A Man She Couldn’t Forget (8 page)

Lucinda faced Clare and shook back her thick auburn hair, and her heavily made-up hazel eyes widened. “Hello, Clare.”

“Lucinda.”

The other woman wore nice tan jeans with a sexy peach camisole that revealed a small unicorn tattoo on her shoulder. “You don’t happen to know where Brady is, do you? I’ve rung four times.”

“Um, no.” The untruth came easily to her lips. Well, maybe it was only fudging again. She didn’t know for
certain
if Brady was at Max’s yet. He said he had to go out to pick up food.

Oh, hell, if she was honest with herself, she might as well admit that she didn’t want Lucinda to horn in on the evening and was making a conscious decision to cut her out of the night.

“I thought you might know his schedule. These days he’s always with you. I was just about to try your door.”

“You alluded to that the other night, Lucinda. I know Brady’s been with me a lot, and I’m sorry if that’s affected your relationship.” Another lie.

“I didn’t say it affected us at all.” She arched a pretty brow. “Brady and I are very close.”

Apparently not enough to have a key to his place, one of which resided right now in Clare’s pocket next to her own.

“I know you’re close. He’s a wonderful man, and I’m sure you appreciate him.”

“Too bad you don’t.”

Clare bristled. But she decided she wasn’t having this conversation with Brady’s girlfriend. “If you’ll excuse me…”

Lucinda nodded to the brownies. “Bringing food to a friend?”

“I am, yes.”

“Have a good time.”

“You, too, when you find Brady.” Which Clare knew very well Lucinda wasn’t going to do. “I’ll walk out with you.”

She descended the stairs, showed Lucinda the door and even walked outside with her and waited for the woman to leave. When she reentered the house, Clare was embarrassed by her actions. And she was also concerned, enough to have her pulse going double-time.

Why on earth would she deliberately lie to Brady’s girlfriend?

“H
I
.” C
LARE SMILED AT
M
AX
when he opened the door to his condo. The red golf shirt and khaki shorts looked good on him, making her wonder if there was a woman in his life. She was ashamed she hadn’t asked since she’d come home from the hospital.

“Clare. I…wasn’t expecting you.”

Damn it. First she had that dream, then she lied to Lucinda, and now she barged in where she wasn’t wanted. The last made her feel the worst. “Brady said to be here at six. I assumed that he told you I was coming.” She held up the pan of brownies like a little girl offering a bribe. “I brought your favorite dessert.”

“Brady didn’t tell me.” When she didn’t say more, he added, “But it’s cool. Come on in.”

“Is Delia here yet?” she asked before stepping inside.

“No, it’s her turn to pick the movies, so I imagine that’s where she is.”

Anxious because she could feel Max’s hesitation, Clare crossed the threshold of his home. While he took the brownies and brought them to the kitchen, she studied the place. It was amazing how unique the four condos in the house were. Max’s was painted in bold colors: deep-green for the living area, red in the dining room. Unlike hers, the latter was closed off by a wall; she could see through the doorway that there were no walls between it and the kitchen. Big stuffed couches in contrasting solid green and green-and-white stripes faced an oak entertainment center. Off to the left, where the office was in her own condo, the walls had been removed, and an open space sprawled out with a desk and more seating. “Your place is beautiful, Max,” she told him when he returned.

“You helped me redecorate.”

“I did? I wish I remembered that. Looks like I have good taste.”

“Uh-huh.” They were just inside the entryway. “Tell me why you’re here.”

Facing her friend, she stood tall and lifted her chin. “I guess I invited myself. Brady said you were having movie night, and I wanted to come.”

Dark brows furrowed. “No plans with Harris?”

“You don’t like him, either?”

“He’s not my favorite person.”

“I don’t know what to say. I can leave, if I’ll spoil your evening.” Her voice caught on the last word. “As I said, I invited myself.”

His expression softened immediately. “No, no. Look, let’s sit. I don’t want to upset you. We had a nice dinner at your home the other night. Let me be as hospitable.”

“Thanks, Max.”

They’d moved farther into the living room when the front door burst open and Delia rushed in, followed by Brady. She carried a paper bag. Brady toted a pizza box and, Clare deduced from the scent, probably hot wings in foam cartons.

“Hey, guys.” Brady set the food down on Max’s slate-topped coffee table, then his gaze zeroed in on Clare. “I’m glad you made it.” She was disconcerted by the dream—seeing Brady
naked
in the dream—until he crossed to her and kissed her cheek. Suddenly everything seemed all right.

“Max didn’t know I was coming.”

Leaving a hand on her arm, Brady frowned. “It’s okay, though, isn’t it?” he asked his friend.

“Fine by me.”

Clare looked to Delia and was shocked to see the woman was scowling. “Delia, don’t you want me here?”

Cradling the bag to her chest, she shook her head. “It’s not that. I…I’m afraid…” She looked to Brady. He seemed puzzled, too, until she handed him the bag and he drew out the contents. Videos.

When he saw what they were, he said to Delia, “It’ll be all right, Dee,” and to Clare, “They’re movies about amnesia.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Delia rushed on to say. “I ordered these on the Internet last week. I wanted to see them to get insight…never mind, I’ll go to the video store for something else.”

Clare cocked her head. “I’m game. What did you get?”

“Hitchcock’s
Spellbound
and
Anastasia, Memento, Dead Again
and
Regarding Henry.
” The last was one Anna, Clare’s therapist, had mentioned.

“At least I won’t remember any I’ve seen.”

Her levity broke the tension, and even Max gave a chuckle.

“We went to a Hitchcock festival at the Little Theater,” Brady told her as they moved to sit. “You saw
Anastasia,
but I don’t know if you’ve seen the others.
Dead Again
is great. Lucy and I watched it on video.”

Clare didn’t want to think about Lucinda Gray and her beautiful hair, big eyes and killer body. But she felt guilty about what she
hadn’t
told the woman. So Clare straightened her shoulders and faced Brady. “I saw Lucinda in the hall in front of your condo, looking for you.”

“Yeah? We don’t have plans for tonight.”

“Maybe you wanted her here. I should have said something.”

“No outsiders on movie night,” Max declared.

Feeling inordinately pleased by the fact that Lucinda was an outsider and she herself wasn’t, Clare grinned. “Oh, okay then.”

She and Brady took seats; Delia went into the kitchen and Max stood by the screen, his arms folded over his chest. “You knew you sat there, Clare?”

“I guess.” She’d dropped down on the smaller couch with Brady. His jean-clad thigh rested against hers, and as always, his nearness settled her. Yet today, it was combined with an awareness, a tug of something else. “Do we always sit in the same places?”

“We used to,” Max said. “I’m just surprised you know that when you don’t remember anything else.”

“Amnesia’s odd like that.” Brady opened the boxes. “Dig in.”

Delia returned with four bottles of Corona. Clare had a quick vision of clinking identical bottles of beer with the people in the room. When she just stared at the one Delia held out to her, her friend asked, “Don’t you drink this anymore?”

“I have no idea what I drink.” She took the bottle and sipped. “Hmm, I like it.”

The smell of the pizza was heavenly. Its sauce and cheesy scent caused another flash. “I have a pizza recipe in one of my books, don’t I?” she asked Brady.

After chewing a mouthful, he nodded. “Uh-huh. Your aunt Patricia’s. You’ve got ways to dress it up, too.”

“Is there an anecdote about her in there?”

“Yes. From when you stayed with her and she let you and your cousins Kristen and Ryan play with dough.”

Delia laughed. “It’s one of Donny’s favorites.”

“Speaking of our half-pint,” Max said affectionately, “when’s he coming home, girl?”

“I go get him in eight days, four hours and—” she glanced at her watch “—thirty minutes. But who’s counting?” Her grin was self-effacing. “I’m staying with Don’s parents for a few days, then going to visit my mother, too.”

“You must miss him,” Clare remarked.

“I do.” A pause. “He loves you, Clare. You helped raise him. I couldn’t have done it without you after Don died.”

Warmth flowed through Clare, like no other she’d felt. “He does? I’m so glad.”

“Hey, what about us?” Brady asked.

“You guys helped, too. But you both
remember
that.”

Max picked up the movies. “Which one first?”

“
Spellbound,
” Brady and Delia said together.

The haunting Hitchcock video began. Eerie strains of music echoed from the speakers, but they weren’t familiar to Clare. She did realize how young Gregory Peck and Ingrid Bergman were, though.

“There’s your lady, Langston,” Max said when Bergman came on-screen.

Clare caught Max’s tone. “What does that mean?”

“Brady has a thing for Ingrid.”

Ingrid was in the first scene as a therapist with a patient. Clare’s hands went to her face. “I look a little like her.” She could feel her face flush. “Oh, not that you have a thing…Oh, geez…”

Brady chuckled. “You teased me about it before, sweetheart. I took to calling you Ingrid.”

She had a quick flash of Brady yelling from the doorway,
Come on, Ingrid, we’re going to be late for dinner.

Mesmerized, Clare watched each scene unfold.

When John Ballantine, the main character and also a doctor, got his first headache and became faint because he remembered something, Clare pressed a hand against her stomach and took in a heavy breath. “I know just how he feels.”

“You okay?” Brady asked, sliding an arm around her.

“I am.”
Now,
she thought but didn’t say, just leaned into him.

When, after only one day together, Constance and John declared their love, Max made a disgusted sound. “I hate these love-at-first-sight stories.”

“That’s how Don and I fell in love.”

Picking up the remote, Max stopped the video. “Dee, I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“It’s okay. I know it’s rare. But that’s how it happened for us. Besides, I can think about the good things with Don without feeling bad.”

“I’d like to hear about him and how you met, sometime,” Clare told her.

Delia gave her a half smile. “We met at a frat party in college. You were there.”

“We went to the University of Rockford, right?”

“Uh-huh. Don and I stayed here, and you went on to culinary school in Boston.” She glanced at the guys, who were rolling their eyes at the girl talk. “I’ll tell you more later.”

The movie resumed and John’s episodes continued. When he and Constance began talking about his amnesia, Clare was surprised. For a film made in 1945, its medical insights into the syndrome were surprisingly current. The basic psychological premise: people developed amnesia to cover up a difficult event—the mind protects the body that way. The common physical cause: injury to the head. Clare rubbed her skull on the spot where she’d hit it in the car. Briefly, she closed her eyes because suddenly she could feel the pain.

His expression concerned, Max paused the movie again. “Clare, you okay?”

“Yes, I just keep wondering if the cause of my amnesia is psychological or physical.”

For some reason, Brady stiffened.

Max told her, “The accident was at 2:00 a.m. Something had to have happened before it, to drive you out into the rainy night.”

Delia leaned forward. “Honey, we already told you that Brady saw you earlier in the evening, here at home. But we don’t know why you left or where you were headed.”

Blurry images—like silhouettes—flashed through her mind.
Two people, a man and a woman, arguing.
When her head began to pound, she closed her eyes tightly this time.

“Maybe we should turn off the movie,” Brady said.

“No.” Clare shook herself. “I don’t want to do that.”

Later in the film, Constance told her colleague she was safe with John, that a person won’t do anything with amnesia that he wouldn’t normally do, Clare
did
quip, “That’s what Anna Summers said. I’d hate to think I’d murder someone in his sleep.”

Brady squeezed her hand. “You know, that also means good things. All the kindness and love you show now is innately you, too.”

“Anna mentioned that.”

The movie progressed to the point where John and Constance traveled to Rochester to see her old analyst and friend. Brady moved to the edge of the seat and absently put his hand on Clare’s knee. “This is my favorite part.”

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 Dalí. 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 it 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.”