Unchained Memories (12 page)

“We haven’t decided,” responded Clay. “But I’m sure you and Emily would like to get to know each other better without an audience.” He gave his killer smile to Emily and she returned the favor.

Nice going, Clay. I like that answer
. Charlotte squeezed his arm to acknowledge her agreement.

As they took their seats, on the other side of the theater from Matt and Emily, Clay leaned toward Charlotte and said in a low voice, “Matt is such a player. Ever since he got divorced last year, he’s been trolling the local bars as well as Internet dating sites. I’m not sure he’s interested in finding Ms. Right, he just seems to be interested in dating as many as he can.”

Wasn’t that exactly what she’d heard about Clay? Two peas in a pod.

Quieting her inner musings, she asked, “Why did he get divorced?”

“His wife’s decision, not his. I think he was having an affair.”

“Ugh. Sounds to me like he’s insecure. Guys who have affairs are trying to prove to themselves they’re attractive to the opposite sex. That they can get anyone. It’s probably for the best he’s divorced. Does he have any kids?”

“No. I don’t think he or his wife wanted any.”

“A good thing since it didn’t last.”

The lights dimmed, putting an end to their conversation. For the next two and a half hours they immersed themselves in the deception, greed, sexual desire, and superficiality of the Pollitt family. Maybe she shouldn’t have chosen such a heavy play.

All in all it was an excellent production and Clay and Charlotte stood with the rest of the audience, giving the cast a standing ovation.

“That was fantastic,” gushed Clay as they headed for the exit. “I can’t remember the last time I saw a play. It must have been fairly controversial when it first came out, given the homophobia and sexism.”

“I heard when Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman did the movie in the late fifties, the homosexual themes were removed because it violated some code that motion pictures had to follow at the time. They had moral censorship guidelines before the rating system.”

“Interesting.” Clay put his arm around Charlotte’s waist, keeping her close. Now that was interesting. And wonderful.

“What would you like to do?” asked Charlotte, hoping he wasn’t too wrung out from the play to suggest ending their evening.

“How about the bar at The Landmark Inn? It shouldn’t be crowded now.”

“Sounds perfect.” It wasn’t one of the popular places where students or twenty-somethings liked to go. Much more sedate and cozy.

They opted to walk since it wasn’t far from the theater. The April weather was mild during the day, but still cooler at night, so Charlotte grudgingly moved from Clay’s embrace to slip into her jacket. Missing the contact, she moved closer to him and he reached for her hand. It took a valiant effort to keep her contented sigh within.

The bar at the Inn seated a handful of people, but Clay and Charlotte could easily find room at one end without sitting directly next to anyone else. They ordered, she a glass of Pinot Grigio, he a vodka tonic.

“So you like river water,” he chided as he clinked his glass against hers.

“What are you talking about?”

“Pinot Grigio is so light and tasteless, it’s like drinking water.” He smiled, punctuating his teasing remark.

“I’m not much of a drinker. River water is fine with me.” Anything was fine as long as she was sitting beside Clay.

They discussed more of the themes of the play as they sipped their drinks, then moved easily onto other subjects.

“Do you still sing?” Clay asked, motioning the waitress for another round.

Charlotte furrowed her brow. “How did you know I sang?”

“When you were in the rehab facility and would roam the different wings of the hospital, you’d be singing to yourself. I recall you had a beautiful voice.”

Charlotte’s stomach clenched and a chill ran down her spine. “I don’t remember singing back then.” Her voice came out in a croaky whisper. How could she have been singing? Her last performance was the day her parents died. She buried her love of music with them.

“Are you okay? You look pale. Is it the wine?”

“No, no. I’m fine.” She inhaled and fanned her face with her hand. “I’m sorry. You just hit on a bad memory, that’s all.”

His gaze held worry. “Do you want to talk about it?”

No, she didn’t. But they were already dealing with a moratorium on all things work related. If she added her past to the list of taboos, they’d soon have nothing to say to each other. She took a sip of her wine.

“My parents and I had been driving back from my choral group competition when we were in the accident that killed them. I loved to sing and I had a solo that day. We came in second. I was so happy. But after that day, I never went back to high school. And I never sang publicly again. I didn’t realize I was singing to myself at the hospital. I guess it just came out. Lord knows I had nothing to sing about.” She studied the surface of the bar, avoiding Clay’s eyes. “It took years of therapy to acknowledge I wasn’t to blame for my parents’ deaths. Even still, that horrible thought sometimes oozes through the wall I built to keep it contained. If they hadn’t taken off work to go to my silly competition, they would still be alive.”

“I’m sorry if I brought up a bad subject. But you have to know it wasn’t your fault.”

Charlotte tried to shake off the melancholy brought about by one simple question. “I know.” She needed to learn to deal with the cruel memories without experiencing a physical reaction. “And not every memory is negative. I have some great recollections.” Clay being the absolute best. But she couldn’t tell him that. They needed to strengthen their connection first.

Perhaps a change of subject would stabilize her. “Now that you switched shifts in order to take off tonight, when do you have to work?”

“Tomorrow morning at six.”

“Oh.” Bad news. Charlotte glanced at her watch, saddened that their time together was coming to an end. “It’s almost midnight. Do you want to go?”

“We still have a half a drink left. Let’s see how long we can stretch it out.”

His smile chased away any stray, gloomy molecules still inhabiting her brain, allowing a ray of sunshine to take over. At least until they could no longer nurse their drinks and the time had come to leave.

As they drove back to Charlotte’s house, their conversation continued nonstop until they stood on her front porch.

“I’d invite you in, but you don’t have much time to sleep tonight.”

“I’d accept your invitation, but you’re right. I need to get in a few hours or I’ll be worthless in the ER tomorrow. I guess I mean today.” He faced Charlotte and put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her closer. “I had a great time tonight. I should check into the local cultural events more often. Thanks for inviting me.”

Charlotte smiled in response. “You’re welcome. I wanted to make sure there was no awkwardness between us after the other night.” Now, that sounded awkward. “I mean, I wasn’t sure how we left it.”

He leaned in and captured her lips with his, sending heat and rainbows and sparkles everywhere. Charlotte inched closer, needing to touch with more than lips. Her arms went around his neck as his hands encircled her waist and splayed on her back, pulling her even closer.

Heaven couldn’t be better than this. Her tongue mated with his as she breathed his air, reveling in the strength of his hands possessing the curve of her spine. The night air had cooled, but Charlotte burned with desire.

Playing on the edges of her brain was the fact he had to leave, and they could not continue this ecstasy in the privacy of her home.

Not wanting to experience even the slightest rejection on this perfect night, she grudgingly disconnected from Clay’s lips.

“It might be best if you leave now.” She gazed at him through lidded eyes, assuring him that would not be her first option.

“Charley.” He breathed her name and it floated on angel’s wings. “What you do to me.”

She bit her lip to keep from blurting out exactly what he did to her.

Chapter Eleven

Balancing his lunch tray laden with soup, sandwich, milk, and utensils, Clay scanned the hospital cafeteria for a familiar face. It was high noon and the room was packed with doctors, nurses, and visitors, all needing energy to continue their day.

“Over here, Clay,” called Becky, waving her hand in the air to catch his attention.

She and Matt had a prime spot in the corner with an extra chair.

“Dr. Goodwin, Dr. Branson.” Clay smiled at the two who had been with him, through thick and thin, since their internship at this hospital ten years earlier. “Thanks for saving me a seat. Are they giving away pizza today? It has to be something free, since we know people don’t come here for the gourmet food.” Clay put his tray down and slid onto the hard plastic chair.

“What are you grinning about?” asked Becky, giving him a questioning look.

“I didn’t know smiling was a questionable act around here.”

Matt chimed in. “We don’t like happy people. We want everyone to be as miserable as we are.”

“I thought you were quite content, now that you’re divorced.” Clay had been through months of Matt’s depression over the breakup of his marriage, but now that the final decree had been entered, he seemed to be in a better place. Perhaps the finality of it all had allowed him to move on. And moving on, he was. “How was your date with that model the other night?”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you’ve gone to the shallow side,” said Becky as she took a bite of her tuna sandwich.

“I’m not sticking to any particular group of women. I’m open to anyone.” Matt glanced over his shoulder at the table of nurses behind him and singled one out. “Hi, Terri. How’s it going?” Clay noticed the killer smile that went with his greeting.

“See, Becky? Matt doesn’t discriminate. Nurses, models, dancers.”

“Oh, no. No more dancers,” Matt stated definitively. “Marriage to one was enough for me. I couldn’t compete against the adrenaline rush of being on stage. Nor could I have any of her time between ballet classes, rehearsals, and performances. And did you know dancers don’t eat much? So a nice dinner at a romantic restaurant was out of the question. No more dancers.”

“I’m guessing models don’t like to eat much either.” Becky was not letting Matt off the hook for that choice.

“You’re right. I don’t think I’ll call her again. She was beautiful, but when we went out to dinner before the play, she pushed her food around her plate. And she name dropped the entire evening. The problem was, I didn’t know any of the names she was dropping, so her plan to impress me backfired.” Matt shoveled in some pasta with reddish sauce, a questionable choice on the hospital menu. “That’s why I was thinking it might be better to check out the nurses around here. They won’t be spending every second worrying about whether they’ve gained an ounce or got the lead in Swan Lake.” He gulped down the rest of his iced tea and sat back. “Terri’s kind of hot, don’t you think?” He angled his head toward the table of nurses.

“How do you find time to date so much?” Becky’s glare highlighted her annoyance. “I barely have time to get to the gym once or twice a week. And that only takes an hour or two.”

Matt winked at her. “You have to be imaginative and not expect a weekend night kind of date. Not everyone works nine to five, and since we don’t either, you might want to consider an afternoon movie during the week, or lunch at one of the nicer restaurants in town. Maybe even breakfast, or brunch. It makes the date more interesting and it’s usually much shorter. That way if it doesn’t work out, you haven’t invested an entire Saturday night in the process.”

Becky shook her head. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“I have. And now that I’ve shared my ideas with you, feel free to use them.” Matt slid his chair out. “If you two will excuse me, I’m going to visit the table next door. See what I can shake out of it.”

Becky rolled her eyes as Matt left for greener pastures. “Why is it so easy for men to date? All you guys do is glance around a room, hone in on a victim, and pounce. Voila. A date. It’s not fair.”

Clay chuckled. “You think it’s easy for us? We’re the ones who face rejection the second we ‘pounce’, as you put it.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you face much rejection, Montgomery. You’re kind of cute. And a doctor. What woman would say no to you? I, on the other hand, have a much more difficult time. Once a guy finds out I’m a doctor, he’s intimidated. Afraid I’m too smart for him. Or assumes I make more money than he does. That whole control thing men like so much, seems to trump any interest they may have had in me, and they sidle away saying, ‘Nice to meet you. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.’”

“Perhaps you’re looking in the wrong place. Or maybe you’re just too picky. There must be hundreds of men in this area who have advanced degrees. I’m sure a lot of them commute to New York City for work, but live here.” He sat back in his chair and massaged the scruff of his unshaven face. “Maybe you should sign up on one of those on-line dating services. Then you can be as picky as you want, and still find someone who fits your qualifications.”

“Why haven’t you found anyone yet?” Becky’s brown doe eyes zeroed in on his as if daring him to tell the truth. “And don’t give me that lame excuse that it wouldn’t be fair to get involved with someone because of your commitment to your career.”

Clay wanted to laugh, but Becky’s words hit him between the eyes. He did use that as his reason. Over and over again. At first, when he’d started practicing medicine, it made sense. His need to help people, along with his inexperience, pushed him to work longer hours to make sure he got it right. Somewhere along the way, it became the norm. His workaholic drive became part of his personality. And now it was second nature.

“It’s not a lame excuse,” he said, but there was no conviction in the tentativeness of his statement.

“Give me a break,” Becky scoffed. “Why don’t you want a relationship? Are you too selfish to put time into it? Are you afraid to give a piece of yourself to someone else? Or have you just not met the right woman?”