Dancing In the Dark

by Kathryn Shay

“That’s a good way to describe your situation. My educated guess is before long, you’ll have the whole picture and you’ll feel more grounded.”

  She stared at Anna. “I’m not sure I want the whole picture anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “Anna, something’s not right in my life. I dreamed last night that Brady was making love to me.”

  “Hmm. You are close. Unusually close for being only friends.”

  “But we are just friends.”

  “As I said before, dreams aren’t a reflection of reality, Clare. Or even what you want reality to be. These particular ones could be manifesting the closeness you feel toward Brady in a different way.”

  “But it was so real. I woke aroused.”

  “That’s understandable, too. You haven’t had sex in weeks.”

  “Wouldn’t I want sex with Jonathan?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “I don’t. I don’t feel attracted to him, today in the present.”

  “And you know you were before?”

  “He says I was. And surely, if we’ve been together for over a year, we’ve made love. He implied as much.”

  “Hmm.”

  She tugged at the hem of her blouse, a nervous gesture that didn’t seem at all familiar. “Why is this happening with Brady? It’s affecting how I feel when I’m with him.”

  “Maybe you were always attracted to him on some level and suppressed it. Maybe he feels that, too.”

  “Why wouldn’t we have acted on it? We’ve been friends for ten years.”

  “I’m not sure. Could you ask him about it?”

  “I usually feel like I can talk to him about anything. But his mother just came home from the hospital, and I don’t want to upset him.”

  “For what it’s worth, looking at this psychologically, you seem closer to Brady than to Jonathan.”

  “All my friends, including Brady, say I wasn’t close to any of them anymore.”

  “Yes, it does appear contradictory. But that’s the nature of amnesia.” Anna shrugged. “Did you write down this dream, too?”

  “Ah, no.”

  Anna smiled. “Clare, I’m not a prude.”

  “Anna, this dream was so hot I’m not sure I can get it down on paper.”

  They both laughed aloud.

  “All right. I’ll give you a pass on this one.”

  Clare sobered. “There’s something else, too.” She sighed, not wanting to recall the discussion she’d had with Brady on movie night. “Brady thinks he’s responsible for my amnesia.”

  “Why on earth would he think that?”

  “He says we had a fight late that night about my moving out.”

  “You were moving out of the condo?”

  “And in with Jonathan.”

  “Why didn’t anyone give you that piece of information before this?”

  “Brady said they were following doctors’ orders not to reveal too much too soon.” She frowned. “He thinks our argument is what sent me into the night.”

  Anna came to the edge of her seat. “Was it right before the accident?”

  She nodded. “I think so, but I can’t figure out why one more argument with Brady would be enough to cause memory loss. I know we’d been fighting a lot then.”

  “I’m leaning toward something more happening that night.”

  “Damn it. Why can’t I remember?”

  “You’re trying too hard. Relax and let it come on its own, as the other memories have.”

  Clare left her session with Anna feeling vaguely unsatisfied. She got in her car and drove out to the suburbs. To Brady’s house. To Brady. She knew the way.

  He answered the door barefoot and bare-chested, wearing only low-slung denim shorts. Clare thought she might just swallow her tongue when she saw him. “Hey, there, gorgeous, come on in.” His hair was damp from the shower, and his skin gleamed.

  She gawked.

  “You okay?”

  “Um, yeah. Just killing time till Cathy comes.”

  Tugging her inside, he left the door open to the screen, allowing the warm July air inside. “You must be excited about seeing your sister.”

  She noticed his chest was a little damp. Droplets nestled in the springy hair there. “Excited?”

  “Hey, earth to Clare?”

  “Oh, sorry. Yeah, I can’t wait to see her. I have a feeling a lot of memories will come back.”

  There it was again. The wariness in Brady’s eyes when her memory returning completely was mentioned. How odd, too, since he’d already confessed what had happened that night.

  “Clare, you’re spacing out again. Are you sure everything’s all right?”

  “I don’t know. I have a lot to think about.”

  “I’m here if you want to talk.”

  She nodded. “I know you are. But I’m not ready yet. I’m anxious to see Cathy, though.”

  They were still inside the foyer. “Sweetheart, I know I mentioned this before, but you and Cathy haven’t been close for a while.”

  “Jonathan said the same thing this morning. He’s never met her.”

  “You were, um, with Jonathan this morning?” Brady’s tone was strained and he was frowning.

  “No, I talked to him on the phone before my therapy appointment.”

  “Oh, good. How did the appointment go?”

  “Don’t ask.” She pushed back her hair. “I feel bad about my estrangement from my own sister. Same old, same old, I guess.”

  “I hope you aren’t disappointed.”

  “You’re sweet to be concerned. Now, can I visit your mom? I thought I might cheer her up by talking about some recipes.”

  She started down the hall, but he slid his arm over her shoulder and across her chest from behind, the gesture meant to be playful. When he drew her close, his scent of soap and aftershave just about knocked her off her feet. The last thing she needed now was to be feeling Brady’s almost naked body against her.

  Still, she closed her eyes and steeped herself in him. His chest was warm, solid, muscled. His scent enveloped her. She felt safe but energized. Cared for but desired.

  Desired? Oh, God, just like in the dream.

  * * *

  Clare hugged Cathy again when they got inside her condo. She’d remembered her sister as soon as she’d come into the arrivals area at the airport. The experience wasn’t a flashback, wasn’t because she’d seen pictures, but because she knew this woman. They were flesh and blood, and her very cells felt the connection. “I’m so glad you came.”

  Cathy was more petite than Clare, her hair lighter, but their eyes were the same color. She seemed anxious, too, which made Clare sad. “I’m so glad you remember me.”

  “I do. Other than Brady, you’re the only person I know intuitively.”

  Cathy grinned.

  “Come on, I’ll show you where you can stay.” She led Cathy into her office, which had a sofa bed across the room from her desk and bookshelves.

  “Are you sure you want me to sleep in here? I won’t be in the way?”

  “Of course not. Why?”

  “Since you started the TV show, you’ve been pretty protective of your work space. The last time I came to Rockford, I stayed in a hotel.”

  Like a movie screen showing flashbacks, she saw Cathy openmouthed when Clare had pulled up to a hotel…

  You’re kidding, right?

  Look, Cathy, I’ve got my stuff spread all over the office. You’ll be more comfortable here.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have come.

  Don’t start that again. This isn’t a big deal…

  Clare frowned. “I remember. It’s terrible that I made you stay at a hotel. I’m so sorry, Cath.”

  “Let’s forget about that. I’m just happy to be here today.”

  “I’ll let you get settled while I start cooking us some supper.”

  Clare headed to the kitchen and crossed to the shelf where her cookbooks nestled together. Number five had My Baby Sister’s Choic
e, beef burgundy. Trying to forget what kind of person she’d been to her own flesh and blood, Clare got out the chuck roast she’d bought and cut earlier, and put it on the stove to brown. She also took out the vegetables and began preparing them to add to the dish. The sautéing meat smelled good and she… Oh, sharp pain made Clare step back from the stove and grab her head. Images burst through the fog in her brain…

  Clare on the phone. Dressed for recording a show where she would make beef burgundy. She was tapping her toe on the floor impatiently. “Then leave the bastard. No, Cathy, don’t cry. Look, I’m sorry to be so blunt, but he’s never been nice enough to you. Yes, I did like him once…”

  From the phone came Cathy’s voice: “You’re cruel sometimes, Clare. You never have time for me or any of your—”

  “I’ll tell you what I don’t have time for—this whining. For God’s sake, it isn’t the first time he cheated on you. I’d never take that from any man.”

  “No, of course not, not the great Clarissa Boneli…”

  “Clare?”

  She found herself doubled over at the sink, clutching her stomach, unable to bear what she’d just remembered.

  “Clare!”

  Cathy was at her side. “Oh, God, you’re crying. Did you burn yourself?”

  Clare couldn’t stop the tears. Cathy just held her until finally she quieted. Her sister led her to a chair, then crossed to the sink, got her a glass of water and set it on the table. “What happened?”

  “I was cooking the beef burgundy. And I had a horrible, horrible memory.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of talking to you on the phone. You were weeping over…” She thought hard. “Derek.”

  Cathy’s face drained of color. She didn’t say anything.

  More memories flooded Clare. Cathy’s wedding, honeymoon pictures, Clare spending time with them at their apartment in Arizona. And Derek’s philandering ways.

  “What did you remember?”

  “When I told you to leave him. I was impatient and mean to you on the phone. Cath, I was an awful person.”

  “No, no, sis, don’t think about that now.”

  “I have to. What I did was unconscionable. How long was I like that? Tell me the truth. Please.”

  “Our relationship was good until about two years ago. We were close before that.”

  Again, Clare saw images. Of her and Cathy riding bikes together, holding hands at funerals, cooking with Grandma Boneli, calling each other from college, shopping in New York.

  “I remember those times, too.” She shook her head. “But I can’t believe what kind of person I became.”

  Cathy seemed much older as she sat down at the table and clasped Clare’s hands in hers. “You know what, Clare? I think you’ve been given a second chance. If you want to be different from the person you turned into the last few years, do it.”

  “What happens when I get my memory back?”

  “Then you’ve got a choice of who to be, I guess.” She nodded to the stove. “Want me to make supper? Or we can order out?”

  Clare shook her head. “I’d like to make your favorite meal. I think the ghosts are gone now.”

  The food was terrific, and they both indulged in some cabernet to go with it. Cathy told her all about taking fifteen kids to France and had Clare laughing as hard as she’d cried earlier at stories of the kids playing hide-and-seek on the Eiffel Tower, nearly falling into the Seine on the boat tour and mimicking the mimes on the streets of Montmartre. More memories came back, too, the good ones, of her and Cathy sitting like this on other couches, sharing their adult lives like sisters should.

  Then, as Clare had promised, they put on their pajamas and watched a TV movie about twins separated at birth. At ten, Cathy yawned.

  “You ready for bed?”

  “Yeah, the flight tired me out.”

  “I’m sorry, I should have thought of that earlier.”

  They said good-night and Clare approached her bedroom with trepidation. She so did not want to sleep in that bed. Just seeing it conjured images of her and Brady there in the dream, the chemistry sizzling between them, and the guilt she felt over what she’d done with him. Then she thought of Jonathan. And once again, Clare vowed to be kind to him, to give herself time to discover what they’d had together. Though she was feeling these crazy things for Brady, Clare wasn’t going to write off the man she’d been on the verge of moving in with—like the old Clare would have. If she could only remember being close to him, perhaps she’d forestall dreams like she’d had last night.

  She saw the lights go out in the office. Another memory came of her and Cathy sleeping in the same bed after their parents died. Grandma let it go on as long as they needed to be together. Feeling foolish, she nonetheless turned around and approached her sister’s doorway, longing for something, some closeness that she remembered on a visceral level, too.

  When she opened the door, Cathy’s voice came from the bed. “Clare, is something wrong?”

  “Um, that’s a queen-size bed.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Now she was embarrassed.

  But in the moonlight coming in from the window, she saw Cathy lift up the covers on the other side. Clare rushed to the bed and climbed in.

  “You’re still scared, aren’t you, at night?”

  “Of a lot of things.”

  “Tell me what else.”

  “I will. Tomorrow. Go to sleep. I know you’re exhausted.”

  “Good night, Clare.”

  “Good night, Cathy.”

  But Clare didn’t fall asleep right away. Not until Cathy reached over and took her hand. Fingers clasped, Clare heard her sister’s breathing even out and then her own eyes closed.

  * * *

  “Well, if you aren’t one of the most charming men I’ve ever met.” Cathy smiled over at Jonathan. She was a beautiful, ethereal woman, but Jonathan preferred Clarissa’s more vibrant looks. “Flowers and wine.” He’d brought them each a different bouquet.

  “I’m glad you could come to Rockford, Cathy. Clarissa needs family around.”

  Family was a hell of a lot better than her friends’ constant interference, Jonathan thought. At least Delia Kramer had gone to fetch her son and Max was on a trip with his daughter. As usual, it was just Langston’s threatening presence that Jonathan had to deal with. He thought they were past all this, and then the accident happened, and she’d forgotten how good they were together. He’d be damned if he wouldn’t try to make her remember.

  Turning his attention to the present, he focused on the surroundings. They were seated at Clarissa’s teak dining table, set exquisitely, of course, with fine bone china and sterling. She entered the room smiling like she hadn’t smiled at him in weeks, and the grip on his heart eased some. He could tell she was trying harder tonight, and that made him feel better.

  “Here she is. Hmm, the food smells good.”

  “I found the recipe under TV station owner’s choice.” She touched his shoulder like she used to.

  “There was a lot of fan mail from that one.”

  “Fan mail?” Cathy asked.

  “The show gets a great deal.”

  “And your being named Rockford’s most eligible bachelor helped,” Clarissa added.

  Cathy looked impressed. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Oh.” Clarissa’s eyes widened. “Apparently I did.”

  “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

  When they began to eat, he said to Cathy, “Did you know your sister will soon be nationally known?”

  He’d already decided he was going to address this. He couldn’t do anything about Lillian Langston getting sick, but he could keep mentioning the golden opportunity that loomed over Clarissa’s golden head. Cheerfully, he explained the Cooking Network opportunity to Cathy, but instead of being delighted for her sister, she frowned. He wondered why.

  The cheesy chicken and ham was cooked to perfection. Clarissa served it with
wild rice and beans, his favorites, too. His wine complemented the meal.

  After they finished, Jonathan stood and nodded to the living room. “Go sit in there and talk, you two. I’m doing KP.”

  Both women protested.

  “No, I’m putting my foot down. I even wore my jeans so I could do this.”

  Cathy gushed. “Clare, you better hold on to this one. He’s a gem.”

  Jonathan winked. “Keep telling her that.”

  After he cleaned up, he made decaf coffee and uncovered the plate of cookies Clarissa had made up. He recognized the Italian biscuits, spice balls and fruit bars she’d once made on a show totally dedicated to desserts from her grandmother. Obviously, she’d baked for Cathy.

  The two of them were curled up on a couch in the living room, perusing photos. Clarissa glanced at him. “You brought this album for me?”

  “Yes, I thought it might spark memories.” He smiled down at the leather-bound book he’d been keeping for a year. “I hope it’s okay.”

  “More than,” Cathy said. She scooted over. “Come sit between us, and tell us about the pictures.”

  “My pleasure.”

  The album included his and Clarissa’s trips together.

  “This is the first time we went to New York. You had a book signing and were thrilled to be asked.”

  “Did Brady come?” Clarissa wanted to know. “The illustrations are so key to the books.”

  “No.” And he’d made a lot of noise about it. “You were invited because of the popularity of the show.”

  The pictures covered their summer vacation in Cape Cod, a trip to St. Lucia and a brief excursion to Florida when she was a guest chef on another cooking show. Clarissa leaned into him as the pages progressed: there were photos taken on the set, of her and Jonathan at events around town, some casual ones at his place. She did a double take at his house—his living room, especially. Swallowing hard, she put her hand to her throat.

  And he panicked for a moment. There was a memory of what happened there that he didn’t want to come back. Not yet, at least. He flipped the page fast.

  Cathy commented on how happy she looked, they looked, and asked a million questions. More flashes came to Clarissa…

  “Oh, I remember that bikini…I never wore it again.”

  It was skimpy, revealing, and he’d had to coerce her into buying it. “You better not have.”