for you. A good deal of research into what’s known as cellular memory shows our cells store memories. I support that theory. Have you seen those movies about body-part transplants, where the recipient acquires the memories and experiences of the donor and often gets flashes of that person’s life? You could and probably do have residual memories of everything that’s happened to you built right into your cell structure.”
“That’s something to consider.”
“Anything else about Jonathan or Brady?”
“One thing. Obviously, Jonathan and I were close— physically. How could I forget being intimate with
a man, Anna?”
“There have been documented cases of people forgetting a spouse and even a child, Clare.” Anna frowned. “He’s not asking for intimacy, is he?”
“No, not yet. No, he wouldn’t do something like that. He’s been selfless in this whole thing.”
“Then bide your time and see how you feel about everything. You’ve only been home a few days.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Now let’s talk about your dreams. Though I’m not into symbol hunting, they’re a crucial part of amnesia and should be discussed.”
A chill ran through Clare, and she rubbed her arms as she recalled Monday night’s dream. “I’m still having nightmares.”
“Most amnesiacs do.”
“I can’t remember them all, but Monday’s stays with me. Brady and Jonathan were snakes. One bit me, and one curled around my wrists.”
“Hmm. Who did what?”
Clare told her. “Do you think it’s significant?”
“As I explained right after you woke up, dreams are a person’s unconscious asserting itself, even if that person doesn’t have amnesia. I’d like you to write down the dreams you do remember. In as much detail as possible.”
Clare nodded.
“Is there anything else you’d like to talk about today?”
“Yes. I’m going stir-crazy.”
“You’ve only been home two days.”
“I was in the hospital two weeks. I need to do more.”
Anna smiled. “Then do it.”
“I’ve been walking, but I found tennis stuff in the closet. Am I ready to play?”
“If you think you are.”
“And I’d like to drive again.”
The therapist looked thoughtful. “Can you do that?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t tried.”
“How did you get here?”
“Brady. He’s been a doll about all this. He’s waiting outside.”
Anna watched her. “Your whole face lights up when you talk about him.”
“Does it? How odd, when I’m…involved with Jonathan.”
“Something to think about. Be careful with the driving. You don’t have procedural amnesia. You seem to know how to do things. But test-drive with someone in the car for a while. Don’t go alone for a week or so. Especially with the headaches.”
“All right.” Clare shook her head. “This is all so frustrating.”
“I’ll bet. But your memory is starting to come back. You’re making terrific progress.”
It didn’t feel that way. And Clare worried about things. “Anna, do you think some traumatic event caused my amnesia?”
“You had severe head trauma. But your last tests indicated there’s no brain swelling now, and no apparent damage. However, why you were out at 2:00 a.m. on that road and what led up to it is missing from your mind, and that is significant. So, to answer your question, I believe it very well could be psychological.”
“I almost don’t want to remember.”
“Clare, if your amnesia is psychological, you don’t want to remember. But you most likely will. And you should prepare yourself for that.”
They made an appointment for the following week, Anna wished her well and Clare went to find Brady. She was unnerved by her talk with the counselor and needed to see him to calm down. That he could do that for her was another mystery.
He was waiting outside the office, though she’d told him to go get coffee or something to eat. He stood when he saw her. The worry on his face made her give him a smile.
“Hey, how’d the appointment go?”
“Fine.”
“You’re lying. I can see it in your expression.”
“It’s hard, articulating all my fears.”
“Man, I bet.” He slid an arm around her and leaned in close. “You know, you can talk to me about those fears. We used to stay up late and share everything we were afraid of. Takes the sting out of them.”
“We spent a lot of time together?”
“We did. After I moved in, Don was still alive and Max was working for a commercial airline, so he wasn’t home much. In some ways it was just you and me, babe.”
And that had changed. Poor Brady. She wondered if she could ever make it up to him.
* * *
Seated across the table from his longtime friend, Mitch Anderson, Jonathan felt better than he had earlier when he couldn’t reach Clarissa. He and Mitch had gone to boarding school together and seen each other through a lot of scrapes. Sometimes Jonathan missed the boy he used to be—more carefree, more spontaneous. He definitely missed Mitch, who’d met him here at the restaurant in the Hyatt hotel where Jonathan was staying in Chicago.
“So, how’d the Chef’s Delight thing go? Their stocks are sky-high.” Mitch was an investment broker and followed the market daily. Jonathan used to take more of an interest in stocks than he did now. Of course, lately, he’d had a lot on his mind.
“Clarissa’s going to be getting some of those options.”
“Really? Wow.” Mitch lazed back in the chair and sipped the merlot they’d ordered. “You struck quite a deal, then.”
“Well, I had to fly out our lawyers.” That had kept Jonathan here an extra day. “But they hammered out a lucrative contract for both the station and Clarissa herself.”
“No offense, but…for a local show?”
“They recognize, as do I, that she’ll syndicate soon.” He told his friend of his plans for the Cooking Network.
Mitch raised his glass. “Congratulations. You’ve brought her into the limelight and now, so to speak, her star is shining.”
“I hope she doesn’t leave me in the dust.”
Mitch burst out laughing. He had a big belly laugh that contrasted with his polished good looks. “Has Rockford’s Most Eligible Bachelor succumbed to a woman?”
That designation, given by a local magazine, had embarrassed Jonathan, though originally it had brought him plenty of dates. But once he met Clarissa, that part of his life was over. “I’m in love, Mitch. I don’t want anyone else in my life.”
Immediately Mitch sobered. “I didn’t realize things between you and Clarissa were serious. Since your divorce, I haven’t heard you talk like this.”
Jonathan had been married for six years to a nice woman he’d met at his country club. His parents hadn’t been happy when they’d divorced, but Marilyn and he both knew there was no spark there. Thankfully, they’d parted friends.
The feelings he’d had for his ex were nothing close to what he felt for Clarissa. He sighed, thinking of the forced celibacy her illness had brought about. He missed her body as much as her mind.
“Jonathan, you’re scowling. Do you have reason to think Clarissa is going to leave you?”
Filling Mitch in on the whole sad story of Clarissa’s amnesia made Jonathan feel even worse.
“You only see those things on TV. I don’t know that I’ve ever been privy to a real-life case. It’s a remarkable story.”
“It’s a nightmare. She loved me, I know she did, and now she doesn’t remember any of that.”
Mitch set his wine down and leaned forward. “Does she have any memories of anybody?”
“She didn’t in the hospital, but who knows now? She lives in a condo in this old Victorian house. The other three people who own there were her close friends until I came along.”
“And?”
“She grew apart from them. Was on the verge of moving out and in with me. Then she had the accident.”
“What caused it?”
He shrugged. He’d never lied outright to Mitch, but now he’d skirt the truth somewhat. “Nobody really knows. She left her condo and went out into the rainy night, cracked up her car.”
The waitress approached them and took their orders. After she left, Jonathan said, “Let’s table this conversation. It’s depressing to think about her accident.”
“Whatever you want.”
“So tell me about those two
kids of yours.” It seemed impossible, but at only forty Mitch had two teenagers.
“They’re making me crazy. Wait until you have your own. I’m teaching Nicky to drive. Talk about nightmares.”
The rest of the evening was pleasant, and when he went back to his room, Jonathan was thinking about having his own kids, teaching them to drive, proudly showing pictures as Mitch had. He sat on the divan, took out his cell and punched in Clarissa’s number.
She answered on the fourth ring. “Hello.”
His mood lightened at the sound of her voice. “Hi, honey. It’s me.”
No response.
Damn it, didn’t she even recognize his voice? “Jonathan.”
“Yes, hi. How’s Chicago?”
“I’ve had a successful trip. But I miss you.”
Please say you miss me, too.
“Successful?”
“We got the contract.”
“Is that good?”
“Very. I’ll explain the details when I get back.”
“When will that be?”
“Friday night. I’ve made reservations at your favorite restaurant”
A long hesitation. “Oh, good.” He heard another sound.
“Was that a yawn? Are you getting enough sleep?”
“Uh-huh. I’m in bed right now. I was watching TV.”
“Do you remember any shows?” He hadn’t thought of this side of amnesia—would she recognize songs, shows, films?
“A couple brought flashbacks.”
“Any of me? We used to watch Law and Order together.”
“Um, no, but I’ll make sure I catch an episode and see what happens.”
He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. This wasn’t her fault, but he cursed fate for what had happened. “Honey, it’ll come back. Don’t worry.”
“I know.”
“Go to sleep.” He waited. “And dream of me.”
When she hung up, he stretched out on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. He’d meant it when he’d told Mitch that he had never loved anyone like he loved Clarissa. And their relationship had been going so well. Still, Jonathan hadn’t lost yet.
As he lay there, he convinced himself that as soon as he got back to Rockford, she’d start remembering him. When that possibility began to worry him—there were definitely some things he didn’t want her to recall yet—he pushed them out of his mind.
