Unforgettable by Linda Barrett (story reading .TXT) 📖

been. A wonderful career, great friends…not to mention the stunning view of Boston Harbor.

The huge investment firm where she worked suited her to a T. Helping to manage funds and advising clients about risk soothed their money worries as well as her own. Sighing, she acknowledged how ridiculous that seemed now. Her checkbook, her personal investments were sound. She wondered why childhood scars were so hard to heal.

Losing loving parents at sixteen…unspeakable pain. But she’d survived. Her older sister and brother-in-law thought she’d thrived. Her younger siblings thought she was cool. Maybe she was! Regardless, they’d had each other’s backs from the beginning of those rough days and always would. She couldn’t imagine her life without them. Her life was good. Calm. Balanced. Like her checkbook. “Just the way I want it to be,” she murmured.

Her phone rang again. Shaking her head, she raced back to her desk. “Jennifer Delaney speaking.”

“How are you, Henny-Penny?”

That voice. The receiver slipped from her hand and hit the floor. That warm voice. That nickname. Once upon a time…

Retrieving the phone, she said, “I’m well. Doing very well, thanks. It’s been a long time…so, how’s New York?”

“New York was humming along the last I saw it. And that’s the thing, Jen. I’m back in Boston now, and I’d love to see you. Any chance you’re free tonight? The workday’s almost over.”

Back in Boston? Like forever or just a quick visit? Their parting might have been her decision years ago, but the pain afterward? She couldn’t go through that kind of heartache again, she decided. Better to bail quickly.

“Sorry, I’ve already got plans for tonight. But I hope you enjoy your visit.”

She disconnected and took a deep breath. She’d been polite, her voice steady. Good job. When the phone rang again, she glanced at the readout, took another—deeper—breath before answering. “Let’s blame a poor connection. I’ve got plans for tonight,” she repeated.

“How about tomorrow? Saturday.”

She gripped the receiver as though it were a life preserver. “Afraid not. I’m booked.”

“Is that right?”

“In fact, I’m looking at my calendar right now,” she said, with a quick glance at it, “and every day has something scheduled. I’m sorry, but I’ve really gotta go. As I said before, have a nice visit.”

Replacing the phone gently in the cradle, she shivered. A whole body shiver. She hadn’t lied. Her life was busy—and calm—just the way she liked it. She and Doug had simply drifted apart, following their own paths in their own worlds. At this point, she didn’t need any emotional upheavals. She studied her computer screen, and in minutes, she was once again Jennifer Delaney, happy career woman.

##

At five-thirty, Jen was surrounded by co-workers who’d become friends, all set to kick back and hit the clubs. That’s what twentysomethings did on a Friday night in Boston. And she loved a good time as much as anyone.

“I’m just about ready,” she said, smiling, as she logged out of her computer. They stood outside her office door—two guys and two gals—all trying to prove themselves, but still believing the theory about all work and no play. Her friends were certainly not dull. Not these bright, energetic, career-minded people. They were her friends for a reason!

She changed her high heels for flat sandals, grabbed her purse, rose and joined the others. “I’m hungry. Where are we eating?”

Alexis laughed, her brown eyes shining. “You mean we’re not sampling the freebies at every bar’s happy hour and saving on dinner?”

“Oh, geez. I’m not that bad, am I?” Jen protested.

Her friends simply stared. “When it comes to spending money, let’s just say—you’re frugal,” said Alexis.

She held up her hands. “Okay, okay…guilty as charged.”

“Not that we’re complaining,” chimed in Liz, with a chuckle. “Living in Beantown is expensive, and saving is a challenge.”

“Well, I’m conceding right now,” said Matthew. “Some of us need real food! Not just peanuts.”

“Then go home to your mama, and get a good meal,” said Liz, reaching up to pat him on the shoulder.

Everyone laughed as they piled into the elevator, but Jen sensed new vibes. Matt and Liz. The young woman’s gentle teasing, her tender touching was becoming a habit.

The elevator deposited them in the spacious marble lobby of the building, and the group headed toward the plate glass doors leading to the plaza outside.

“The days are getting longer and warmer,” said Matt, holding the door open for the others, “which means our playtime is longer, too.”

The chatter continued, but when Jen stepped outside, she heard nothing more, and saw nothing except the tall man with a hank of dark hair falling over his forehead, the man whom she’d once labeled skinny but wasn’t anymore, the man who’d once held her heart. Surprise held her frozen until a slow anger warmed her up.

She watched him, and by his stillness, identified the moment he spotted her. One second, two seconds. He waited, but made no move toward her, as though afraid she’d disappear.

Then came the smile, the smile that once had melted her heart. She used to run her fingers over his mouth, outlining his lips, kissing them. But that was then…

Her hands clenched into fists as he finally approached. She moved closer to her friends.

“Hang on a sec,” she whispered, her throat dry.

They halted instantly.

“What’s wrong, Jen?”

She couldn’t speak. Doug was only six feet from them now, filling her vision. And suddenly, he was there. Right in front of her.

“Hello, Jennifer Grace Delaney. I’ve missed you.”

No! Taller, bigger than in her memory. And his eyes, still so dark, darker than a moonless night is how she used to think of them. A kaleidoscope of remembrances hit her at once, and her initial anger ebbed, replaced by an eon of past loneliness and disappointment. And right now, fear. She wouldn’t survive a repetition of the past.

“Who is this guy?” Her four friends surrounded her.

She gulped some air, raised her chin. “Someone I used to know. An old college…uh…classmate.”

##

Her friends were astute. Their eyes focused on him, then Jen, their curiosity apparent. He didn’t care about her friends—what they saw, heard or thought. Only Jen was real. And more beautiful than in his dreams.

“An old classmate, huh?” he repeated. “That’s a funny way to describe what we had.” He focused on her face. “This guy,” he said, echoing her friend’s question, “is the man who can’t forget you.”

Her eyelids slammed shut, her mouth trembled before tightening. When she opened her eyes again, however, her gaze was steady. “It’s been years, Doug. As the saying goes, ‘that was then, this is now.’ Maybe you need to try harder to…ah…forget.”

“I’ve moved back, Jen.”

“No, no, you haven’t,” she countered, her surprise laced with confusion. Returning didn’t make sense at all. “Playwrights live in New York. We tried once, and it didn’t work. I’m sorry, Doug, but I’ve moved on. She turned toward her friends. “It’s time to leave. We’re all starving.”

Not yet. Not without him. He held out both hands, palms up. “Eight million people in New York,” he said, slightly bouncing his left hand. “And one Henny-Penny here.” He lifted his right arm high. “No contest.”

She shrugged. “You didn’t think so back then. You’re very good with words, images and make-believe. While I, in case you’ve forgotten, deal with real people.”

“I know.”

She stepped toward him, her purse falling to the ground, her friends closing ranks behind her. “Real people, Collins, like the Delaney family. Not your ordinary kind of family. Just a bunch of kids trying to survive.”

Good. Talk to me. Keep on talking. Communication is everything.

Before he could say a word, she turned to her friends again. A girl handed her the purse. “Sorry for the drama,” Jen said. “It’s the way he makes his living. He’s good at it.”

“Him? What about you?” a guy said. “A new side of the mysterious Jennifer Delaney.”

So, he’d gotten to her, past her defenses. He wanted to cheer. The men were merely co-workers. If they thought of her as mysterious, she’d kept her private life private. Which meant no boyfriends. Regardless of what she’d said earlier, she hadn’t moved on.

Which gave him hope.

Now all he needed was a little chutzpah to make his next move and be accepted by Jen’s friends. “I remember a great club near here,” he said, deliberately placing himself in the middle of the group. “Lots of eats, lots of music, and a karaoke bar.”

Jen had turned away, but he saw her stiffen. Tapping her on the shoulder, he said, “You know we’ll have fun. At least a song or two. Come on, Jen…I dare you.”

##

Dare her? Like in the old days, except those were happy times with music and a microphone. Right now, she wanted the privacy of her own apartment. She needed to regain her equilibrium, to brace herself for whatever came next. But if she left, Doug would accuse her of running away. Again.

Pasting a smile on her face, Jen said, “All that goofing around in college? Nah. I don’t do that anymore.”

She threw a speaking glance at her girlfriends. They loved to kick back at the sing-along karaoke bars. Jen had the real voice, but they all had fun. Now, however, she knew her pals would cover for her.

“Then prove it,” said Doug.

“What?”

He was shaking his head. “You always enjoyed being on a cozy stage. I can’t believe you’ve changed that much. And you’re good! Let’s go to a club, Jen. For old times’ sake. After all, I am new in town….”

“Oh, pu-leeze,” she shot back. “You know this city like a native.”

“It’s been a few years.”

She turned to the others. “I’m sorry about all this. Do you mind if we skip the pubs and go right to Maguire’s? Real food for the starving plus live music, and then I’ll go home. I’ve got an early choir rehearsal tomorrow anyway.”

“I don’t like this situation,” said Evan, a quiet type who missed nothing. “Just say the word, Jen, and we’ll get rid of…”

Oh, no! She patted the man’s arm. “I’m fine, Evan. Really. He’s not dangerous, except with a pen!” She smiled at him. “But thanks.”

Five years building a life, and in five minutes, Doug Collins could tear it down. She couldn’t chance another disappointment. Why had he come back after all this time? Glancing at her watch, she sighed. One hour or so was all she’d have to endure.

##

The Irish bar was filling up, but they managed to get a booth for six immediately. Jen sighed again, happy with their good luck, happy to keep to her one-hour plan.

Almost as immediately, Doug seemed comfortable with the group and made her friends feel comfortable with him. Not surprising. He had always been the proverbial “people person.” She’d credit his many psychology courses.

Evan’s quiet voice, however, managed to interrupt the general conversation about the menu and music. “So, Collins, what brings you back to Boston?”

A curious silence descended, and for the first time, Doug seemed to search for words. Jen’s ears perked up.

“Let’s say,” he began slowly, “a couple of new projects and one item of unfinished business. Very important unfinished business.” From diagonally across the table, he shifted toward Jen, his eyes capturing hers.

She sat straighter. “If you mean me, you’re mistaken,” she said, leaning forward, arms on the table. “Our ‘business,’ as you call it, is over. Nothing personal—though I guess you’d think it was—but I’m not looking for a relationship with you or anyone else. Just not my thing.” Not anymore.

The quality of the following silence morphed from curious to deafening. She realized that in all her