Chapter 9 #3
“Bloody hell,” he whispered as he scrubbed his hand over his face.
“I remember.” He took a deep breath and gave Callie his full attention again.
Knowing she would continue pressing unless he got the story exactly right, he tried not to look at Amanda as he continued.
“First, Mama came in and said she had a bad feeling. And I said—”
“You said, really?” Callie interrupted, giggling. Alexander gave her an indulgent smile. “’Cause that’s what Mama always said to you when you told her something she already knew.”
“That’s exactly why I said it,” he replied, suddenly feeling very heavy. They’d excelled at being a family, and remembering the easy closeness they’d once had killed him now.
“Do you remember what you said after that?” Callie asked.
He didn’t take his eyes off her as he reenacted the scene, which was branded in his brain—the last hours he’d spent with his family before everything shattered. “I said, ‘Twenty minutes, Amanda. That ship—’”
“Did you point to it, Papa?” Callie interrupted again. “I couldn’t see from beneath the desk.”
“I did…I said, ‘Twenty minutes, Amanda.’” He lifted his right arm as he had that same night and pointed as if it were still there. “‘That ship—we’re on it. If there’s anything you can’t live without, you’d better fetch it now.’” Amanda looked horror stricken.
I know, sweetheart. It’s a living, recurring nightmare in my head that never goes away.
“Do you know what it was she couldn’t live without?” Callie asked eagerly.
“I didn’t know at the time,” he admitted, shaking his head, “but I’m guessing it was you, Callie.”
“So it is my fault,” she said, dropping her head dejectedly. The sight broke Alexander’s heart. If he’d known this was where the inquiry was leading, he’d never have taken her there.
“No,” he said at the same time as Amanda. “You were still hiding when Mama came back, weren’t you?”
Callie nodded.
“Then you know that when Mama said she had to talk to me, I told her it had to wait.”
“But she didn’t think it could.”
“She didn’t say that, angel.” Alexander shook his head.
“But, Papa, that’s what she meant,” Callie insisted, her voice getting more and more distraught. “I remember how she said it. That’s why I went after her.” She looked at Amanda. “Mama?”
“Oh, sweetie, I wish I could help you,” Amanda said softly, hugging her. She looked at him then, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. Something about the gesture changed the dynamic, and warmed his heart too. Amanda was trying to help him help their daughter.
When her mother couldn’t add to the story, Callie continued. “By the time I caught up to you, it was too late,” she told Amanda. “Do you remember how you roared, Papa? When you found us on the ledge?”
He swore under his breath then answered, “I do, Callie.”
“And when I fell and then Mama let go of you…you roared again. I thought the first roar was fierce, Papa…but I’ll never forget that last one. You roared like that ’cause you thought we were gone forever, didn’t you?”
He couldn’t acknowledge that particular question. Wouldn’t. “I found you, though, didn’t I?”
“I gotta tell you something else, Papa.”
“Still listening.”
“I know why Mama can’t remember anymore.”
“Oh, angel. She got real sad in the hospital after Zander was born and her memory is taking a little break. You know that.”
“Nuh-uh.” Callie shook her head. “Mama thought you were gone forever too. I remember. We were living in our big house in New York.” She smiled then and looked at Amanda. “I liked it there, Mama.” Amanda smiled back, mouthed me too, and started running her fingers through Callie’s hair.
“Mama used to light a candle for you every single night, Papa. Then when she thought I had gone to bed, she’d play the piano.” She looked at Amanda again for reassurance. “You play the prettiest music, Mama.”
She turned back to him after Amanda gave her an indulgent smile—an attempt to mask the expectant tension in her eyes.
“But Mama would always cry after, Papa, and then she’d stand in front of the window, like right in front with her head and hands pressed against the glass, and tell you to come home to us.
I remember ’cause she did it every single night. ”
“I did?” Amanda barely got the words out, her head was whirling, and she felt like a five-hundred-pound weight lay on her heart. She couldn’t remember that, or so many other things.
Poor little Callie, holding all these memories without her mother to take some of the burden.
Well, there was that flash of the ledger, but nothing else.
She remembered their home in New York, of course, and now that she was thinking about it, she was surprised they’d moved.
She thought she’d loved it there, and from the things she could remember, they’d had a great summer.
She’d seen pictures, thanks to Stan and the newspaper and magazine articles he’d shown her.
“I loved our home in New York too, baby,” she said again.
“But not after you saw that book.”
“What book, sweetie?”
“The one that made you scream, Mama. I found it after Aunt Sam and Mr. Finch took you upstairs. Mr. Finch had to carry you.”
Alex looked at her then. But she shook her head. She didn’t know what Callie was talking about.
“What did it say, Callie?” Amanda asked gently, completely baffled, and also a bit petrified.
“It was open to a page that had Papa’s name on it,” she told her emphatically, nodding her head.
Then Callie looked at Alex. “It said you were guilty, Papa, of reason. And you had to write a sentence about death. It took me a long time to sound that sentence out, Papa, but I repeated it a bunch of times, so that I would never forget it.”
Amanda spent the rest of the morning vacillating between wanting to know more and letting sleeping dogs lie for the moment. It was frigging exhausting.
It was one thing to have all these random memories, flashes, or whatever they were, but when she tried to place them in context, it was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle. And the picture was sometimes terrifying.
After Callie’s last declaration, Alex’s phone had gone off. He’d looked ridiculously relieved at the noise, probably grateful for an emergency. Shortly after, the circus, minus Stephen, had piled out the front doors and hadn’t returned for a few hours.
She still had so many questions—more now than before—but for the moment, Amanda was happy for the reprieve. There was only so much a person could take in one frigging sitting.
When the crew returned, Alex and the boys took up residence in the living room. Later, she passed him in the hall, both going in different directions to and from the kitchen, and Alex reached out to touch her.
For the first time that day, he gave her one of those looks that she’d loved only days ago, where she could see how much he worried about her well-being. She nodded and smiled, telling him, “I’m okay,” before she reached out to keep hold of him. “You?”
“Yeah,” he replied as she absently rubbed the material of his shirt between her fingers. “Soft enough?” he asked.
She smiled. “Considering the fortune you spend on your clothes, I’d expect soft, but your clothes are the softest I’ve ever felt.”
“You’ve always had a thing for my clothes,” he chuckled.
“I have?” she asked, a second before Rosa popped into the hallway and handed him a stack of freshly pressed slacks.
“I may be one sandwich short of a picnic, but I’m telling you now, I would notice if you moved in, Montgomery,” she teased since she knew Rosa loved indulging Alex and the guys.
And God it felt so nice right now to just be with him; she missed the easy rapport they’d had since the hospital.
“You? One sandwich short?” He shook his head. “You happen to be a ridiculously intelligent woman. And you’re not crazy, Amanda,” he said, touching her again, this time to tuck an errant wisp of hair behind her ear. “You’re suffering from psychogenic amnesia.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment, Alex, but what I have is psychogenic amnesia, caused by my suffering.”
“You just proved my point, clever girl.”
She spent the next hour pacing the house.
She’d been up and down the stairs and through the foyer what seemed like fifty times.
On each pass, she stopped to look at him.
Then thought better of it and walked away.
Finally, Alex put his laptop on the table, threw his phone next to it, and started after her.
Heart racing, she ran. He caught her in the hallway just before the kitchen and pulled her back against him. “What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, a bit out of breath, fully in his embrace. It was a first, at least that she could remember. She was engulfed by warmth, and the most powerful set of arms. Something about it felt amazing.
“About what?”
Amanda turned in his arms. He had her so close there wasn’t a lot of room between them at all. “About this.” She wagged her finger back and forth. “About us.”
“What do you think we should do?”
“I just told you, I don’t know!”
“Then figure it out, clever girl.”
“That’s my girl, clever girl,” she repeated the monikers from yesterday and today. “I don’t know her! I don’t know you!”
“Her—is you, Amanda.”
“Do you miss her?”
His eyes narrowed. “How could I? You’re right in front of me.”
“I’m not the same,” she cried out, confused by how she felt being held in his embrace, so close she could see small flecks of amber in dark, dark eyes. Her heart was racing and not from the run down the hallway.
“Neither am I,” he told her as his hands snaked up her back to cup her head.
“What if…what—” She lost her train of thought. Oh God, was he going to kiss her? Suddenly that’s all she could think about.
Wrapped in his arms right now, so close to him, she knew—could feel in her bones—that she was safe with him.
No wonder listening to his deep, accented voice calmed her.
That staring into his dark eyes anchored her.
And although she’d been pressed against him a few times now, too many of her other senses had been engaged or confused in those instances.
“We lived, Amanda. All of us.” He bent his head closer.
“We lived,” she breathed, barely able to follow the track of their conversation with her heart racing.
“You went to prison, Alex. I obviously thought you had been executed for reasons I don’t think I can handle knowing about yet, and I had a nervous breakdown.
” She clutched his shirt, leaning closer.
“And here we are. Alive. Together. With our children.” Both his hands gently clutched her head now as he breathed, “You slipped through my fingers once, Amanda. Literally. That will not happen again.”
Then he kissed her, canted her head just where he wanted it, and covered her lips with his brilliant British mouth.
Seriously, how on earth had she forgotten that!