Dancing In the Dark

by Kathryn Shay

  “Clare’s a wreck and doesn’t know what to do.”

  Anna chuckled at their lapse into third person, though at times over the past few months, she had felt as if she was talking about someone else. “Then I’ll reiterate what I said last time. Clare should just lie low for a while.”

  Still, when Clare left the office, she was bereft.

  Unexpected solace came on Thursday, when Lillian Langston called and asked her to come over to visit. Clare was so glad to see Brady’s mother that she burst into tears when they met on her porch.

  Generous like her son, Lillian hugged her. “Oh, honey, don’t cry.”

  Clare drew back and swiped at her face. “Has he called? Do you know where he is?”

  “He’s called, but he doesn’t want me to tell anyone where he is.”

  Biting her lip, Clare was ashamed to face Brady’s mother. “Not anyone. Just me. He doesn’t want to see me.”

  “That would be my guess.”

  Lillian linked their arms and they went around back and sat at an umbrella table Brady had bought for his mother. July had turned hot, especially in the afternoons. Clare tried to take pleasure in the profusion of colorful flowers surrounding the cement patio, but she couldn’t. The sight of the hammock, of the yard, reminded her of good times she’d spent here with Brady. “Are you angry at me, Lillian?”

  “No, not now. But I was when you got involved with Jonathan Harris.”

  “Join the club.”

  “That Clare hurt a lot of people.”

  “I hate that Clare.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I’m not her anymore. I have some of her good traits, but I’m more like who I was before I got famous.”

  “She was the woman Brady loved.”

  Hearing that hurt. “What I’ve done is irreparable.” Then she colored. His mother didn’t know what had transpired between her and Brady.

  “I know the gist of what happened, dear. Brady came here when he couldn’t handle the events alone. But I’m not sure what you’ve done is beyond repair.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve always thought that very little between men and women is unforgivable. Brady’s father and I went through some things the kids don’t know about. And we survived. I think your problem is you haven’t really made a choice.”

  “Why did you ask me here, Lillian?”

  “Brady called and wanted me to check on you.”

  Clare buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God.” He was looking out for her, even in the depth of despair.

  “And I’m alone tonight, Clare.”

  For Lillian’s sake, she pulled herself together. “Really? Have you stayed alone yet, since you got home?”

  “Yes, I have. But I’d like you to stay with me tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “For company. And so I can keep an eye on you. I think it would be good for us both.”

  “All right. I’ll run home and get a few things.”

  “No need. There’s stuff here.”

  After a nice dinner that Clare prepared, and some idle chitchat, Lillian showed her into Brady’s room. That stuff she’d alluded to earlier turned out to be one of Brady’s T-shirts, a toothbrush and toiletries in the bathroom upstairs, and his bed for the night.

  When she saw all his things, she whispered, “Lillian, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  “You need to rest, dear. You’ll feel better in here. Just go to sleep now.”

  “All right.”

  But it wasn’t all right as she put on Brady’s T-shirt, crawled into Brady’s old bed, pulled up his quilt and buried her face in his pillow. Quite simply, Clare was miserable.

  * * *

  Brady took the stairs down to the pub; he was temporarily living above it. He was meeting his agent; they were celebrating tonight. Charlie was behind the long mahogany bar, washing glasses. Though his sons ran the place now, the old man still helped out.

  “Hey there, Brady.” Charlie angled his chin. “Leo is over by the window.”

  “You doing okay?”

  “Getting by. Thanks to you.”

  Brady found his way to Leo, who hadn’t lost the glow from their meeting with Random House this afternoon.

  “Hey, Leo.”

  When Brady sat, Leo nodded to Charlie. “The old man looks good.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He thanked me for the clients I sent his way.”

  Years ago, when Charlie had been struggling to keep the pub afloat, he’d had the idea to make the upstairs into two suites to rent out. Brady, Max and Dee had stayed here whenever they could, and Leo had recommended the place to people he knew. Luckily for Brady, one of the spots had been empty this month.

  Leo’s shrewd gaze rested on Brady. “Though I’m not sure you should be staying here now.”

  “I know.” There were too many memories in the place.

  “You hear from her?”

  “Nope. It’s over. Finis. She’s probably celebrating the Cooking Network deal with Harris.”

  “Forget about it. We’ve got our own deal to celebrate.”

  Brady’s grin was genuine. “I know. I can’t believe they offered me so much money.”

  “And I got them to give you more.”

  “Yeah. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.” Charlie brought Brady a beer and Leo a Manhattan. They clinked glasses. “To seven figures and five books,” Max said.

  “I’m still in shock I agreed to that many.”

  “Why did you?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, trying to rid himself of the weight he felt due to the choices he’d made. “I told you. I’m done with cookbooks. I’ll have a lot of time on my hands.” And this way, he wouldn’t be tempted to let Clare give up her dream. In any case, he was excited about this new series of books. It was geared to older kids and had some magic in it. Brady needed a clean slate everywhere.

  “Cheer up, boy. When you’re the next J. K. Rowling, you’ll be a bigger star than Clare ever thought of being with the cooking thing.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, slugging back his beer. “That’d make me feel great.”

  Boy, was he a good liar.

  * * *

  At the end of the week, Jonathan awoke from a fitful sleep, depressed and guilty. This wasn’t working. He climbed out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. In the mirror over the sink, he could barely look himself in the eye. It had been four days since Langston had come to the office, four days since the man had confronted Jonathan, wanting the truth.

  And Jonathan had lied. He’d tried to confess, but he couldn’t, and the demons he’d kept at bay for weeks refused to be quelled any longer. Because of that, in the cold light of day, he could no longer hold his head up.

  Trying to push away the thoughts, he finished in the bathroom and found his way to the kitchen. Coffee helped wake him up, but it also made him jittery. He kept seeing Clarissa, sick in the Marriott bathroom, shaking in the hotel room, fearful and anxious on the flight back. And he had the power, the knowledge, to make it all better. He turned and stared out at the backyard of his house. As he watched the birds at the birdfeeder, he admitted some things to himself: the most important was the fact that he could no longer keep the last piece of the puzzle from her. He did love Clarissa as much as Langston did, and the time had come to start acting that way.

  * * *

  Clare was lying on the couch in her living room watching no-mind TV when the doorbell rang. She’d gotten home early this morning, after a surprisingly restful night at the Langston house.

  She and Lillian had had breakfast outside under the umbrella table. The chirping of the birds and the warmth of the morning had soothed Clare’s frayed nerves. They’d talked a lot about Brady’s dad, and Brady himself, but it hadn’t upset Clare.

  The bell rang again just as she reached the door. The peephole revealed it was Jonathan. A bolt of fear went through Clare, confusing her. The calm she’d experienced wit
h Lillian this morning evaporated, and she was reluctant to let him in. But she owed Jonathan that much. Besides, she needed to tell him the decision she’d finally been able to make.

  He looked terrible. She’d never seen him with a growth of beard, other than when she’d woken up in the morning with him. And his shirt and pants were wrinkled. “Jonathan, hi. Are you all right?”

  “No. Can I come in?”

  She held open the door. “Of course.”

  In the foyer, he paced and ran an agitated hand over his face.

  “Come in and sit down.”

  “I want to stand.”

  “Okay. Let’s go into the living room.” He followed her inside, and she leaned against the back of the chair. “What has you so upset?”

  “I’m not the man Brady Langston is, Clarissa.”

  “Jonathan, if this is about—”

  “Let me finish! This is hard enough as it is.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist, remembering the alligator, sensing danger.

  “Langston came to see me before he left,” Jonathan told her abruptly.

  “Why?”

  “For information. About what happened right before the accident.”

  Clare thought of the theory Anna, Cathy and Brady had, that Jonathan had insisted on sex, and Clare’s conscious mind couldn’t deal with the aftermath. Could he possibly be here to confirm that? She pressed her hand over her mouth.

  “I didn’t exactly lie to you that night in New York. I simply left some things out. What I said was all true, but something else happened before you left.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “You told me you were sorry for what you did. And I…” He drew in a heavy breath.

  No, please, this couldn’t be what the others thought. “You what?”

  “I did tell you I could forgive you. I did ask you to marry me, but you insisted things weren’t all right. You said you’d done something unconscionable, but…”

  “But?”

  His throat convulsed as if he couldn’t get the words out. “But that you’d driven around a while after you left Langston and realized something. That you didn’t regret what you’d done with him because it made you realize how you really felt.”

  “That I loved you, right?”

  His eyes closed briefly. “No, damn it, that you loved him. You told me you wanted to be with him, and if he’d have you, you were going back to him.” The words were wrenched from Jonathan, his tone a combination of real sorrow tinged within underlying bitterness.

  It was like getting hit by a lightning bolt. The scene came to her in living color…

  She was standing in the living room of his big colonial across the city. “I’m sorry that I cheated on you, Jonathan. But I love Brady.”

  Jonathan looked shocked. “No, I won’t accept this. How can you even think about leaving me?”

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to accept what’s happened.”

  “What kind of person are you that you would do this?

  He’d hit her Achilles’ heel. She started to cry.

  “Don’t you dare cry over another man in front of me.”

  “Please, I—”

  “Get out of here. I can’t stand to watch you suffer over him.”

  She was crying so hard she could barely see straight. “I need to call Brady. I’m too upset to drive.”

  “You have to call him? You’d tell me this now?” Enraged, he flung the liquor glass he’d been sipping from across the room, smashing it against the fireplace. “For God’s sake, Clarissa, just get out of here…”

  Clare stared at him. What happened wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and he didn’t deserve the awful suspicions everybody had had about him. But he should have told her all of what he’d done which had eventually caused her amnesia. Then, afterward, he knew she’d chosen Brady but he’d tried to win her back anyway. And under the circumstances, pushing her to make love with him again was totally wrong.

  “I caused your accident, Clarissa.”

  With startling clarity, Clare realized that in some ways he had. “You should have told me this before.” Her voice was heated.

  “You’re right to be angry. You chose him, and I sent you out into the night upset. I’m a horrible person.”

  For the first time, she could see his crippling guilt. Though it would take her a long time to forgive him, she wouldn’t add to the horrible things he was feeling. And she bore some guilt for what she’d done. What good would all these recriminations do, anyway?

  “I know you were upset by what I’d done, Jonathan. Rightfully so. And you didn’t know I’d left my cell phone at home. That I’d drive, after all.”

  “Until right now, I didn’t know that’s why you drove.”

  “This all doesn’t matter anymore. There’s blame on both sides. I acted badly, too, when I made love with Brady.”

  He shook his head, his eyes bleak, his whole posture sagging. He stared at her a long time. “This is the end of us, then.”

  “Yes.”

  After a long hesitation, he said simply, “Goodbye, Clarissa.”

  “Goodbye, Jonathan.”

  As she watched him leave, Clare knew the decision she’d made earlier was the right one. Finally, she was certain of what she would do.

  * * *

  Clare had had a hell of a time finding Brady. She called his sister Sam, who scoffed at her, hounded Delia and Max, though they were cold and not forthcoming, and even checked with Lucinda, who laughed into the phone, then hung up.

  She was just about to call Lillian when help came unexpectedly. Donny Kramer arrived at her condo without Delia.

  Despite the situation, she was glad to see someone who still loved her. “Donny, what are you doing here?”

  “I know where Uncle Brady is,” he blurted out. “I heard you asking Mom, and she wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Oh, honey, I don’t want you in the middle of this. I’ll find him another way.”

  Donny went on despite her objection. “He saw me before he left. He said he was going away. He’s in New York, the place you always stayed at.”

  Swallowing hard at the boy’s loyalty to her, Clare had hugged Donny until he was embarrassed.

  Without packing, she drove to the airport and got the first flight to New York that was available. When she landed, she made a stop on Madison Avenue, then she headed to Charlie’s Pub.

  The old man grinned hugely when he saw her come through the door. He’d aged since the last time she’d been here two years ago. “There she is,” he said warmly, as if she’d been coming to the pub routinely. “I asked Brady how you were, but he didn’t tell me much.” He frowned. “I’ve missed you, girl. You all right?”

  “I missed you, too.” She gave him an impulsive peck on the cheek. “And I’m fine. I’m wonderful. He’s here, right?”

  “Yeah, upstairs. Been moping around like a puppy for days. You got anything to do with that?”

  “Yep.”

  “You gonna fix it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He pulled out a drawer and handed her a key. “Go for it. The second suite.”

  Clare sprinted up the back stairs to the floor where Brady was staying. Her heart pounded as she neared the door, and not from the exercise. Should she knock? No. Better to surprise him.

  She heard the shower running when she walked into the living area. Not much had changed since she’d last stayed here. The space was uncluttered, with a slightly worn couch, a stuffed recliner, a braided rug on the floor and a TV. Mementos of Charlie’s life hung on the walls, giving the place a homey feeling. She sniffed. It smelled familiar. Wonderfully familiar.

  The bath was off the bedroom, so she headed in there. Again, the room was furnished in a homey decor, a lot like Brady’s room, where she’d slept last night. She dropped down on the big oak bed, brimming with anticipation.

  Five minutes later Brady came into the room, staring down at the floor, with a towel wrapped
around his waist, his hair wet and his body gleaming. A rush of desire hit Clare so hard she gasped, making him look up.

  His face went from surprise to displeasure to resignation. “What are you doing here, Clare?”

  “I’ve come to bring you back home.”

  “New York’s my new home.”

  “Like hell.”

  “I signed a huge book deal.”

  “Good for you.” She crossed her ankles at her feet and smiled. “You’ll have to set your deadlines around our cookbooks.”

  He shook his head. “I’m done with them.”

  “No, you aren’t.”

  * * *

  From the other side of the room, Brady watched Clare, nonplussed at why she’d come. She wouldn’t hurt him like this intentionally just to get her way. “Wait a sec. I can’t have this conversation half-naked.” He went to the closet turned his back to her, pulled out jeans, dropped the towel and dragged them on commando.

  What the hell? She whistled at the sight of his bare butt? That made him mad.

  He whirled around. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know I can barely put one foot in front of the other these days? Why are you here, acting like this?”

  She shrugged a shoulder, not in the least chagrined by his tirade. “I’m going to help you walk again, I guess.”

  He was so tired of all this that the fight went out of him. “Just tell me why you’re here, Clare. Don’t play games, and don’t be so damn happy.”

  “I can’t help being happy.” She stood and approached him. For the life of him, he couldn’t decipher the look in her eyes. She was dressed in plain jeans and a nice blazer. She looked casual and cute and so good it made his heart ache even more. Damn her.

  “I went to see the Cooking Network people before I came to Charlie’s.”

  Ah, so that was it. God, how could she be so obtuse? Didn’t she know this was killing him?

  “It doesn’t matter if they relinquished their demands about the cookbooks. I can’t work with you again.” His voice rose on the last, but how much could a man take? “I already told you this, damn it.”

  “They didn’t relinquish their demands. It was a deal breaker.” She held up her palms. “So I broke the deal.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t let you do that. This is what you always wanted.”