Monty

by Tina Martin

  I have to get to the hospital. I have to see him. I need to see him.

  * * *

  I surprise myself by how fast I’m able to make it to the hospital. I broke laws. Ran lights, but I’m here, looking for Montgomery.

  I look for people in nurse’s uniforms. All others are just blurs – obstacles in the way of me and the man I’m here for.

  “The guy from the I-85 crash, where is he?” I ask in a panic. I feel like sweat is dripping from my face. This isn’t real. It can’t be. I’m in a bad dream.

  “He’s in surgery, ma’am.”

  “Why? Surgery for what, exactly?”

  “Are you related to him, ma’am?”

  “No. I’m—I’m his assistant. His p-pe-personal assistant. Is he going to be okay?”

  “You’ll have to wait to talk to the doctor.”

  “But—”

  “Ma’am, please just have a seat here and wait for the doctor.”

  “Okay. Okay. Um…okay. Thanks,” I tell her. I feel no relief. I’m anxious and scared. When I can see through the fog of my brain, I whip out my phone. My hand is shaking so bad, I can’t hold the phone steady enough to make a call. I need to call Sylvia. Does she even know?

  One of the nurses must witness my struggle. In an act of kindness, she brings me a bottle of water, squeezes my hand and tells me to calm down and wait for the doctor’s report. Tells me to pray for my friend. Says no amount of medicine is more powerful than prayer.

  “Thank you,” I tell her. “I—I have to call his mother. And, and, and…Major. I have to call his brother. I don’t know if they know.” My hands are steadily shaking.

  “Do you want me to call them for you? I’ll be glad to.”

  “No. No. I got it. Thanks.”

  “If you need anything, I’ll be right over here. Okay?”

  “Thank you.”

  She walks away and I take a sip of water and then follow up with deep breaths. I finally dial Sylvia and when she answers, I say, “Sylvia, have you heard?”

  “Yes, Cherish. Oh my God! My son,” she says, bawling. She sounds so distraught, she makes my eyes fill with sadness.

  “I’m at the hospital.”

  “You’re there? How is he? Have they told you anything?”

  “No. They don’t know yet. He’s in surgery.”

  “Oh, God. Surgery. Oh, God!” She cries harder.

  “We’re pulling up now, Cherish,” Major says. “Come to the front to get Ma so I can go park the car.”

  “Okay.”

  I rush to the emergency entrance, to see Sylvia getting out of the car. She’s bawling her eyes out. Seeing her in so much pain rattles me. I know her struggles with Montgomery. Know how often they argue, but nothing can thwart a mother’s love. It doesn’t matter that he was a foster child. That never mattered to her.

  I show her to the waiting area, fill her in on everything the nurse told me.

  Major comes running in. I can tell he’s frazzled though he tries to keep his cool. Probably for our sakes.

  “What did they say, Cherish?” Major asks, sitting to the left of me.

  Sylvia is on the right.

  “They said he’s in surgery right now and couldn’t tell us much more than that. They won’t have an update until he’s out.”

  “Okay.”

  “Surgery—what kind of surgery?” Sylvia asks.

  “We’ll find out, Ma,” Major tells her, reaching across my lap to hold her hand. “We just gotta be thankful that he’s alive at this point.”

  I nod in agreement. I saw the car. I’m still in shock. I didn’t think anyone would make it out alive.

  “How did you find out, Cherish?” Major asks me.

  “I was watching the midday news and they switched to a breaking news story about the accident. I didn’t know it was Montgomery at first. The car was crushed up so bad, I couldn’t make out the model of it. Then they said his name and—I grabbed my keys and floored it here. I apologize if I’m being intrusive. I know I’m not family, but—”

  “Nah, don’t think like that,” he tells me.

  “Please don’t,” Sylvia says. “You are family. You wait on Montgomery hand and foot. You’re family.”

  I appreciate this acceptance from them. They know how hard I work for Montgomery. I need the job, but it’s never been about the money for me. Since day one, everything I did for Montgomery St. Claire was for him. I recognized how rude he was – how progressively insolent he’d become over the past few months, but I did my job and I did it well.

  “Why was he in Charlotte in the first place?” I ask. “Wasn’t he working at home today? He typically never leaves to go anywhere before the workday is over.”

  “He doesn’t,” Sylvia says, “But he came to my office, livid because he wanted to find out where you were.”

  “What?” I ask. My heart sinks. Chest nearly caves in.

  “He was upset you called out this morning—even more angry that you called me instead of him. Said you work for him, you should’ve called him. We went back-and-forth like we always do and then he wanted to know why you took the day off. I told him I wasn’t sure and he snapped—said he’d find out for himself. Next thing I know, I heard tires screeching and he was gone.”

  My body shakes. “Wait—are you telling me this is my fault?” I ask with a trembling voice.

  “No, Cherish,” she says.

  “How is it not my fault? According to you, he was coming to see me,” I say. “I did this to him?”

  “I don’t know for certain if he was coming to see you.”

  Major puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “Cherish, this isn’t your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.”

  I hear him, but I’m not listening. This is my fault. Had I gone to work today, he wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t be in surgery, fighting for his life. Everything would be normal. What have I done?

  I look to the left and see Major with his hands interlocked. He wears worry heavy on his face. I look to the right and see Sylvia with her head lowered.

  Distraught, I break away from them and run down the hall in full tears, looking for a bathroom through blurred vision. I’m sick to my stomach. What have I done? Who can wake me up from this nightmare?

  This can’t be happening…

  Chapter Ten

  Monty

  (Subconscious Thoughts)

  What goes through the mind of a man who sees his life flash before his eyes? I can tell you what went through mine. When I slammed on the brakes and felt my car fishtailing, I wasn’t thinking about my company. Or the car. Or the pure anger I felt on the drive to Charlotte that has resulted in me lying on this operating table. When I saw my life flash before my eyes, I thought of the times when I was happy. I saw my life play out in a series of short segments, sort of like a timeline. I saw a vision of a woman who I believe was my birth mother. I saw my brothers, two of them although I only know one. I saw myself playing basketball with Major. I saw Sylvia – remembered how she cooked for us when she didn’t have to. When she could’ve had chefs and caterers do the job. I recall my father working. Working so hard, he left the rearing of us to mother. He made the money. She made the house a home. I remember the moment I knew I’d rather have my father’s talents and his ability to block everything out. I needed that ability.

  I was lost as a teen. I shouldn’t have been. I should’ve felt lucky to have been fostered by Caspian and Sylvia Hawthorne, but I didn’t. I’ve always felt like I was missing something mostly because I was raised by people who could do a stellar job of taking care of me financially but never give me their last name. I was lost. I had no identity until working gave me one. Until I became someone because of what I could do. Who I could be. The products I could create. The money I could make.

  When my life flashed before my eyes, it was my relationships or lack thereof that haunted me. It was the fact that Sylvia Hawthorne loved me. No matter how awful I was to her, she loved me, but like my father, I didn’t have t
ime to love her the way she deserved.

  It was the fact that my brother was supposed to look up to me. Instead, he despises me. I let him down.

  It was the fact that I, as a thirty-three-year-old man have never experienced love. Real love. Never knew how to. Never loved a woman. Never even considered giving my heart to a woman. Dying today would mean I would never have that chance to love. To have children. To tell my mother I love her and that I’m sorry. To tell my brother to do everything in his power to make sure he doesn’t end up like me. To redeem myself. To treat people like people instead of servants.

  For the first time in my life accolades, the billions I have in the bank or whatever invention I was working on doesn’t matter to me. Faced with death, I’m thinking about all the things I regret because accomplishments have already been accomplished. Regrets are open wounds that, shall I perish, I’ll never get a chance to heal them. That’s what hurts the most when they pulled me out of my crushed car. Hurts more than the cuts on my face, chest and leg. More than my cracked ribs. More than these bruises.

  I’m out. I can’t feel a thing but I know there’s a team of doctors and nurses working on me. While I’m sure I’m supposed to be dead right now, I tell myself that, if I survive this, I’ll be a better person like I’m making a deal with the man above, pleading for a chance to right my wrongs. I need that chance.

  I need it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cherish

  After two of the longest hours in history, the doctor finally comes out to give us some news. He says Montgomery is stable. And lucky. Very lucky. It could’ve been much worse, and probably should’ve been.

  “He’s stable—wha, wha, what exactly does that mean?” Sylvia stammers.

  “He’s doing okay,” the doctor responds. “He came in with two cracked ribs, bruises, lacerations on his legs and cuts on his face. But, he’s alive and he’s going to make it.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Major says reaching to shake his hand.

  “Yes, thank you,” Sylvia adds. “Thank you so much for saving my son’s life.”

  The doctor gives a modest nod. “You’ll be able to see him soon, but right now, he needs to rest. He’s on heavy pain medication and he’ll be on them for a few days, so he’ll be out for a while.”

  “How soon can we see him?” Sylvia asks desperately.

  “Let’s give it a few hours.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  We sit down again. Time doesn’t seem to exist when something like this happens, but Major points out that it’s after seven in the evening. Suggests we get something to eat.

  “How can you eat at a time like this?” Sylvia asks him.

  “Mother, the doctor said Monty’s stable. I’m more worried about you than him right now. You’ve had nothing to eat or drink since we got here six hours ago.”

  “I’m fine, Major.”

  “No, you’re—”

  “I said I’m fine,” she interjects with a raised voice.

  “Well, let’s just take a walk, Sylvia,” I tell her. I take her hand. She accepts.

  We walk outside first. It’s almost dark. The air is thick and humid – the kind of air that makes it hard for people with respiratory issues to breathe. It doesn’t take long for us to make our way back inside the air-conditioned hospital. We walk toward the cafeteria. I’m still holding Sylvia’s hand.

  Major is behind us talking to somebody on his cell.

  “Let’s get something to drink,” I tell Sylvia as we approach the cafeteria. Like her, I don’t have an appetite. My stomach can’t handle food right now. Maybe once I lay eyes on Montgomery and confirm he’s okay, I’ll be better. Until then, we sit and drink watermelon-flavored water lost our thoughts.

  Major’s phone rings again. He leaves the table to take the call in the hallway.

  Sylvia looks at me and says, “You know something, Cherish—I did the best I could with those boys.”

  “I know you did, Sylvia. Everyone knows that. We see how hard you try with Montgomery.”

  “But I lost him. Somewhere inside of him is the man I know he can be. A decent man. One who knows how to love. How to treat people. But that man is trapped. He won’t come out.”

  I’m nodding. It’s what I’ve always believed about Montgomery. “You’re right. I’ve always believed that—just never seen it. Montgomery’s a good man. You did a fantastic job raising him and no, you didn’t lose him, Sylvia. As long as he still has breath in his body, you didn’t lose him. He just needs an outlet. Somebody he can talk to. Get things off his chest. Get pain out of his heart because there’s plenty of it there.”

  She nods. Sips water. “He was so angry this morning. He’s always angry.”

  “Why is he so angry?”

  “He’s been that way since his father died.”

  “He was close to him, I take it.” Naomi already told me as much but I want to hear it directly from her.

  “Yes. He’s an exact representation of him. Yet, their relationship wasn’t all that great. Yes, Montgomery admired his father’s work but their bond was lacking. Foster children or not, they still should’ve had that much. I’ve always had a motherly bond with them since they were boys, but then again, I wanted children, more so than my husband. I had to nearly beg him to have children. I remember when he finally agreed we could try to have a baby. We tried and tried but I never got pregnant. Don’t know why. It just didn’t happen. So I talked to him about adoption. Caspian Hawthorne didn’t want to hear it. Said if he wasn’t raising his own kids, he for sure wasn’t going to raise someone else’s. Taking in some foster children was the compromise. To my surprise, he agreed, partly because with foster children, you know, the arrangement is supposed to be temporary. You keep them until they can be placed in a permanent home. He thought we’d only have them for a few years. We ended up having them forever.”

  She smiles. Remembering.

  “I was so happy. The older they got, the more I realized they weren’t going anywhere. They were my children, and I loved them like my children. My husband, on the other hand, he wasn’t so fatherly. I believe Montgomery recognized this early on. I think that’s why the business interested him so much. He knew it’s what interested his father and so that was the only way they could have a connection. Not through love. Through work.”

  “How did Major turn out so differently?” I inquire. “Aren’t they biological siblings?”

  “Yes. They have the same mother and father, and I don’t know how Major turned out differently to be honest with you. The only thing I can attribute it to is he didn’t spend as much time with my husband. He spent a lot of time with his friends. He and Monty have always had distinct personalities.”

  “I noticed that soon after I started working for you. Major would always greet me. Montgomery would walk right past me like I was an object instead of a person.”

  Sylvia shakes her head. “I tried so hard to get through to him, Cherish. I really did.”

  “I know.”

  She sips water. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “You never call out of work. Why did you call out this morning?”

  “Because Montgomery had been torturing me for the last couple of days, being nitpicky like I wasn’t doing my job to his liking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He saw me in his closet and looked at me like I didn’t belong. I pick out his suits every morning and he was being so rude to me. Yesterday, he blew up about the breakfast menu and then he told me I couldn’t work in the flowers anymore. He was taunting me for no reason at all. Totally unprovoked. I wanted to quit. Naomi talked me into just calling out.”

  “I’m glad she did. You can’t quit. Montgomery needs you around there. He has too much pride to admit that, but deep down, he knows it. I think that’s why he was coming to see you. That was so out of character for him. Do you know how many assistants have quit before I hired you?”

  “No. How
many?”

  “Four.”

  My eyes brighten. “Four!”

  “Yes. Four. The last thing he needs is for someone else to quit on him. I argue with him, disagree with him all the time, but I’ve never quit on my son and I never will.”

  “I just don’t know how to deal with him sometimes—no, scratch that—I don’t know how to deal with him at all. Plus, I’m sure I’m the last person he wants to see after everything that has happened.”

  “That hard persona he exudes is just a cry for help. He needs you more than you know, Cherish. If anyone can help him, it’s you.”

  I frown. “How do you figure that?”

  She looks at me like she knows something I don’t – like she knows something I should know. A faint smile appears then disappears just as quickly. “Because it’s obvious you can get to him in ways we can’t.”

  “Obvious to who because nothing gets under his skin?”

  “Then why was he coming to see you? Montgomery is not the type to chase after nobody. Employees come and go. What does he care? He doesn’t form bonds with anyone. He’s lost that ability—at least so I thought. But you—somehow, you got to him.”

  “Sylvia, I promise I didn’t do a thing to him. Montgomery hasn’t bothered me or paid any attention to me for two years and—”

  “That’s what you think.”

  “No, it’s what I know. I’m practically invisible.”

  “Then why on several occasions last summer, I observe him standing at the window watching you leave?”

  “Last summer?”

  “Yes. So you see…you’re not invisible after all. You can get to him.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I doubt if he was looking at me. He was probably plotting his next move on somebody. Like I said, I’m invisible.”

  “Well, whatever the case, I see how hard you work for him, Cherish. I know how much you care about my son.”