Hidden Memories

by Robin Allen

  “Let me know what you find out,” Ramion said.

  * * * * *

  The cork flew out of the dark-green bottle, and champagne bubbled over the top of the bottle. “Give me your glass, give me your glass,” Ramion urgently said, not wanting the entire contents of the bottle to spill onto the floor.

  Sage tilted her glass as Ramion poured Dom Pérignon into the gold-rimmed champagne glass. Laughter pealed from her mouth as the bubbles tickled her nose when she drank the champagne. “Ummh, delicious,” she said.

  She signaled with her glass for a refill.

  “Already?” Ramion teased before filling up her glass.

  “Congratulations, honey,” Sage said, and spontaneously hugged her husband. “I’m so happy for you! I’m so proud of you!”

  “Thanks to you, baby, I won,” Ramion said.

  “To Senator Sandidge,” Sage said, clinking her glass against his.

  They stood on the balcony, overlooking the hotel ballroom where family, voters and supporters were celebrating Ramion’s victory.

  “It wasn’t as close as I’d expected it to be. All that worrying for nothing,” Sage said, her voice lilting with joy.

  “It was the debate you talked me into. Good move.” Ramion kissed her on the top of her head. “Now I know why you have that Maya Angelou poem on your office wall. You’re a phenomenal woman, baby.”

  “That’s my inspiration. But then again, you are too.” She kissed him softly on the lips. “Do you think they’d miss us down there?”

  “Hmmh,” Ramion said, with a seductive smile. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I happen to know that the penthouse suite is available. It has a heart-shaped bed, a Jacuzzi tub…”

  “Say no more,” Ramion said. “Let’s go.”

  “On second thought, I don’t have a change of clothes or…”

  “No second thoughts allowed. All you need is what’s under those clothes. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ramion sat in the chair across from his mentor’s desk. Looking around the office, he didn’t notice anything different since the last time he’d been in the office a year ago. He glanced over at Sage, who was looking out the window, lost in thought. It was midafternoon, and the sky threatened rain.

  They heard Edwin Williamson’s distinctive voice as he approached the office. “Good to see you, Ramion,” Edwin said when he came inside.

  Ramion stood up and extended his hand to Edwin.

  “Hello, Sage,” Edwin said, nodding in her direction. “How are you?”

  “Hello, Mr. Williamson,” Sage said with a slight smile. “I’m doing fine.”

  “Call me Ed.” He settled in his chair, and then said, “I was surprised by your call.”

  “I was surprised by what I found out about…”

  “Winna. I know things have been awkward, but I do understand that you wanted to win on your own.” Edwin leaned back comfortably in his massive desk chair. “And you did. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” Ramion said. He cleared his throat before adding, “I’m here today on a very difficult matter.”

  “You know I’m a straight shooter. Let’s be direct.”

  “I have a copy of a cashier’s check drafted from Edwinna’s account. It was deposited into Selena Tucker’s mother’s account. The money was then transferred to Selena’s account.”

  Edwin studied Ramion for a minute. “That’s a very serious accusation,” he said somberly.

  Ramion leaned across the desk and handed him the check. “I know, Ed. That’s why I’m here.”

  Edwin stared at the check, his expression unreadable. “Can anyone else confirm this information?”

  “Actually, it was Drew Evans. He’s a reporter for the Atlanta Times. He uncovered this information and brought it to us.” Sage paused, and then added, “I went to college with him.”

  Edwin laid the copy of the check facedown on his desk. “Why didn’t you use this during the campaign?”

  “We didn’t find out about this until two days ago,” Ramion explained.

  “I see. What do you plan to do about it?”

  “That’s why we’re here, Ed. You’ve opened many doors for me and helped me in countless other ways. I’m letting you decide how to handle it. My wife did not agree.”

  “Your daughter has done everything she could to destroy our relationship. She’s lied, and she’s falsified tapes,” Sage said. “Believe me, I would love to expose her in the newspaper. But Ramion felt that you would want to handle it.”

  “And I will. I’m most grateful that you chose not to embarrass me. Not only could she be disbarred, but she’d surely face criminal charges.”

  “I’ll be honest, Ed. I feel the same way as Sage. But out of respect for you, I didn’t go public with it.”

  Edwin looked at them and humbly said, “Thank you both.”

  * * * * *

  When Edwinna returned from court, she was surprised to find her father sitting behind her desk. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him in her office.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said with a bright smile, then kissed him on the top of his bald head.

  Edwin stared at his only child for a long time. He didn’t speak.

  “What is it, Daddy?” Edwinna asked.

  Edwin continued to quietly stare at her.

  “Daddy, what’s the matter?”

  He pointed to the copy of the cashier’s check on her desk. “Explain this,” he said.

  Edwinna’s stomach took a nosedive when she saw the signature on the check. She slumped into a chair, too embarrassed to return her father’s piercing gaze. She wondered how he found out, but it didn’t matter. He would always look at her without respect. His respect was the only thing that really mattered to her.

  Edwin moved over to the conference table and sat beside her. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I was just so angry that he left me.”

  “So you risked your career, your reputation, your freedom…”

  “I wanted to win the election, Daddy! I wanted to prove to him that I was better than him, better than Sage,” she said vehemently.

  “Ramion brought me this check. He didn’t have to. He could have destroyed you and really embarrassed me.” Edwin spoke the words slowly, deliberately, as if he were giving a final summation to a jury, “But he chose not to.”

  Edwinna looked at her father for the first time, her expression puzzled. “Why didn’t he? I certainly would have.”

  “It’s obvious, my child, you wouldn’t understand.”

  Edwinna sank back in the chair. “What’s going to happen to me?”

  “If it doesn’t get in the media’s hands, hopefully nothing.” Edwin stood. “But, I think you should leave Atlanta for a while. Perhaps you should consider working for one of our affiliate offices.”

  Edwinna raised her head and stared into her father’s eyes. She saw reflections of disappointment and suppressed anger. She swallowed, and asked, “For how long?”

  “I don’t know, Winna.” Her father moved toward the door, and then turned around. “Surely you understand that you will never be elected managing partner.”

  * * * * *

  Sage knocked on the door when no one responded to the ringing doorbell. Her knocking pushed the door open. “Hello,” she called out at the front of the door. When no one responded, Sage stepped inside the studio. She walked down a narrow hall and around a corner into a large open area that reminded her of a big warehouse.

  “Hello,” she repeated.

  Bright sunlight beamed through the skylights into the studio. It was the only source of light for the high-ceiling loft with walls of brick. The building had been a manufacturing facility, but now served as a consortium for creativity, housing artists of all types.

  She heard the unmistakable voice of Billie Holiday singing “God Bless the Child”. Sage remembered stacking the Billie Holiday albums on the record player, waitin
g for an album to fall down and the needle to drop on the edge of the album. She’d hear the popping, scratching noises of an album played too many times, then the infectious whine and seductive purr of Billie Holiday’s voice.

  This time Billie Holiday’s sultry voice was loud and clear, with no crackling sounds or sudden skipping to the next verse in the middle of a lyric.

  Sage felt the bottom of her feet tingling, shooting straight up to her shoulders, as if she had stepped into a puddle of cold water. Can it be Daddy? Sage wondered. Billie Holiday is playing, it has to be him.

  If it is Daddy, she thought, what do I do? Maybe he doesn’t want to know me. Maybe he doesn’t care after all these years. Maybe he never did.

  With her thoughts swirling around in her head, she felt dizzy with fear and trepidation. I wish Ramion was here, she thought. Maybe I should leave and come back with Ramion.

  She turned toward the front door. Suddenly the music stopped, Billie Holiday’s plaintive voice lost in the air. She heard something hit the floor. She took a deep breath and called out again, “Hello, I’m looking for Shakura.”

  “Over here.”

  Sage walked in the direction of the voice, a voice that was familiar, a voice that traveled inside her ears to tap her subconscious and retrieve one special memory from her past. It’s him, she thought. Oh my God, it’s Daddy.

  She heard water running and moved toward the sound. A large canvas was propped on an easel, and she could see feet underneath. She stopped in front of the easel and peered at a mural of people running around in circles, in bold, vibrant colors. She stared at the painting, lost in the symposium of her memories. She heard her heart beat, louder and louder.

  Sage sighed deeply and peeped around the mural painting. “Shakura,” she whispered. She saw a man leaning over a sink, cleaning his brushes. He had a wild grey beard that seemed to cover his face. She tiptoed closer. Her heartbeat and the running water were the only sounds she could hear.

  “Shakura,” she said in a quiet whisper.

  “That’s me.” He tilted his head in her direction, but the glaring light from the skylight distorted his vision. He put his hand over his eyes to block out the sun.

  He stared at Sage.

  “Oh no,” he cried, grabbing at his chest and falling back against the sink, knocking his paintbrushes to the ground.

  Suddenly frightened, Sage stumbled over to help Shakura to the table.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, looking into eyes that were the same olive green as hers. It’s Daddy, she thought. It’s him!

  He shook his head and moved over to the small sofa and two chairs positioned in the corner. Crackers, cheese and a decanter of red wine rested on the table. Shakura took a sip from the glass of wine.

  With his eyes closed, he took long, deep breaths.

  “Should I call a doctor?” Sage asked. How do I explain who I am? she wondered. And what do I do if he denies me? She desperately wanted to touch him, to gently stroke the full grey beard framing his caramel-brown face. She peered closer and saw brown freckles splattered across his cheeks. Tears puddled in her eyes. She had forgotten about his freckles.

  He shook his head.

  Sage didn’t know what to say and resisted the urge to bolt out the door, to leave their lives intact. Because, the moment he recognized her, their lives would be forever changed. And what if the past unraveled the present and destroyed the future? She stood up and said, “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

  Sage took a few steps and stopped when she heard a voice from the past.

  “I should know you—” Shakura said. Memories from his past life zoomed through his mind like a reel of film on fast forward. He closed his eyes to freeze a frame and catch a memory of the little girl from his dreams. But the memories, as always, were as elusive as a ray of sun.

  She turned around slowly, her stomach churning with anticipation. Peering into her father’s eyes, Sage saw his confusion as he struggled to grip reality. She walked over to him, her steps slow and deliberate.

  “Who are you?” Shakura asked in a choked whisper.

  “My name’s Sage,” she replied softly. She wasn’t sure she should explain their relationship. Green eyes stared into green eyes, both lost in the prism of the past. Sage averted her gaze from her father’s probing stare. She looked around the studio, a tender smile warming her face at the different paintings—some bright and literal, some colorful and abstract. She noticed a painting that was similar to the one she’d bought from Tawny.

  A series of pictures hanging on the wall behind Shakura suddenly caught her attention, sending a jolt of excitement that vibrated from her heart to her stomach. Beautiful paintings of a little amber-colored girl with olive-green eyes.

  “I’m…your…”

  Shakura’s eyes followed Sage’s gaze. “You’re the little girl I paint. You’re the one I dream about.”

  Smiling at the man she never imagined ever seeing again, she softly said, “I’m your daughter.”

  A door was unlocked in Satchel’s mind when Sage explained who she was, releasing a floodgate of memories.

  “My, how you’ve grown,” he said tenderly, then took the last step between them and tightly hugged his long-lost daughter.

  * * * * *

  Boxes were scattered around Sage’s bedroom in her new house. Some boxes were opened, but most were closed. The furniture was properly placed in new surroundings, but everything else still needed to be organized.

  Instead of unpacking the boxes marked for the master-bedroom closet, Sage sat on the bed, staring at her father’s painting of butterflies, leaning against the wall. The excitement of moving into a brand-new house was lost in the wonder of finding her father. Sage didn’t notice Ramion’s quiet entrance. She didn’t know he was in the room until she felt his lips graze her neck. “My father is alive,” she said, repeating the words she had uttered a hundred times in the past twenty-four hours.

  “Unbelievable,” Ramion said, easing down on the bed.

  “When I was little I used to fantasize that Daddy was lost in Vietnam, that he was a prisoner of war and that one day he was going to return,” Sage said.

  “He was lost all right,” Ramion said. “Losing his memory, not knowing who he was or where he came from.”

  “He still doesn’t remember what happened to him. Doesn’t know how he was injured. All he remembers is waking up and being cared for by a Vietnamese woman.”

  “Apparently she saved his life,” Ramion said wryly.

  “She took him home to her family, and they took care of him.” She sighed, remembering her father’s answers to the questions rolling around in her head. “When he got better, they kept him hidden for many years because they were afraid if they turned him in, he’d become a prisoner of war. I guess by that time he’d fallen in love with the woman’s daughter, Song.”

  “But he never really forgot you, baby,” Ramion said, massaging the tight muscles in her neck.

  “I know. He painted what he remembered,” she said wistfully. “But now we have so much to learn about each other.”

  “I’ll be right here with you,” Ramion said, then kissed the woman he never wanted to lose. “Right by your side.”

  About the Author

  Robin Allen is the author of The Starters, Breeze, The Promise, The Best Thing Yet, and If I Were Your Woman. She has written articles for several national publications, including Black Elegance, Today’s Black Woman and Diversity Careers. She grew up in Pittsburgh, PA, and now lives in Atlanta, GA, with her two daughters. She is currently working on a sequel to Hidden Memories and other book projects.

  Robin loves to hear from readers. You may email her at: robinallenwriter@gmail.com.

  If you loved this book, then you’re sure to love these Samhain favorites as well!

  Her wildest dream…or her most dreaded nightmare?

  Though exhausted from months of overwork, Dr. Elizabeth Reynolds responds immediately when she’s asked to chec
k on a fellow hotel guest with a migraine. In her profession, such requests aren’t unusual.

  What is unusual is waking up to find herself living her secret dream—passion with a man she doesn’t know. Worse, he’s the last kind of man she’d ever trust again. An actor.

  Chris Grant has more secrets than a mystery script, including a yearning to find someone who’ll love him for himself, not his fame and fortune. When an angelic woman turns up in his bed after another of his debilitating migraines, for an instant he thinks he’s found her.

  Except the woman of his dreams avoids actors like the plague. And before he knows it, she’s run back home to her safe life, determined to refocus on her career. If Chris is to win her heart, he’ll have to reveal his deepest secret, and pray she’ll see it as a sign they are meant for each other—and not as a betrayal.

  Miracles can happen…if you can find them among the doubts.

  Fledgling interior designer Kristine Maitland is glad her kindly boss thinks she’s ready to take on one of the firm’s biggest clients, but Kaitlyn isn’t so sure. Especially when she meets the owner of the Florida beach house she’s been assigned to renovate.

  Handsome, powerful businessman Nicholas Kalen makes her knees shake, and it’s not because of the nerves she’s trying so hard to hide. That he wants to make his beach house comfortable for his injured father makes him all the more endearing.

  Despite her determination to uphold her professional façade—and not succumb to his smooth charm like some simpering female—Kristine is inexorably drawn into a web of sensual pleasure the likes of which she’s never known. And into a world completely out of step with her arts-and-blue-jeans soul.

  Just how out of step becomes clear when a blonde from Nick’s past reminds Kristine that a man like him has had his pick of women. And her own past reminds her that most men are not to be trusted…

  When he turns up the heat, she has no choice but to burn.

  Marisa Marshall would be a fool to pass up an opportunity this good. Starring in a movie scripted by A-lister Llewellyn Stone will put her career back on the map—and money in her empty bank account.