Dancing In the Dark

by Kathryn Shay

  The dream sequence in the movie gave Clare goose bumps. She’d kept the dream of her and Brady at bay since she’d come down to Max’s, but it was there, in the back of her mind, complete with the warmth she’d felt with Brady and how everything had turned cold with Jonathan.

  On the screen were peaked roofs, shadowy figures and a narration by John as he described the dream to the two therapists. The images were warped and elongated, and Clare wondered why Brady liked the scene so much. It came to her after the sequence was finished. “The sets were done by Salvador Dali. I remember now. He’s one of your favorite artists. We went to a show of his in New York.”

  Brady squeezed her knee. “Right, sweetheart”

  “Did we go there often?”

  “Yeah, the five of us. Sometime I’ll tell you about Charlie’s place, where we stayed.”

  Clare was riveted at the end of the film when all the secrets came out. Would hers? In a blinding flash like John’s? And would she end up happily ever after, as he did?

  They took a break before the next movie. The guys left to hit the head and Delia reached over and grabbed Clare’s hand. “Did seeing the film help or hurt?”

  “Actually, it helped. It confirmed a lot of what I feel. Especially the dreams and headaches stuff. Seeing the symptoms played out is different from being told what’s happening to me.”

  “Still getting them?”

  “Yes, especially the dreams. They’re all jumbled up, like in the movie.” Very jumbled up, she thought, picturing Brady naked in the hot tub.

  The guys returned, and Clare picked up a second video. “I’d like to watch Regarding Henry. My therapist talked about it.”

  Brady frowned. “Are you sure, Clare? None of us has seen that one. I don’t want the content to upset you.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  But she wasn’t. It became clear only ten minutes into the film that Harrison Ford, aka Henry, was a jerk. He was a workaholic and neglected his family; his treatment of his daughter was especially abhorrent. It also became clear that both he and his wife had had affairs. The plot revolved around Henry getting shot and losing all memory—procedural, episodic and even semantic. Then he turned into a lovable, kind, sensitive human being.

  Throughout the beginning of the movie, Clare had felt the emotion build. At one scene, where his daughter is teaching him to read, she couldn’t hold back the tears.

  Finally Brady looked over, said, “Aw shit,” and told Max to turn off the video. Dragging her into his arms, he kissed her head as she once again buried her nose in his chest. “Shh, it’s okay.”

  “No, no it isn’t. I was like him. I can feel it. You’ve all hinted at the fact that I was selfish.” She clutched at his shirt. “I hate what I’m finding out about myself.”

  “Oh, Clare,” she heard Delia say.

  And Max’s strong voice sounded: “I’ll be right back. Come with me, Dee.”

  Clare sensed when they left the room and she and Brady were alone.

  “Clare, baby, don’t cry.” He kissed her hair. Locked a hand at her neck. “Shh.”

  She shook her head. “I was an awful person, just like Henry. I abandoned all of you. Now, I’m different, I know I am. But you shouldn’t forgive me.”

  “Clare, there was more to it than that. I was at fault, too.”

  She drew back and stared up at him. His blue eyes were so bleak she cried again and laid her hands on the gauzy shirt. “I can’t believe you did anything to hurt me, ever.”

  “Not intentionally.”

  She was so caught up in him—his face, the way his lips formed a frown—that she was only dimly aware of the ringing of the doorbell.

  But she heard voices. Max was displeased. “Sure, fine, come on in.”

  Glancing over to the door, Brady tensed. He drew Clare’s head to his chest. “Damn it, just what we need.”

  From behind, she heard, “What the hell is going on here?”

  It took Clare a minute to realize she was hearing Jonathan’s voice. She drew back, wiped her face as best she could, gave Brady a long, apologetic look, and rose.

  Jonathan stood in the foyer. He wore nicely pressed jeans and a collared shirt, looking more casual than she’d ever seen him. But his stance and his expression were anything but relaxed. With barely suppressed anger, he said, “I thought you wanted some time to regroup. To be alone.”

  “I’m sorry, Jonathan. Actually I wanted some time with my friends. I should have been more specific.” She cleared her throat, “More honest.”

  Brady came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, Jon. We were just watching some movies about amnesia. In light of what happened to Clare.”

  Jonathan glanced at Brady’s proprietary gesture, then at Clare. There was fury in his eyes. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said and walked out.

  Brady squeezed her shoulder. “Let him go. Come back to the movies, babe.”

  Clare wanted to do that. She wanted to stay with Brady and her friends. But every day she was finding out how she’d abandoned people in the past few years, and even though she couldn’t remember the details, she was ashamed of her behavior. “No, I can’t let him go like this. I’m sorry.”

  She walked out the door, but not before she saw the sadness on Delia’s face, Max’s anger and Brady’s pained expression. Damn, couldn’t she do anything without hurting somebody?

  * * *

  Jonathan tried to keep his feelings at bay as he strode down the walkway to his car, but they surfaced anyway. He knew in his gut he was going to lose her to them. He should have known, after what he did, that it would come to this. He wasn’t going to escape his actions, after all.

  “Jonathan, wait.”

  Go, he told himself when he heard Clarissa call out. Don’t beg. Don’t put yourself through this again.

  But he stopped. Where had all his gumption gone? He loved her so much he was losing a piece of himself in the process. Turning, he watched her walk toward him in the moonlight. The beams kissed her blond hair, and it looked lighter. She wore simple jean capris and a long white top, the outfit making her seem younger than she was. And when she got close, the expression on her face was conflicted. She gestured to the left side of the house. “Come sit over there with me.”

  A bench graced the lawn and the June night warm enough to be outside with your girl. Bitterly, Jonathan wondered if Clarissa would ever truly be his, but he followed her over and sat down. He let the stars twinkle, the moon shine on them and tried to reason with himself.

  Then, for the first time since the accident, Clarissa touched him of her own volition. She took his hand and held it between the two of hers. “I’m sorry I hurt you tonight. You’ve been nothing but kind to me for three weeks. You sacrificed your job, everything, for me.”

  The weight of his hypocrisy was almost too much to bear. “I wanted to do that.”

  She waited a bit, then spoke again. “Jonathan, I don’t know how to say this without hurting you even more, but I have to get it out in the open. I want to be with you, but I need to spend time with my friends, too.” She glanced around. “I can’t believe I’m the type of person who doesn’t. They’re wonderful people. And surely you and I couldn’t have been together constantly, even every night.”

  “No. But, honey, you don’t remember this—you grew apart from those three in there. You didn’t have much in common with them anymore. I swear you haven’t been to movie night in at least six months.” All of that, at least, was the truth.

  “What a shame, then. It was fun. Well, until the last part.”

  He tried to forget the image of her cuddled up to Langston, but he couldn’t. What that scenario resurrected for him was even harder to banish. Again he felt utter rage well up inside him. He knew it was in his voice when he said, “You were in Langston’s arms, damn it. Letting him hold you.”

  “I got upset when we watched Regarding Henry.”

  Jonathan spat out an expletive. “How could th
ey pick that movie?”

  “No one had seen that one. They didn’t know what kind of person Henry was and how it related to my situation.”

  “They did it on purpose, to upset you.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “How would you know that, Clarissa?”

  “I sense they’d never do anything to purposely hurt me.”

  “You hurt them. Now’s their chance to get back at you.”

  Her hands went to her temples, and she stood abruptly. “This isn’t the way I wanted our conversation to go. I didn’t come out here to let you bad-mouth my friends.”

  He was distancing her with his anger, so he quelled it as best he could and drew her back down. “Sit, honey. I’m sorry I’m upsetting you.”

  Though she was still agitated, she dropped back onto the bench. “I can’t figure all this out. Why would I let my friends go? There had to be room in my life for all of you.”

  “You chose to dedicate yourself to your work. And to me.”

  “But Brady’s part of my work.”

  How much to say? He could be honest about that, he guessed. And he was fighting for his life here. “You and Langston were disagreeing a lot.”

  “Honestly? I can’t imagine that. We seem so close. I remember him on a visceral level.”

  In a way she didn’t remember Jonathan. The thought cut him to the quick, more than seeing her in the guy’s arms. Now, he felt desperate. So he pushed. “You were making plans to syndicate the show, hopefully with the Cooking Network. And as I fold you before, the cookbooks would be secondary.”

  “He put his career on hold for my cookbooks, and then I was going to leave him behind?” She shook her head, sending waves of hair around her face. “No wonder he was mad.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “No, I read all his children’s books today. They are exceptional.”

  “Ah. While I thought you were resting.”

  Clarissa sighed heavily. “Jonathan, I’m not accountable to you for how I spend my time. Surely it’s not an unreasonable request to be with my friends and work alone with Brady when need be.”

  “Just so you’re not accountable to him, either.” That statement caused another spurt of guilt.

  “I’d like to be accountable to myself! And for everybody to let me do that.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I…I just don’t want to lose you to them.”

  “I don’t understand that concern.”

  “Clarissa, you and I, we aren’t as close as we were before the accident. And the distance makes me feel bad.”

  She went very still. “Do you mean physically again?”

  “Partly. And then I come here and see Langston all over you. How do you think that makes me feel?”

  “Bad, and I’m sorry, but it was a brotherly hug.” Her face, though, flushed. He wished to God he didn’t know why.

  “Just remember, honey, it was you and I who were sleeping together for over a year.”

  Subtly, she inched away.

  “No, don’t do that. I won’t pressure you for more. But look at this from my side. I miss being with you, as much as we were before, and how we were before. Can’t you understand that?”

  “I guess I can. But you shouldn’t have come over tonight when I asked you not to. You wouldn’t have seen what you did and misinterpreted it if you hadn’t been presumptuous.”

  “Presumptuous? I was worried! I couldn’t reach you.”

  Again, she stood. “I’m exhausted. I’m going inside.”

  He rose, too. “Can I come up?”

  “Jonathan, didn’t you hear what I said? I need some space. I’m going back to my friends. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Because he wanted badly to hold her, he stepped forward. She stepped back, and the look on her face told him that a hug was the last thing she wanted. So, curtly, he said, “Fine.”

  He watched her leave. Climb the steps. Open the door. Let herself inside.

  Damn, damn, damn. Langston had his claws in her again. Nothing Jonathan had done since the accident, or before that, had changed anything. Langston was winning the silent battle for Clarissa that, for a very long time, he and Jonathan had been waging.

  No, Jonathan told himself as he headed for the car. I won’t let that happen. Not after getting a second chance.

  So when he got in his Jag, he took out his phone and called up his to do list for tomorrow. On the top of it, he put “Contact the Cooking Network.”

  They were standing in the kitchen as if they were at a funeral, drinking beer, mourning their loss. Again. They’d begun to get the old Clare back; even Max was warming up to her. And then she took off with Harris. Just like that, she left them. Brady shouldn’t be surprised, but he was—and the pain she caused him now, a second time, was almost intolerable.

  “I told you, bro.” Max leaned up against his counter and crossed his arms. “I told you to protect yourself.”

  “I know.” The words stuck in Brady’s throat.

  “She’s probably up there—” Max motioned to the second floor “—with him right now, f—”

  “Stop it, Max.” This from Delia, who stood by a set of French doors leading to the yard. “She’s confused. She’s scared. Anybody can see that.”

  “I’m right here, too.” They turned to the doorway and Brady was shocked to see Clare standing there.

  Max and Delia were chagrined. They spoke simultaneously.

  “Clare, I—”

  “Clare, we—”

  She held up her hand. “Don’t apologize for what I overheard. I take it I planned things with you, then canceled them for Jonathan.”

  Only Max responded in the affirmative.

  “Well, that’s over. I’m taking control of my life as it is now. Even if I don’t remember the past I’m going on my gut.” She raised her chin. “I wanted to come tonight and I wanted to come back in to finish the movies. If you’re still willing to give me a chance, that is.”

  Delia said, “Of course.”

  “Max?”

  “As I said, girl, the jury’s still out.” He shrugged. “But what the hell, you came back. That’s a start.”

  She focused on Brady. “How about you?”

  Silence. What was he to say? It’s okay you broke my heart? It’s okay I lost my best friend? It’s okay I blew everything? He wondered briefly how much longer he could conceal his part in her accident. He faced the others. “Could I have a minute alone with Clare?”

  “Sure. We’ll go in the living room.” Max picked up the pan of brownies. “With these.”

  “Don’t eat them all before we get there,” Clare called out. “I know I like chocolate.”

  When they were alone, Clare wrapped her arms around her waist and stared up at him. “This isn’t going to be good, is it?”

  “No.”

  “I…I thought you wanted things to be like they were before, more than any of them.” She frowned. “Brady, I know that’s true, I feel it.”

  He peeled the label off his beer with his thumbnail. Now that he’d gotten her alone, he was losing his nerve. “It’s all true.” He looked over at her. “But, Clare, there’s something you don’t know. I think it’s time to bring it out in the open.”

  “What?”

  “Something about the night of the accident.”

  “You know why I had the accident?”

  “Let’s just say I know what went on the evening before. You were here, with me. We argued. Badly.”

  “Over what?”

  “You moving out. We said some nasty things to each other. After…a while, you left upset.”

  “I was moving out? Where?”

  “Into a fancy house with Harris.”

  Her face flushed. “Why hasn’t anybody told me this before?”

  “We didn’t want to bombard you with information.”

  “But you could have told me you knew why I left. All you said was you’d seen me early in the even
ing.”

  “The truth is, Clare, I was afraid to tell you too much.” And he was still afraid to tell her too much. How pathetic.

  Clare watched him with wide eyes. Then she shook her head. “All right, if this is true, if this was the cause of my amnesia, shouldn’t your telling me this trigger something? It doesn’t.” She winced. “But I am getting a headache.”

  “Maybe it’ll take a while to sink in.” He couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice. When his comments did resonate with her, would she abandon him again?

  Goddamn it. He crossed to her and placed his hand over her heart. It was beating like a drum. “You’re upset. You should be. You know that I’ve hurt you, and you don’t want to remember it.”

  Suddenly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close to him. His body, without his consent hardened. He regretted that she’d feel his erection, but there was no way he could push her away. And besides, when she remembered, she’d find out his feelings for her had become more than friendly a long time ago. He grasped onto her tightly and buried his face in her neck.

  “I have to think about this, Brady. Meanwhile, don’t leave me.” She nosed into his chest. “Please.”

  Did he want anything more in his life than to hear those words? Did he want anything more than to have her clinging to him like this?

  So he took the coward’s way out as he had in the hospital when he realized she didn’t remember most of that night. “Of course I won’t leave you.” He smoothed down her hair and held her against his chest wishing he could meld her to him. “Not unless you ask me to.”

  Which, when her memory returned, she very well might do.

  CHAPTER NINE

  For Clare, it had been an exhausting and disconcerting week. First, movie night had been a debacle. Torn between Brady and Jonathan, Clare felt as if she hadn’t done anything right. Then, Brady had confessed that he and Clare had had an argument the evening of her accident and he believed that had sent her out into the night. She accepted that they’d fought—she had vague recollections of his anger over her moving out—but she didn’t accept that the argument had caused her psychological amnesia. Tired of trying to figure it out, which brought on more severe headaches, she and Brady had decided to table the whole thing for now and let her memory return gradually, as the doctors had instructed. It still angered her that no one had told her about her plans to move out, but she had to let that go, too.