Dancing In the Dark

by Kathryn Shay

  “Not the answer I want, babe.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s the best I can do.”

  His hands fisted. “I won’t let this happen all over again, Clare. He can’t have you again.” She understood the pain behind the autocratic comment.

  “I’m making my own decisions now, Brady. I have to. But I will explain this one to you. I feel terrible about abandoning you and Delia and Max. Even my own sister. I’m putting that behind me. I promise.”

  “That’s good, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t you see? That means I can’t just abandon Jonathan, either. The old me would have, but I won’t do something that cruel now. I’m done treating people that way.”

  He just stared at her.

  “Please try to understand, Brade. I need to figure all this out in my own time.”

  Like she knew he would, like he’d always done, he nodded, putting her own welfare above his own. “All right”

  “Thank you.”

  He grabbed her arms and yanked her close. “Just remember what you have with me. Remember this.” His mouth closed over hers in a hard and possessive kiss.

  She was dizzy when she pulled back but managed a little smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll never forget that.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Clare, what are you doing up so early?” Cathy spoke the words from the doorway to the kitchen where she stood, wearing a pretty green robe.

  Shaky today from lack of sleep, and because she’d had time to internalize what she’d done last night, Clare glanced at the clock. 7:00 a.m. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

  “No, I awoke on my own. I heard you come in late, though. Did you go home with Jonathan for a while?”

  Clare groaned. “No.” She took the scrubbed carrots and began slicing them with a large knife. “I…um, saw Brady.”

  Boy, did she see Brady—his beautiful chest, impressive abs, impressive… everything! She couldn’t stop thinking about him, though today she was feeling even more guilt because of Jonathan. Was that what happened the last time—the juxtaposition of two conflicting emotions that led to her amnesia?

  Cathy came farther into the kitchen and poured herself coffee. From over by the pot, she asked, “Isn’t Brady staying at his mom’s anymore?”

  “Yes, he is. But his sister went over there last night, so he came home to sleep.”

  “How is he? I know you’ve been worried about him.”

  He’s wonderful. Fantastic. A very skilled lover. “He seems better about his mom.” She put the carrots in a large Ziploc bag and started chopping the celery. “He’s heading back over there today.”

  Circling around to the other side of the counter, Cathy sat on a stool and watched her. “I was hoping to see him.”

  Clare didn’t say anything.

  “All right. You’re doing what you always did, chopping up a storm, because you’re upset. Who caused it, Brady or Jonathan?”

  “Neither.” Clare had to clear her throat at the lie. “I’m doing that food demo at the nursing home, remember? You’re coming with me. Then we have to go to Lillian’s house to work on the recipes.” She chopped harder. “I promised. I have to go. I wouldn’t if—”

  Cathy reached across the counter, stayed her hand and took the knife.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I’m saving your fingers. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

  Clare stared at her sister, then began to laugh, a nervous, hysterical laugh. “Oh, God, you have no idea how true that is.”

  Standing, Cathy got Clare a cup of coffee then dragged her by the arm to the table. “Sit and tell me what happened.”

  Clare dropped down into the chair because she couldn’t find the will to protest. And besides, she remembered that she used to confide in Cathy in the past “We made love last night.”

  “Usually that’s cause for celebration. Was it odd because you don’t remember Jonathan?”

  “Oh, good Lord.” Clare shook her head, finally faced her sister. “Not me and Jonathan. Me and Brady.”

  Coffee sloshed over Cathy’s mug onto the table. She was openmouthed, too. “I…what…holy cow!”

  “I know.” Clare buried her face in her hands. “I’m still in shock.”

  “Was it?”

  “Was it what?”

  “A shock to your system?”

  Clare stilled. All night she’d tried not to let this in, but it was bubbling up inside her and ready to spill over. “No. It felt right.”

  A brow raised, Cathy just watched her.

  “What?”

  “The body doesn’t lie. It knows what it wants. Where it belongs.”

  Closing her eyes, Clare shook her head. “How can this be good? I was in a committed relationship with Jonathan—for God’s sake, we were moving in together—and I cheated on him. I feel terrible.”

  “You don’t remember any of that. You acted on how you feel now, today. From what I can see, there’s no guilt to be had in that.”

  Clare looked at Cathy. “There’s more.”

  Her sister waited.

  “It wasn’t the first time. I remembered the night of the accident. Brady and I made love then, too.” And it was just as fantastic. “I got upset after, though, and told him it was a mistake and left the house.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything after leaving Brady. I’m not sure what I did before the accident.”

  “If you’d gone to Jonathan’s, wouldn’t he have told you?”

  “I don’t know that he would have. Or should have. The therapists said not to rush the memories. And Brady didn’t tell me we made love, for some of the same reasons.”

  Frowning, Cathy toyed with the napkin. “I suppose so. But Brady did tell you about the argument you two had and his part in your accident, on movie night. Shouldn’t Jonathan have at least told you that you went there? It’s been over a month since the accident.” She scowled.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Maybe Jonathan doesn’t want you to remember what happened, Clare.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Maybe if you told him about Brady and then you got amnesia, he saw it as a second chance. He could be hoping you’d never remember what you did with Brady.”

  “Cathy, that night I told Brady being with him was a mistake. If I went to see Jonathan, then I would have told him that too.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No, Jonathan would never dupe me like that all these weeks. He cares too much about me.”

  “Well, I agree with the latter. He’s a nice guy, and it’s obvious he loves you.”

  “I must have felt the same about him. If I could just remember.” Her heart clenched so tight in her chest she put her hand over it “But you’re right about one thing. Brady told me he loved me that night. And I totally freaked.”

  “Clare, he’s loved you forever.”

  “He said that, too.” She patted her chest with her palm. “Am I the only one who didn’t know how he felt?”

  “Probably. I brought it up a few times, but by then you were with Jonathan and I stopped mentioning Brady.”

  “Why can’t I remember the rest?”

  “I don’t know.” A pause while Cathy sipped her coffee. “What are you going to do?”

  “Right now, I’m going to finish getting the food ready for the demo. Then I’m going to cook lunch for twenty senior citizens.”

  “You’ll have to see Brady, too. Like you said, we’re supposed to go over to Lillian’s.”

  “With you as a buffer.”

  “Clare, Brady’s not the enemy. And for a long time he was your best friend. Don’t worry about seeing him. He’s always taken care of you.”

  “He was hurt last night because I wouldn’t end my relationship with Jonathan. People in pain don’t necessarily take care of those they love.”

  “I have faith in him.”

  Clare threw back her chair. “I can’t
stand rehashing this. Let’s finish up here.”

  With Cathy’s help, Clare prepared the rest of the food and then they showered, dressed—coincidentally both in red—and arrived at Serene Gardens by ten. When she walked in, she remembered the place clearly. What the room looked like. What the kitchen smelled like. Who would be there.

  Twenty people were seated in the rows of chairs set up in front of the open kitchen area, which was at the end of the dining room. The residents were short and tall, mostly white-haired, some in wheelchairs or using walkers.

  “There she is,” an older gentleman spoke out. He rose and hobbled over to her. “Clare dear. How nice to see you.”

  “Mr. Antonelli. Hello.”

  Cathy’s eyes bulged. Clare smiled.

  She remembered Mrs. Thompson, Mr. Clark, Mrs. Agnew. And many others who greeted her.

  A tiny woman made her way over in a walker. “Hello, young lady.”

  “Oh.” Well, it was too good to be true. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

  “How could you? We’ve never met. I just moved into this place.”

  After Clare greeted the residents, the manager—Deb Sykes, whom she also recognized—came in and drew Clare away from the others. Cathy had been setting up for the demo on the counter. It was time to begin. Clare was glad, because it would take her mind off everything. Cooking always did.

  Just as she faced the crowd from behind the open counter, Jonathan walked in. So much for forgetting. He looked happy—he didn’t know what she’d done after he left last night. Dressed in a nice suit, he was perfectly groomed. She gave a little wave, he smiled genuinely, then she said to the group, “Hello, everyone. It’s good to be back.”

  They clapped. Oh, how sweet. Clare had experienced so much fear and anxiety since she’d woken up in the hospital with no memory that she luxuriated in the warm, fuzzy feeling that filled her at their acceptance. She also wondered how she’d ever let this relationship with the nursing home go.

  “First I’d like to introduce my sister, Cathy, who’s my sous-chef.”

  Smiling out at the group, Cathy waved. “Hi, there.”

  “Today, we’re going to be making turkey noodle soup, and then I’m going to prepare lasagna. You can have the soup now, for lunch, and the lasagna for dinner. How does that sound?”

  They cheered like little kids.

  “Like the Cooking Network.”

  “Like old times.”

  “We missed you, girl.”

  Cathy had a ball at the demo and wanted to stay for lunch. They weren’t due at Lillian’s house until two, so Clare agreed. Before she could take a seat, Jonathan came up to her.

  “Hello, Clarissa.” He kissed her cheek and studied her face. “You all right? You look tired.”

  “I had a hard time sleeping.”

  He seemed surprised. “I hope I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “No, you didn’t. Do you want to sit with Cathy and me?”

  His grin was self-effacing. “I think Mrs. DeBellis would be insulted if I did that.”

  She’d forgotten about the small woman who had a big crush on Jonathan. He’d often come to the nursing home, too, to keep her company while she cooked for the older people.

  As he crossed the room, Clare saw Mrs. DeBellis’s face light with pleasure. When Jonathan kissed her cheek and sat down, she beamed. He was a nice man, generous with his time and money. And thinking about that made Clare’s good mood fizzle out like a candle in the rain. She was an unfaithful girlfriend, a cheater, and she didn’t deserve Jonathan’s love and commitment.

  Because every time she saw him, she realized her heart belonged to Brady.

  * * *

  “What’s wrong, son?” Brady’s mother asked the question from the kitchen table where she’d come out to sit for lunch. The doctor had said she should be up and about and they’d just finished Clare’s minestrone soup.

  At the sink where he was filling the dishwasher, he mumbled, “Nothing, why?”

  “You’re lying. You look like you lost your best friend. Again.”

  “Maybe I did.” He came back to the table and scrubbed his hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved, and his beard was scratchy. He could barely shower, he was so bummed. And confused. And, all right, angry. How could she make love to him as she had last night, with her body and her soul, then say she didn’t know what she was going to do about Harris? It was almost as bad as the last time when she declared what they’d done together was a mistake!

  Okay, sure, she said she wasn’t going to abandon anyone anymore in her life. He wanted her back to the old Clare who wouldn’t have done that, but did she have to start with Harris?

  His mom grasped his hand. “Is it something more than what you told me the night Sammy bumped into Clare at the restaurant?”

  Brady had confessed to his mother that he was responsible for Clare’s accident, that they’d had a fight and she’d left the house angry. He didn’t tell her they’d made love, nor would he share that information today. Briefly, he wondered if he was too ashamed to reveal what he’d done, or if he was just protecting Clare’s privacy.

  “Honey, you can tell me anything.”

  “I know, Mom. I just can’t talk about this.”

  “Hel-lo!” Clare’s voice came from the front of the house. Just the sound of it made his gut clench as images from last night flooded him.

  Please, Brady, make love to me…Yes, Brady, yes.

  “Come on in, dear,” Lillian called out. “We’re in the kitchen.”

  They heard the screen door open and close. Brady had wanted to turn on the air-conditioning he’d had put in last year because it was warm today, but his mother was chilled by it since she came home from the hospital. He was hot, and got even hotter when Clare came to the kitchen entrance.

  She was dressed in red polka dots, but the color washed her out, and she looked exhausted. Her hair was fluffy around her cheeks, and her face was drawn. Damn, he’d hurt her again. His anger receded immediately.

  “Hi, there.” She smiled at his mother, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I brought Cathy with me.”

  Cathy stepped up to her side. “Hi, Brady. Lillian.”

  Brady stood and crossed to Cathy. Clare still wouldn’t look at him. He hugged her sister, and when Cathy went to greet his mom, Brady stepped in front of Clare. Gently, he placed his hands on her arms and felt her trembling. “Easy, now. It’s okay.” He pulled her close. “Everything’s going to be all right”

  “I’m a wreck,” she whispered against his chest.

  “Me, too. Let’s make a pact. We’ll try to relax around each other.” Because he knew it would help her, he added, “I don’t want to upset Mom.”

  “Of course not.” Still, she clung to him. Took a deep breath and let it out. He kissed her hair.

  “Better, now?”

  She nodded. He stepped back, took her hand and led her to the table.

  Cathy gave their joined hands a glance, then said, “I hope it’s all right that I came. I love being part of Clare’s life again.”

  “Of course it is.” Brady grinned. “We have to catch up, too.”

  Clare sat down, but Brady didn’t. She said, “So, we have two more recipes to pick out and, what, four more stories to record?”

  “Uh-huh.” His mom looked better than she had since she’d come home, and Clare’s arrival had perked her up even more. “I had some new ideas I wanted to run by you, dear, if that’s all right.”

  Brady picked up his sketch pad, which sat on the kitchen table. “I’m going outside to work on the drawings. It’s too warm in here for me and, besides, I’ll be distracted by the chatter.”

  All three women looked at him. His mother smiled, Cathy seemed concerned and Clare bewildered. Getting out of her sight was the least he could do for her. He squeezed her shoulder before he left.

  There was a big hammock in the backyard that was one of his favorite places. He’d always come out here w
hen he was conflicted, and a lot of times his dad had joined him, sat in a nearby chair and they’d talked. Would his dad be ashamed of what Brady had done with Clare? Or would he understand his son’s driving need for the woman?

  Damn it. If only she hadn’t felt so good under his hands. Hadn’t clung to him as if she’d never let go.

  But she had let go. Twice.

  Situating himself in a position where he had room to draw, he studied the recipes that Clare and his mother had chosen, which he’d stuck in a pocket of the pad. He’d decided to put a member of his family in each sketch. He started with the pudding paint. That had been a hoot. He could still see himself slathering the pudding in the girls’ hair. Their readers would appreciate that story. He began to sketch Sam’s and Jules’s curls with gobs of pudding dripping from them—along with just his hands. The preliminary drawing made him laugh out loud.

  “That’s good to hear.” Brady looked up to see Cathy standing by him. Engrossed in his work, he had no idea how much time had passed. “I know I’m interrupting, and I won’t stay long, but I wanted a minute alone with you.”

  “It’s so good to see you, Cath. Of course, sit.”

  She dropped down into one of the big wooden Adirondack chairs they’d painted forest-green.

  “How was France?”

  “Don’t ask. Chaperoning fifteen teenagers in the most romantic city in the world was not pretty.”

  Again he laughed.

  “How are you doing?”

  He made a show of closing the pad and setting it and his pencil on his lap. “Great.”

  Her smile gentle, she shook her head. “You’re not. You’re as upset as she is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She told me about last night.”

  He didn’t expect this. “She did?”

  “Brady, what’s going on with you two?”

  “How much did she tell you?”

  Cathy related what Clare had said.

  “You know as much as I do. She feels like she betrayed Harris. For the second time. But she cares about me. And she’s bound and determined not to revert to her old ways of abandoning people. That includes Harris, now.”

  Her sister frowned. “Something doesn’t add up.”