by Kathryn Shay
“I think it was the guilt. You felt so bad. I went to get you something to drink, and when I returned, you were gone. My car was in the shop, so I couldn’t follow you.”
Suddenly, Clare saw him there in his house, the one in the photo album and this time she remembered the events…
“I love you. I’ve always loved you. What you did with Langston doesn’t change that.”
“No, no, you don’t understand what’s happened.”
“We can work through this, love. We can work through anything.”
“Jonathan…”
Before she could remember more, her mind exploded with a blinding headache. Her hands went to her temples. “Oh!”
“Clarissa, honey, another headache? It must be because you remember the worst of it.”
“I’m going to be sick.” She rushed to the bathroom, dropped to her knees and vomited violently.
Eventually, she became conscious of Jonathan holding back her hair. Saying soothing words, telling her everything was going to be all right. Then, he drew her up, wiped her face and gave her a toothbrush. “There, there, Clarissa, it’s over, it’s all over.”
* * *
Clare awoke with a start. What? Where was she? It was pitch-black and she became aware of an eerie quiet in the room. Stay calm. Breathe. Those were Brady’s words at the hospital, she remembered now.
Rolling over, she looked at the lighted red numbers on the clock. 1:00 a.m. They’d missed Wicked. Because she’d remembered everything. She sighed, disturbed by what had been revealed tonight.
She’d gone over to Jonathan’s, confessed to sleeping with another man and he’d forgiven her. Something didn’t ring true, though. Why had his understanding been traumatic enough to blank out her memory? There was no reason to hide forgiveness.
Finally, she got up and made her way to the bathroom. The adjoining doors were still ajar and that little intimacy made her uncomfortable. Quickly, she closed her side, went into the bath and took a shower.
Once she was in pajamas with a towel wrapped around her head, she padded back to the bed. Feeling incredibly sad, she sat on the side, bare feet dangling to the floor, unable to figure out where the hopeless, lonely feeling was coming from.
She picked up her cell on the nightstand.
She needed to talk to Brady. It was late, but he always kept his phone by the bed at night. She was nervous but needed to hear his voice.
Four rings. She was about to give up when she heard a click, then, “Hello.”
The voice wasn’t Brady’s. It was a feminine voice. A sleep-slurred feminine voice. And if Clare wasn’t mistaken, it belonged to Lucinda Gray.
She slammed the phone down. Already furious with one man, she let the same feeling come about another. Goddamn it, had Brady slept with his girlfriend?
* * *
An alligator was banging at the closed door between her room and Jonathan’s. It was so loud, so menacing, Clare was scared to death. She could hear the animal growl, picture ugly teeth, red eyes.
Lying on the bed, she burrowed deeper into the covers, unable to stop the battering, more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. The monster was going to get through.
Suddenly, she was bathed in green light. The whole room was. It created a bubble around her. In the warm glow, a calm feeling washed over her. She wanted to become part of the light, part of what was on this side of the door. Her heart ached with the need.
Bang, bang!
The door splintered.
More thrashing, then clawing, scratching. And growls so loud they hurt her ears.
She tried to hide her face, but the covers were whipped off her, and the green light, the secure green glow, evaporated.
Clare watched in horror as the snout of the huge animal broke through the wood. His head inside, he looked around with his beady red eyes, his scaly skin glistening in the overhead lights. Then his jaws opened, baring sharp teeth. Then those jaws clacked shut, the sound reverberating in the still hotel room.
In that moment, Clare knew the animal was going to devour her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
At four the next afternoon, Clare took the elevator up to the second floor of the house and approached her doorway with a heavy heart and a still-queasy stomach. Getting sick last night had drained most of her energy, and what was left had been sucked out of her by the horrific dream. She’d awakened at dawn with a start and couldn’t go back to sleep.
The dream had scared her, though she understood why she’d had it: she’d closed the doors between her room and Jonathan’s, and they’d missed Wicked, hence the green. The alligator? Who the hell knew? She was getting tired of amateur psychology and wanted some peace.
When she reached her condo, she found a note tucked under the number. It read: I went to the zoo with Donny and Delia. I’ll bring supper back. Can’t wait to hear about New York. Cath.
Well, that was okay. Clare could use some time to digest everything. Her anger at Jonathan had been diluted this morning when he’d been kind and sensitive to her, giving her space, talking only when she wanted to. He’d apologized profusely for not having told her what he knew about the night of her accident.
Please forgive me, Clare. I thought I was doing the right thing.
I guess I know that.
Brady had kept what he knew from her, too, and she could understand both men’s reasoning, though she didn’t like either.
“I need something from you, Clarissa.”
“What?”
“Promise me you won’t decide anything until this all sinks in, until you have time to internalize what you’ve found out.”
She thought of Jonathan holding her head while she was sick last night, of the tender way he cradled her hand in his when she was scared. And how he’d forgiven her for sleeping with another man. She could give him a little more time, she guessed.
“All right I won’t make any decisions right now. I want to talk to Anna Summers about everything, anyway.”
He’d even left her off at home without asking to come up, without forcing any affection on her, thank God.
As she slid her key into the lock, she glanced next door. The birds made her smile, and she wanted to see Brady, badly, but she wouldn’t go over there. First off, he could still be in bed with Lucinda, which just about leveled Clare. She knew from experience he was a lusty lover, and she bet he could spend all day in bed. The thought worsened the nauseous feeling in her stomach and made her eyes cloud.
She also had to find a way to tell him about the Cooking Network. Not that she intended to leave him out of the books. The old Clare would have, but not her.
Inside, she headed straight for the bedroom and dropped her bags on the floor when she saw Brady, stretched out on her bed facedown, sound asleep. Even in profile, he looked terrible—his jaw unshaven, and his color bad. He must have had a long night.
The thought made her sicker. Her sense of loss, of messing things up, of maybe losing him, had her crossing the room. She sat on the mattress and touched his back, smoothed her hand over it, enjoying the feel of his muscles, the contours of his body. His skin was tanned, as he liked to work outside without a shirt. His waist was narrow. His hair was mussed. Swallowing back regret, guilt and just plain frustration, she gently shook his shoulder. “Brade, wake up.”
A blue eye opened. The first thing she noticed was it was bloodshot. He groaned, buried his face back in the pillow.
“Brady?” she said gently.
Finally, he rolled over and opened both eyes. Focused. “Clare, what?”
“You’re in my bedroom.”
He arched his back as if it was sore. “What time is it?”
“Four.”
“In the afternoon?”
“Uh-huh. I’m back from New York.”
“Wow.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. “I came here about noon to wait for you. Sorry, I fell asleep.”
Which gave her an indication of how tired he mu
st have been. She watched him. “Rough night?”
“Yeah. Really rough.”
“And wild?” She couldn’t keep the sadness out of her voice. She tried, but thinking of him with Lucinda made her desperate. And then a thought struck her: Oh dear Lord, was this how it had been for Brady all the months she’d been with Jonathan? No wonder he’d been angry and hurt.
“Excuse me?”
What the hell? She was going to tell him everything anyway. “I called you at 2:00 a.m. Lucinda answered the phone.”
“Why didn’t she wake me?”
“I hung up.”
“Why did you call?”
She waited. “I was alone and scared. I remembered pretty much everything last night. Jonathan and I had a terrible fight, and I got violently ill.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. You do look pale.” He touched her arm. “What did you fight about?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. First I need to know something. Did you sleep with Lucinda?”
“What?”
“Are you seeing her again? Sleeping with her?”
He sat up and stuffed pillows behind his head. “Did you stay with Harris in New York?”
“I said I was alone when I called.”
He arched a brow. “That’s not an answer.”
“No, I didn’t sleep with him. I told you I wouldn’t. Why won’t anybody listen to me?”
“Is that what you fought about?”
“Partly. What about Lucinda?”
“She came over without me inviting her. I was bummed about your going to New York with Harris. We went out, and I had more than three glasses of wine.”
A small smile graced her lips. “Uh-oh.”
“You remember what happens when I do that?”
“I’ve put you to bed more than once because you had more than three glasses of anything.”
“I didn’t sleep with her. She stayed, but nothing happened.”
“I see.”
“Your turn. Tell me about Harris.”
She picked at her coverlet, trying to let the warm breeze coming in through the window calm her. “I told Jonathan I remembered going to his house. I asked him what happened when I was there.”
“That’s a new piece—remembering you went to his house.”
“Yes, after a nudge, some of it came back to me. He told me a little bit, then the whole thing was just there for me. At least I think it was the whole thing. In some ways this still doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
Brady was fully awake and staring at her intently. “What doesn’t make sense?”
“I know I went to his house, really upset. I remember telling him that I slept with you.”
“Holy hell. Did he flip out?”
“I guess not. He said he took the news calmly. I don’t remember that part, just me telling him about us. He said he told me he forgave me and asked me to marry him.”
“What?” When she didn’t say more, he asked, “Damn it, Clare, did you say yes?”
“No. He said I didn’t give him an answer, then I left when he went to get me something to drink.”
“Why did you leave if he was so understanding?” There was suspicion in his tone and on his face. Rightfully so.
“He said I felt so guilty for sleeping with you that I couldn’t accept his forgiveness.”
“How convenient for him.”
“Why the sarcasm?”
“If he was so forgiving, why didn’t he go look for you?”
“His car was in the shop.”
“He could have called somebody.” Brady’s face tightened. “I can’t believe he just let you go off like that by yourself. What kind of a jerk is he?”
“Brady, he was upset because I slept with you.”
“He should have put your welfare first.”
Which was what Brady would have done, had always done.
“And why the hell didn’t he tell you all this before, if what happened was so innocuous?”
“Like you, he said he thought it was better to let me remember on my own.”
Brady looked chagrined. “I guess the pot can’t call the kettle black.” Reaching over, he squeezed her hand. “I can’t believe his benign acceptance of what you told him would make you run out of there. Make you forget everything.”
“We were never sure the amnesia was psychological. Maybe it’s simply a long-term reaction to the head injury.”
“Again, that seems coincidental.” He sighed and scrutinized her face. “How are you feeling now?”
She shook her head. “It’s so odd, Brady, now that my memory’s returned. I remember the old Clare from before with you, and the new Clare, too. Right now, I don’t know which one I am.”
He slid off the bed and stood. “You don’t have to know yet. When’s your next appointment with Anna?”
“Early Monday.”
“You can get at some of this stuff then.” He tried to pull her up. “Come on, let’s go get me a Coke for this hangover, and you can tell me about the Cooking Network.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
Squatting in front of her, his grip tightened. “What happened, sweetheart—didn’t you get the offer?”
“No, I got it.”
“Why are you crying?”
“The executives want to make changes in everything.”
“The show can withstand that,” he said neutrally.
“Not just in the show.” She stared at his wonderful face, knowing her next words were going to hurt him, badly. “They want rights over the cookbooks.”
“Why the hell would they care about our books?”
Our books. “That’s just it, Brade. They don’t want you to illustrate them anymore.”
“They want me out?”
Her throat filled with emotion, she could only nod.
He let loose a crude expletive. “Did Harris engineer this?”
“No, but he knew about the conditions.”
“I’ll just bet he did.” His face blanked. “Did you?”
“Of course not!” She blew out a heavy breath. “It’s a moot point, anyway. I’m not going to meet their demands.”
He waited a long time, searching her face, before he said, “You have to. In order to realize your dream, you have to leave me out of the deal, Clare.”
* * *
With a Coke in hand, sitting on Clare’s bar stool, Brady reiterated his earlier statement. “You’re going to accept the network’s offer.” It wasn’t a question. She needed to do this, with or without him. The ramifications were untenable, but she had to do what was best for her. He loved her enough to face the issue.
“Brady, I’m not going to stop working with you on our books.” She shook her head hard. “I don’t want to.”
“I won’t stand in your way. You’ve always dreamed about being on national TV, even when you were the old Clare. You talked about getting to that level all the time.”
“I told you, in some ways I am the old Clare, and I won’t do this to you. To us.”
“This isn’t your choice.”
“It damn well is. And I’ve made it.”
He ignored her comment. “We’ll finish this last cookbook, then you can go on to bigger and better things.”
“Brady—”
“My agent will be overjoyed. I can accept the offer from Random House for a new series. Remember I told you about it? They’re offering mega bucks.”
“Please, don’t make plans like this. At least not now. Besides, you don’t care about the money.”
“No, I care about you. This is settled.” When she just stared at him, he asked the question that had been on his mind since she’d told him what she’d remembered. “Now, I need to know something else. What are you going to do about Harris?”
She actually looked torn, and it kicked him in the gut. Dear God, was she going to reject him again?
“Like you said, I need to talk to Anna, give myself time to figure out how things are. Some pieces that
night still don’t make sense. I can’t make any big decisions about anything yet, Brady.”
“That thinking came from him, right?”
She shrugged a shoulder, like she did when she didn’t want to admit something.
“Clare?”
“All right, he asked me to promise him one thing—not to make any decisions right away. To let it all sink in, internalize everything that’s happened to me.”
“And you said yes?”
“Of course I did. I owe him that much.”
“You owe him nothing.”
“Brady, I told you before that I can’t continue living my life by alienating people I care about. I don’t want to be that person again.”
It was déjà vu. He remembered vividly how the course of events had played out last time. “This is so familiar, Clare. This is what he did initially. Asked for little things, a bit more of your time. To skip movie night. To push deadlines on the books so you could do the show. And the same thing will happen. He’ll lure you in with Lewis’s offer, get you back in his clutches, like he did the last time with the local show. Then he’ll talk you into moving in with him.”
“No, no, he won’t.”
“It’s already happening. You’re letting him start down the same road a second time.”
“No, I’m not. I just said I’d give myself some time. Which I need, Brady. For myself, too.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “You said this morning I should talk to Anna before I made any decisions.”
“This is different.”
“Brady, please.”
He ignored her statement again. “I’ve been here before, Clare.” He shook his head forcefully. “I can’t watch this happen all over again. It almost killed me the first time.”
Her face revealed utter panic. “No, I can’t lose you, either. I know that.”
“Sweetheart, it was always going to come to this. Him or me. And the last time you said you couldn’t choose.”
“But Brady—”
He stood because he had to get out of her kitchen. His resolve was slipping and he knew in his heart he might let her sacrifice the show for him, and stay in her life, no matter whom she chose. But he loved her too much to do that.
He also couldn’t do it to himself a second time. If she wasn’t going to choose to be with him, any kind of relationship with Clare was impossible.