A Man She Couldn't Forget. Kathryn Shay

pulled up to Weidman’s fifteen minutes later. Clare had hoped for a bit of recognition at the sight of the big blue sign on the huge storefront, but none came. Brady squeezed her hand and held it after they exited his Blazer. Once inside, he got a cart and set it in front of her.

      “Where to?” she asked.

      “You tell me.”

      “Hmm. I’ll wander.”

      First she went to the dairy counter and selected goat cheese. Then she headed to the vegetable department. They strolled along, and Clare seemed to absorb the sounds and sights and smells of her surroundings. She picked up onions and juicy tomatoes. Bypassing the bagged kind, she chose curly red lettuce in a bunch. They kept going: chicken, canned artichokes. By the time she snagged a couple of loaves of fresh bread, she turned to him. “I have the ingredients for a chicken artichoke dish I used to make.” Her face lit, and she smiled broadly. “Oh, wow.”

      “You remember.”

      “Yes, suddenly.” She closed her eyes. “There’s more.”

      “What?”

      “Me behind a counter, facing cameras, wearing a pretty fuchsia apron with embroidery on the front of it.” She looked at him. “I made this dish in one of my cooking shows, didn’t I?”

      “Yeah, one of the first demos you did.”

      “Do you like this recipe?”

      “A lot.”

      “Will Max and Delia come if I cook tonight, do you think?”

      “If they’re free.”

      But he wasn’t so sure of his statement. Max and Delia had each stayed with her a couple of times, Max overseeing mostly when she was sleeping. He knew Delia had brought over a photo album and showed her pictures of their life together. Clare had laughed at the way she looked in college, made jokes at the images of herself surrounded by boxes on moving day, and got tears in her eyes over the baby pictures of Donny, whom she’d helped raise. But there was still an underlying tension among them all.

      When she and Brady reached the checkout line, something else occurred to her. “Do I have tapes of the shows, Brady?”

      “Uh-huh, from the studio.”

      “I’d like to watch this one, then make the meal.”

      Without speaking, he paid the cashier. He had a bad feeling about her watching the show that had, in the long run, taken her away from him.

      “I’ll stop if I get a headache or upset.”

      “I don’t think you should rush your memory.”

      “I won’t.”

      Though he was worried about this step, he was pleased about one thing. Over the course of the past few days, she’d taken to asking his opinion, his permission sometimes, like she used to in the old days. It had gone both ways and they’d spent a lot of years consulting each other on choices and decisions to be made. It was only right that she should now, after what they’d meant to each other.