by Kathryn Shay
“I’m sure it will.”
“Okay. I think I’ll go nap now.” Her face brightened. “And I’ll make some dessert. What do you guys like?”
“Your brownies are Max’s favorite. The ones with the butterscotch bits in them.”
She nodded to the computer. “You work on those wonderful stories.” Leaning over, she kissed his cheek, something she used to do routinely but hadn’t for a while.
Her scent—the lotion and shampoo—made Brady’s gut clench. He wanted to hold her so badly, he ached. He had to stifle the images that played through his mind.
She drew back and walked out of the office. Suddenly he was energized. And happy. And hopeful.
For the first time in over a year, Clare had chosen Brady over Jonathan.
* * *
It was so pleasant, being in the warm water, letting the jets swirl around her. Clare felt safe, secure, loved. Opening her eyes, she looked out the attic window and saw snow had begun to fall—little flakes clung to the glass—making the heat rising from the tub even more delicious.
The door to the attic opened, and Brady stepped inside. He was naked and beautifully formed—a chest covered with dark hair, toned abs, muscular thighs. An impressive erection. She smiled.
“Don’t gawk,” he said teasingly. “You’ve seen it all before.”
“Ah, but it’s such a pleasant sight.”
He held up the bottle he carried. “Champagne.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“You’re back.” Easily, he popped the cork. “Finally, you’re back.”
“I am.” She sat up, revealing bare breasts. She knew she should be embarrassed in front of her best friend, but she wasn’t.
As he came closer with two filled flutes, his gaze caressed her. Handing her a glass, he leaned over and kissed the swell of one breast, then climbed into the tub.
The water sloshed with his weight, and Brady held up his drink. “To new beginnings,” he said easily.
“To new beginnings.”
Lazing back in the tub, she closed her eyes again. Nothing was better than this, she thought, absolutely nothing.
Then the water turned freezing cold and she began to shiver. Oh, God, what was happening?
This time when she opened her eyes and looked over, the other man in the tub wasn’t Brady. He was Jonathan. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“What do you mean? Is something wrong?”
“Where’s Brady?”
“Darling, Brady’s gone. He’s been gone a long time. I’m here now.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Shh,” he said, taking the flute from her hand. “Relax. Lie back and enjoy the water.”
“But it’s cold.”
“No, no, it isn’t”
“I want Brady.” She started to cry.
Suddenly Jonathan’s face flushed with anger. “Don’t you dare cry over another man in front of me.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it”
“Then get out…”
* * *
Clare awoke. She was in her own bed, and she was warm. Outside, she could see the forsythia tree blooming by her window—no snow—and the sun was still shining. She glanced at the clock. 5:00 p.m. She had just enough time to make the brownies. Throwing off the light cover, she realized she was naked. And then she remembered the dream. Her head began to pound.
She made her way to the bathroom, took some Tylenol and dressed quickly. In the kitchen, she found the brownie recipe Max liked in volume two and began making the chocolate confection. She kept her mind busy because she didn’t want to think about the dream. But after the pan was in the oven, she pulled out the notebook and, according to Anna’s instructions, began recording the events.
She blushed writing about Brady’s nakedness. Felt fear resurrect at Jonathan’s anger. She tried to console herself with Anna’s assurances.
Clare, dreams don’t mean you necessarily want what you dream. They often combine reality in shocking ways.
She started to giggle. Well, being naked with her best friend was shocking, all right.
But she stopped giggling when she admitted that the dream wasn’t the only time she felt turned on by Brady. The sensations she’d experienced when serving him lunch today—becoming aroused, wanting more from him—confused her. And when she’d read his books, she’d been filled with warm feelings, which had gotten even warmer when she’d caught him watching her. What did all this mean?
It was nearing six when she took the brownies out of the oven and put the pan in a wicker nest she found in the cupboard. She stuck her keys in her pocket, crossed to the foyer and maneuvered open the door. It slammed behind her. At the sound, the woman in the hall startled. Lucinda Gray had her hand on the doorbell of Brady’s condo.
She didn’t have a key.
Clare remembered Brady’s words. She wants more, but she understands the terms.
Lucinda faced Clare and shook back her thick auburn hair, and her heavily made-up hazel eyes widened. “Hello, Clare.”
“Lucinda.”
The other woman wore nice tan jeans with a sexy peach camisole that revealed a small unicorn tattoo on her shoulder. “You don’t happen to know where Brady is. I’ve rung four times. Do you happen to know?”
“Um, no.” The untruth came easily to her lips. Well, maybe it was only fudging again. She didn’t know for certain if Brady was at Max’s yet. He said he had to go out to pick up food.
Oh, hell, if she was honest with herself, she might as well admit that she didn’t want Lucinda to horn in on the evening and was making a conscious decision to cut her out of the night.
“I thought you might know his schedule. These days he’s always with you. I was about to try your door.”
“You alluded to that the other night, Lucinda. I know Brady’s been with me a lot, and I’m sorry if that’s affected your relationship.” Another lie.
“I didn’t say it affected us at all.” She arched a pretty brow. “Brady and I are very close.”
Apparently not enough to have a key to his place, one of which resided right now in Clare’s pocket next to her own.
“I know you’re close. He’s a wonderful man, and I’m sure you appreciate him.”
“Too bad you don’t.”
Clare bristled. But she decided she wasn’t having this conversation with Brady’s girlfriend. “If you’ll excuse me…”
Lucinda nodded to the brownies. “Bringing food to a friend?”
“I am, yes.”
“Have a good time.”
“You, too, when you find Brady.” Which Clare knew very well Lucinda wasn’t going to do. “I’ll walk out with you.”
She descended the stairs, showed Lucinda the door and even walked outside with her and waited for the woman to leave. When she reentered the house, Clare was embarrassed by her actions. And she was also concerned, enough to have her pulse going double-time.
Why on earth would she deliberately lie to Brady’s girlfriend?
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Hi.” Clare smiled at Max when he opened the door to his condo. The red golf shirt and khaki shorts looked good on him, making her wonder if there was a woman in his life. She was ashamed she hadn’t asked since she’d come home from the hospital.
“Clare. I…wasn’t expecting you.”
Damn it. First she had that dream, then she lied to Lucinda, and now she barged in where she wasn’t wanted. The last made her feel the worst. “Brady said to be here at six. I assumed that he told you I was coming.” She held up the pan of brownies like a little girl offering a bribe. “I brought your favorite dessert.”
“Brady didn’t tell me.” When she didn’t say more, he added, “But it’s cool. Come on in.”
“Is Delia here yet?” she asked before stepping inside.
“Not yet.”
Anxious because she could feel Max’s hesitation, Clare crossed the threshold of his home. While he took the brownies and broug
ht them to the kitchen, she studied the place. It was amazing how unique the four condos in the house were. Max’s was painted in bold colors: deep-green for the living area, red in the dining room. Unlike hers, the latter was closed off by a wall; she could see through the doorway that there were no walls between it and the kitchen. Big stuffed couches in contrasting solid green and green-and-white stripes faced a wall unit with a huge television. Off to the left, where the office was in her own condo, the walls had been removed, and an open space sprawled out with a desk and more seating. “Your place is beautiful, Max,” she told him when he returned.
“You helped me redecorate.”
“I did? I wish I remembered that. Looks like I have good taste.”
“Uh-huh.” They were just inside the entryway. “Tell me why you’re here.”
Facing her friend, she stood tall and lifted her chin. “I guess I invited myself. Brady said you were having movie night, and I wanted to come.”
Dark brows furrowed. “No plans with Harris?”
“You don’t like him, either?”
“He’s not my favorite person.”
“I don’t know what to say. I can leave, if I’ll spoil your evening.” Her voice caught on the last word. “As I said, I invited myself.”
His expression softened immediately. “No, no. Look, let’s sit. I don’t want to upset you. We had a nice dinner at your home the other night. Let me be as hospitable.”
“Thanks, Max.”
They’d moved farther into the living room when the front door burst open and Delia rushed in, followed by Brady toting a pizza box and, Clare deduced from the scent, probably hot wings in foam cartons.
“Hey, guys.” Brady set the food down on Max’s slate-topped coffee table, then his gaze zeroed in on Clare. “I’m glad you made it.” She was disconcerted by the dream— seeing Brady naked in the dream—until he crossed to her and kissed her cheek. Suddenly everything seemed all right.
“Max didn’t know I was coming.”
Leaving a hand on her arm, Brady frowned. “It’s okay, though, isn’t it?” he asked his friend.
“Fine by me.”
Clare looked to Delia and was shocked to see the woman was scowling. “Delia, don’t you want me here?”
Cradling the bag to her chest, she shook her head. “It’s not that. I’m afraid…” She looked to Brady. He seemed puzzled, too, until she handed him the bag and he drew out the contents. DVDs.
When he saw what they were, he said to Delia, “It’ll be all right, Dee,” and to Clare, “They’re movies about amnesia.”
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Delia rushed on to say. “I ordered these last week. I wanted to see them to get insight…never mind. We can stream something on the TV.”
Clare cocked her head. “I’m game. What did you get?”
“Hitchcock’s Spellbound and Anastasia, Memento, Dead Again and Regarding Henry.” The last was one Anna, Clare’s therapist, had mentioned.
“At least I won’t remember any I’ve seen.”
Her levity broke the tension, and even Max gave a chuckle.
“We went to a Hitchcock festival at the Little Theater,” Brady told her as they moved to sit. “You saw Anastasia, but I don’t know if you’ve seen the others. Dead Again is great. Lucy and I watched it on an On Demand channel.”
Clare didn’t want to think about Lucinda Gray and her beautiful hair, big eyes and killer body. But she felt guilty about what she hadn’t told the woman. So Clare straightened her shoulders and faced Brady. “I saw Lucinda in the hall in front of your condo, looking for you.”
“Yeah? We don’t have plans for tonight.”
“Maybe you wanted her here. I should have said something.”
“No outsiders on movie night,” Max declared.
Feeling inordinately pleased by the fact that Lucinda was an outsider and she herself wasn’t, Clare grinned. “Oh, okay then.”
She and Brady took seats. Delia went into the kitchen and Max stood by the screen, his arms folded over his chest “You knew you sat there, Clare?”
“I guess.” She’d dropped down on the smaller couch with Brady. His jean-clad thigh rested against hers, and as always, his nearness settled her. Yet today, it was combined with an awareness, a tug of something else. “Do we always sit in the same places?”
“We used to,” Max said. “I’m surprised you know that when you don’t remember anything else.”
“Amnesia’s odd like that.” Brady opened the boxes. “Dig in.”
Delia returned with four bottles of Corona. Clare had a quick vision of clinking identical bottles of beer with the people in the room. When she just stared at the one Delia held out to her, her friend asked, “Don’t you drink this anymore?”
“I have no idea what I drink.” She took the bottle and sipped. “Hmm, I like it.”
The smell of the pizza was heavenly. Its sauce and cheesy scent caused another flash. “I have a pizza recipe in one of my books, don’t I?” she asked Brady.
After chewing a mouthful, he nodded. “Uh-huh. Your aunt Patricia’s. You have ways to dress it up, too.”
“Is there an anecdote about her in there?”
“Yes. From when you stayed with her and she let you and your cousins Kristen and Ryan play with dough.”
Delia laughed. “It’s one of Donny’s favorites.”
“Speaking of our half-pint,” Max said affectionately, “when’s he coming home, girl?”
“I go get him in eight days, four hours and—” she glanced at her watch “—thirty minutes. But who’s counting?” Her grin was self-effacing. “I’m staying with Don’s parents for a few days, then going to visit my mother, too.”
“You really miss him,” Clare commented.
“I do.” Delia smiled. “He loves you, too, Clare. You helped raise him. I couldn’t have done it without you after Don died.”
Warmth flowed through Clare, like no other she’d felt. “He does? I’m so glad.”
“Hey, what about us?” Brady asked.
“You guys helped, too. But you both remember that.”
Max picked up the movies. “Which one first?”
“Spellbound,” Brady and Delia said together.
The haunting Hitchcock video began. Eerie strains of music echoed from the speakers, but they weren’t familiar to Clare. She did realize how young Gregory Peck and Ingrid Bergman were, though.
“There’s your lady, Langston,” Max said when Bergman came on-screen.
Clare caught Max’s tone. “What does that mean?”
“Brady has a thing for Ingrid.”
Ingrid was in the first scene as a therapist with a patient. Clare’s hands went to her face. “I look a little like her.” She could feel her face flush. “Oh, not that you have a thing… Oh, geez.”
Brady chuckled. “You teased me about it before, sweetheart. I took to calling you Ingrid.”
She had a quick flash of Brady yelling from the doorway, Come on, Ingrid, we’re going to be late for dinner.
Mesmerized, Clare watched each scene unfold.
When John Ballantine, the main character and also a doctor, got his first headache and became faint because he remembered something, Clare pressed a hand against her stomach and took in a heavy breath. “I know just how he feels.”
“You okay?” Brady asked, sliding an arm around her.
“I am.” Now, she thought but didn’t say, just leaned into him.
When, after only one day together, Constance and John declared their love, Max made a disgusted sound. “I hate these love-at-first-sight stories.”
“That’s how Don and I fell in love.”
Picking up the remote, Max stopped the video. “Dee, I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“I know it’s rare. But that’s how it happened for us. Besides, I can think about the good things with Don without feeling bad.”
“I’d like to hear about him and how you met, sometime,” Clare told her.
D
elia gave her a half smile. “We met at a frat party in college. You were there.”
“We went to the University of Rockford, right?”
“Uh-huh. Don and I stayed here, and you went on to culinary school in Boston.” She glanced at the guys, who were rolling their eyes at the girl talk. “I’ll tell you more later.”
The movie resumed and John’s episodes continued. When he and Constance began talking about his amnesia, Clare was surprised. For a film made in 1945, its medical insights into the syndrome were surprisingly current. The basic psychological premise: people developed amnesia to cover up a difficult event—the mind protects the body that way. The common physical cause: injury to the head. Clare rubbed her skull on the spot where she’d hit it in the car. Briefly, she closed her eyes because suddenly she could feel the pain.
His expression concerned, Max paused the movie again. “Clare, you okay?”
“Yes, I just keep wondering if the cause of my amnesia is psychological or physical.”
For some reason, Brady stiffened.
Max told her, “The accident was at 2:00 a.m. Something had to have happened before it to drive you out into the rainy night.”
Delia leaned forward. “Honey, we already told you that Brady saw you earlier in the evening, here at home. But we don’t know why you left or where you were headed.”
Blurry images—like silhouettes—flashed through her mind. Two people, a man and a woman, arguing. When her head began to pound, she closed her eyes tightly this time.
“Maybe we should turn off the movie,” Brady said.
“No.” Clare shook herself. “I don’t want to do that.”
Later in the film, Constance told her colleague she was safe with John, that a person won’t do anything with amnesia that he wouldn’t normally do. Clare nodded. “That’s what Anna Summers said. I’d hate to think I’d murder someone in his sleep.”
Brady squeezed her hand. “You know, that also means good things. All the kindness and love you show now is innately you, too.”
“Anna mentioned that.”
The movie progressed to the point where John and Constance traveled to Rochester to see her old analyst and friend. Brady moved to the edge of the seat and absently put his hand on Clare’s knee. “This is my favorite part.”
