Never Say Goodbye

by Sakwa, Kim

  “Yes, incredible, Amanda,” Mr. Montgomery said, nodding.

  Amanda was so excited to have remembered something like that, she didn’t mind being pulled along once again as they made their way to dinner. Instead of stopping in the kitchen, however, they continued through the French doors to the terrace. The long, glass-topped wrought-iron table was impeccably set. It looked beautiful; linen placemats with china plates, silver cutlery, crystal glasses, and cloth napkins displayed perfect settings. Rosa and a couple of young men began to bring platters outside and placed them on the runner that ran the length of the center.

  Mr. Montgomery pulled out a chair for her as everyone took their seats. “Good?”

  “Very,” Amanda said, sinking down into the chair.

  Helen came in with Zander. Stan, too, with Callie on his hip. Her previous entourage of four had become an entire troupe. Mr. Montgomery and his men had seemingly taken over, but if Stan and Sam were okay with them, then she knew she had nothing to worry about. Jeez, even overprotective Rosa seemed okay.

  Mr. Montgomery took the seat next to her at the head of the table, looking like he belonged there. His brother sat to his left, Sam next to him, and Evan took the other seat next to her. Callie was at the other end where Stan, Rosa, and Helen were talking with four men she hadn’t yet met, but one looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t figure out why.

  “Amanda,” Mr. Montgomery said, “may I introduce Gregor, Chris, Trevor, and Michael.” Each bowed their head in greeting. “Gregor holds the keys after my brother and me. Chris is my attorney and head counsel for Calder Defense. Tre—”

  “Wait.” Amanda put her hand on his forearm. “I thought you bought JDL from Art Fisher?” Something seemed off and she felt a moment of panic for the first time.

  “You’re correct, Amanda,” Montgomery said, assuring her. “I did purchase JDL. I also changed the name.”

  She looked to Stan, who nodded, and smiled in relief. “Carry on then, Admiral.”

  He grinned and gestured to the two men he’d yet to introduce. “Trevor, tech genius from London. And Michael, weaponry expert, also from London. Brothers, and both of whom I stumbled upon and have yet to shake since.”

  She leaned in. “Stumbled upon?”

  “Seedy back alley storefront outside of London.”

  “What on earth brought you there?” she asked, intrigued.

  “I…” He paused as if searching for the right words. “I was tracking someone.”

  “And just what did you come across at this seedy back alley storefront?” Amanda asked.

  She watched as Montgomery looked to Evan, who gave a curt nod. Strange.

  “The storefront was just that, a front. It hid a high-tech document lab,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed for a moment. She felt like something was there and she just couldn’t grasp it. She looked at Sam. “What is it, sweetie?” Sam asked. “Remember something?”

  Amanda shrugged and shook her head as nothing pressing came to mind, then gave her attention back to Mr. Montgomery. He wouldn’t get off so easily. “So, tell me, Admiral, what kind of documents might one procure from such an establishment?”

  “The person—persons,” he corrected, “I was searching for had purchased birth certificates, passports, and adoption papers. So, those. As well as any and all corresponding and essential background files that would be necessary to accompany such documents.”

  “Ooh, that sounds intriguing. Did you find them?”

  “I have.”

  “So, what’s the story?”

  “Still unfolding.”

  “Well, it sounds fascinating. Will you keep me posted?”

  “I will.”

  She sensed she’d reached the limit of his disclosure and moved on to another of her curiosities. “By the by, Admiral,” she said, injecting a bit of Brit as she raised her brows and motioned with her head toward Trevor and Michael at the other end of the table. “They’re terribly young, aren’t they?”

  He grinned. “Yes, they are. Trevor’s only twenty-two. But when you add genius, and mean it, to any title, it’s usually a gift and comes with such implications. He’s particularly mouthy, however.”

  She laughed. “And Michael?”

  “Michael is almost twenty-seven. He just looks like a boy. Mouthy, too, in a different way.”

  Platters started being passed at will. Rosa had made an exceptionally special meal. Lamb chops and bronzini, potatoes and rice, vegetables, salad, and baguettes all but spilled from their serving pieces. Conversations began, were interrupted, and restarted too many times to count. It was table pandemonium of the best kind. It felt like they’d had dinners like this forever.

  There was something about the cadence of Mr. Montgomery’s voice that Amanda found comforting. She racked her frustratingly foggy brain, trying to reach something oddly familiar that lay just beyond her grasp. She was aware that Mr. Montgomery was watching her intently, remaining quiet as if knowing he might stop a memory from returning, but she didn’t look up or shift her gaze. The moment passed and she shook her head at him to let him know, before turning her attention back to Sam and Stephen, who were arguing about veal of all things. Apparently, Stephen ate it and Sam had very strong opinions about it.

  As they began to slow down a bit, eating that is, Evan asked, “So, Amanda…what else do you remember about the descendants of your British estate?”

  “Oh!” she said, startled, but glad to have the opportunity to explore her memory some more. “I remember I was so excited when my father bought that rocky coastal estate. And finding the story of Alexander, Rebecca, and Callesandra, well…” She trailed off, suddenly thinking of something else. She noticed everyone looking at her and continued. “It’s just odd recalling something like this so readily, yet missing such larger, more important facts. Of me. My children.”

  “It will come, let’s give it some more time,” Evan said, patting her hand. “Sometimes just carrying on is the best way to let nature take its course. Tell us more.”

  “Alexander Montgomery”—she looked at the man to her left—“of old.” She smiled. “He was an admiral born in the eighteenth century, titled and uber wealthy, who had this awful arranged marriage. Like I mean really bad. From what I can remember, his wife was a true bitch. But they still had a kid together—a girl named Callesandra.” Amanda laughed. “I really must have been obsessed,” she said, motioning toward the other end of the table where Callie was sitting. “Anyway, they had a second child, because I guess that’s what was expected in those days, even if you hated one another. That one was a boy, but he died in childbirth. And then I think I read somewhere that the wife killed the baby just to spite her husband. Can you believe that? She was like a sociopath or something. And then, I couldn’t find any mention of the family beyond 1774. It was as if they’d vanished. And I looked—hard. Alexander, his wife, and their only living daughter mysteriously had never been written of again.”

  The brothers Montgomery both stood at the same time.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just a story,” Amanda said apologetically.

  “It’s not you, Amanda,” Mr. Montgomery said as everyone started to clear the table.

  She looked at Evan, who patted her hand again. “You’re okay,” he assured her. “You’ll be okay.” That was just what she needed to hear. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  It wasn’t long before coffee, dessert, and after-dinner drinks were brought out. The mood was light again and Stephen was laughing at something his brother said as he filled sherry glasses with Cockburn’s or Grand Mariner. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, she looked up and shook her head. He smiled and gave her an affectionate squeeze. It struck her then that she and these two brothers were connected in some way. If not before, then surely now and moving forward. Maybe that’s what she was feeling; one of those
karmic relationships in life, where you meet someone and know you’re somehow connected and meant to be together.

  Callie climbed into her lap as large pieces of coconut cake and fresh fruit made their way around the table. Mr. Montgomery walked to the far end and took Zander and his bottle from Helen’s arms. Amanda couldn’t nurse him since they’d given her a heavy concoction of drugs at the hospital. She thought he would bring him to her, but he simply sat back in the seat next to her and began feeding the baby himself.

  Amanda couldn’t remember a better night. Ever. She kissed Callie’s forehead and shared a smile with Sam.

  Then everyone’s phones went off at the same time.

  All eyes save hers looked to Mr. Montgomery. “Bloody hell!” He slammed his hand down on top of her phone and then picked up his.

  “I’m on it.” Trevor ran from the room, then everyone began speaking at once.

  “Inside!” the admiral barked. Stephen was at Amanda’s side not a second later, and before she knew it, he’d escorted her upstairs to her room. Helen helped her get situated on her bed, ignoring all of her questions, then placed Zander and his bottle into her lap. It wasn’t lost on her that they were trying to distract her. Which mostly worked because Zander was not happy that his feeding had been interrupted, and she was still a bit addled from the post-op drugs. She rolled onto her side and tucked him in closer. “Shh, shh, baby. It’s okay, Mama’s got you,” she whispered, trying to calm her own racing thoughts.

  “You have to show her,” Samantha spat out as she and Stephen stood in the threshold of Amanda’s room. They’d had time to watch the video in its entirety. Sam wanted to kill someone. That Amanda couldn’t catch a break was killing her. She could sympathize with Alex and Stephen, of course, and what they had gone through themselves, but they weren’t here when Amanda came back. Not only terribly hurt physically, but so very heartbroken too.

  Stephen held a finger to his lips, and quietly closed the double doors of Amanda’s master suite. There was no mistaking the uncanny resemblance between the two brothers. Both were ridiculously good-looking. Stephen, however, was lankier, his features more severe. He pulled her farther into the hallway. “No” was all he said, leaving no room for argument.

  What Stephen Montgomery failed to realize was that she had a degree—and a prestigious one at that—in anything litigious. She was about to tell him just that, when he spoke again.

  “I know you excel in argument,” he said, looking at her straight on. “However, I beg of you, not now.” He wasn’t just giving orders. The man was in pain. She could see that.

  “I can see how much you and your brother care for Amanda—”

  “Care for her?” Stephen sounded insulted. “My brother and I love that woman. Our family and the soundness of its members are of paramount importance. In fact, it’s the only thing that matters to us.”

  “Your presence here obviously confirms that, Stephen. What I’m trying to tell you is that it’s better that she learns of that video from us.”

  Alexander came up the stairs, his mouth a grim line. “Trevor’s working to find the IP address and obliterate wherever it came from.”

  The video had already gone viral. Its creator had titled it, “Amanda Marceau—Talented, Beautiful, Wealthy—Crumbles.” It showed the entirety of Amanda’s breakdown. Holding Zander for the first time. Her joy and sorrow combined as she looked down at the baby. Her softly whispered, “I’m so sorry. I wish you could see our son.” Since she’d been back in the twenty-first century, Amanda had been overcome with guilt that she’d taken Callie from Alexander, and she’d told Sam about it again and again. It consumed her. No matter how many times Sam tried to tell her that she hadn’t been given a choice, that there was nothing else Amanda could have done. Just knowing that Callie was the light of Alexander’s life and that they’d ultimately left him alone was a devastation she’d lived with every day. And now to have a new baby, a son, fully aware that Alex had lost his first with Rebecca, it must have been too much for her friend. In the video, Amanda snapped, screaming again and again, the culmination of a series of misfortunate, dreadful events. Sam watched herself on screen trying to console her, but Amanda only became more agitated. Then the video showed Stan muscling into the room, yelling at the doctors and nurses to treat Amanda with care. Not that they weren’t doing so; he was only trying to protect her, and his helplessness showed. Sam watched as little Zander was forcefully taken from Amanda, and the video ended with her restraint and sedation.

  Sam remembered the call she’d gotten from Stan when Amanda had awoken much later. He’d said she was in a semi-catatonic state, that something was very wrong. It was then that Dr. Meyers had briefed him on Amanda’s memory loss and its compartmental nature. She swallowed a breath and looked to Alexander now, who rubbed his forehead, clearly stressed.

  “Chris said getting anything off the internet is a beast, but everyone has a price. He’s drawing up paperwork now. Has she seen it?”

  “No,” Sam and Stephen answered at the same time.

  Then Sam said, “You-no, we-have to tell her, Alex. This won’t keep. Trust me.”

  Alexander scrubbed his hands over his face. “Bloody hell! Can not one thing go our way?”

  “Grow up,” Sam snapped. “No one said life was fair, Al—”

  Stephen covered her mouth and pulled her back against him. “That wasn’t necessary,” he told her quietly before dropping his hand.

  There was nothing rough about the way he handled her. In fact, he was terribly gentle and the manner in which he held her and spoke to her was oddly intimate. “You’re right,” she conceded. “I’m sorry, Alex. But she really needs to know.”

  Alex remained quiet. Stephen, who had yet to let go of her, said, “Don’t do this to her, Samantha. Not yet.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it would be much easier if you two weren’t here.”

  Stephen squeezed her shoulders. “Please.”

  They all turned as the doors opened. Amanda stood in the threshold. She didn’t have to say the words that followed: “I’ve watched it.”

  Alexander moved toward her, but she stuck out her hand. “Stop.” Her eyes looked vacant.

  “Give me your hand, Becca!” the man shouted, his tone demanding as he stepped farther upon the ledge. Amanda watched, frightened as he gripped the rock wall inside the tunnel, bracing his weight as he reached out. Every few seconds lightning illuminated his tanned, scowling face and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. His dark hair lay in sharp contrast to the white shirt plastered to broad shoulders and torso. Even as she shrunk from him, this stranger whose eyes flashed with anger, she couldn’t help but notice how very…handsome he was. Craning her neck, stepping as far back onto the ledge as she dared, Amanda just stood there, stunned and speechless.

  “Becca,” he demanded again. “We’ve no time for games. Give me your hand!”

  Amanda kept her eyes on the man; his voice was filled with contempt, yet he continued to come closer. Who was he? Why did he keep calling her “Becca”? Her hands grasped the rock behind her, her body shaking so badly she knew she would fall if she didn’t accept his help.

  The sea below taunted her with its white-capped waves crashing against the shore. Her arms were cut and bruised, her stomach and back as well. Fear had taken her adrenaline level to an all-time high. A survival instinct kicking in that she didn’t know she had. How had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was wrenching herself away from her stepbrother as he—my God, Robert had tried to kill her! How had she not seen it?

  She’d only wanted some time alone and had impulsively booked the trip from New York to the British Isles. She loved the British estate that belonged to her family and had gone for an extended vacation. Actually, of all the properties she owned, this estate, built mid-sixteenth century, was her favorite. She’d visited at least four tim
es a year since her father had made the original purchase some ten years ago. And, on each occasion, at least since she’d graduated college, she allowed select charities to use it, and her, for their benefits. This time, though, it was meant to be empty, meant to be just her.

  She’d been shocked when Robert had shown up three days after she’d arrived, a large group of business associates and their families in tow. He’d made excuses about some kind of function, a party for her to perform at, to wow the guests with her presence. She’d obliged, of course, though wondered why Robert hadn’t told her about it beforehand. Now she knew why.

  The perfect crime.

  The perfect alibi.

  He’d goaded her into playing one of her pieces tonight knowing that she’d seek some privacy before performing. She always needed time alone before she played. She damned herself now for having such an obvious habit. Damned herself for being such a complete and utter fool.

  When she’d left the party to collect herself and to take a walk along the cliffs, the property had been teeming with guests and servants, all in fanciful “historical” costumes. She’d walked into the mouth of the cave, heading for her favorite place, where she’d often come to think over the years.

  Tonight, it seemed to beckon her as never before. Just as he now beckoned her. This man who called her by a different name, this man who’d pulled Robert off of her with alarming strength and thrown him against the wall of the cave. This man who’d saved her life.

  She could only see his profile now; his face was concealed in the shadows. But the harshness of his features remained in her mind. The way he’d looked at her when he’d come upon them in the cave. He’d seemed angry, furious even. At her. She shivered, both from the cold and from his glare. The farther she stepped away, the closer he came. His arms were long and powerful, his white shirt rolled to his forearms, a wide silver band circled his wrist. His black cape billowed in the wind as he moved to reach her. His tall black riding boots were polished to a high shine reflecting each flash of lightning that tore through the sky. Despite the direness of her situation, she thought his costume was remarkable.