Dancing In the Dark

by Kathryn Shay

  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.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rooney’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 the comment, 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.

  “Tell me about your memory.” 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.

  “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 I should keep it. He drove me there.”

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

  “She said 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. Damn it, he didn’t mean to be short. 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 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 wedge 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. “This is breath
taking. I must have known you gave it to me.”

  “That makes my day.”

  She frowned.

  “What?”

  “Brady asked about the stone 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 I can tell whenever I see you together, and every time you talk about each other.”

  “We’re not much alike, Clarissa.”

  “That’s obvious. 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, my memories 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, Samantha’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.

  * * *

  “What 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 spat out.

  “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.

  * * *

  In 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 have 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 furi
ous. A pink glow emanated from him.

  Jonathan was in an orange haze. “Like hell you do.”

  “I do.”

  Suddenly, a crowd of little girls came rushing toward them, all dressed in Girl Scout uniforms. One was Catherine. Then Lucinda and two others she recognized as Brady’s sisters.

  Brady smiled, motioned them to come closer.

  “They won’t help,” Jonathan said, nodding to the girls who stood behind Brady. “Nothing’s going to help you now, Langston.”

  Growing in size, bigger, broader, Brady slid his hand to the gun bolstered against his thigh. The girls behind him were screaming, crying, telling him to stop, that Clare wasn’t worth it.

  Abruptly, the scene switched. Clare was somewhere else. In a room with no doors. It was pitch-black in here. She couldn’t see anyone, just hear them moving around. From her hiding place, she whispered, “I’m sorry. God, Jonathan, I’m so, so sorry.”

  * * *

  Brady went where he always went when he was upset. He drove through the deserted city streets out to the Rockford suburb where he’d grown up, pulled his car into the driveway of the big house and stared at the exterior. Still the same slate-gray siding, sheltering three floors that had been home to two parents, five kids and an assortment of dogs, cats and rabbits over the years. Wishing his dad was still alive, he sighed heavily. Mel Langston had been an ideal father, not that Brady hadn’t butted heads with him. He was killed trying to save a kid from a burning building. Brady could still picture the firefighter funeral with all its gravity. He ached whenever he thought of it.

  Swearing at himself for adding more problems to his night by reminiscing about his dad, he got out of his truck, climbed the steps to the front porch and went inside. He glanced at his watch—ten p.m., but his mother would be up. She had a nurse’s penchant for late hours and early morns, as she still worked part-time at one of the local hospitals.

  What he didn’t expect was to find Samantha at the kitchen table with her. The two women looked alike with dark hair—his mother’s graying some—and blue eyes. Brady and his two brothers had the coloring and facial features that resembled his dad.