Incredible Dreams (18 page)

“You do not belong. What is so hard to understand about that?” Madame Petulengro’s brow crinkled above her nose, tipping off Izzy to the woman’s mounting frustration.

“Well—” Izzy countered with a sharp laugh. “If I’m not supposed to be here...then where am I supposed to be?” she asked, half-seriously, not completely sure of why she was playing along with the woman’s con.

“I did not say you weren’t supposed to be here.” She corrected Izzy in a stern voice. “I said you do not belong. There is a difference.”

Izzy scoffed. “Really?” She scooted the chair back enough to cross her legs. “Care to elaborate?”

“You have bigger things to worry about.”

“Like...” Izzy smirked.

“You are in danger.” Considering her choice of words, she remained calm.

“Danger, huh?” Izzy snorted a laugh.

“Make no mistake. You are in danger of losing your soul.” Madame Petulengro’s stern gaze nearly bore a hole through Izzy.

“My soul?” she asked, her tone weakening. Izzy fidgeted and dragged her fingers through her hair, searching for the right words but she couldn’t find them. “How?” was the only thing she could come up with.

“How is not clear.” Madame Petulengro shook her head, dismissing her own weakness. “You must be cautious of those who claim to be on your side.”

“You mean like my sister?” Izzy asked in a cheeky tone.

A startled look crossed the seer’s face. Her eyes darted across the cards and lingered on the clouded crystal ball for a moment before finally settling back on Izzy again. “Strange,” she said, shaking her head, “I sense no living sibling.”

“Me neither.” Izzy grunted. “But she’s still here.”

Madame Petulengro’s eyes narrowed into a suspicious glare.

“What about a husband? You see one of those?” Izzy asked, deciding to have a little fun with the psychic. The woman was good at her smoke and mirrors routine, but Izzy decided it was all for show.

The seer paused, gazing at the cards. After a moment, she lifted her gaze to meet Izzy’s. “I do see a marriage.”

That news deflated Izzy’s humor. She’d heard enough. Rising to her feet, she reached into her handbag and tossed a twenty on the table. “That enough?”

“I’m not done.”

“That’s okay,” Izzy said. “Save it for the next sucker.” She backed away and turned, reaching for the curtain.

“Isabelle...” Madame Petulengro called her by name. Funny, she hadn’t introduced herself to the psychic. That made Izzy whirl around to face her. “I see a child...before the end of the year.”

Izzy felt the blood drain from her head. “Mine?” she asked weakly.

“The child will be yours,” she said, and Izzy’s consciousness wavered. “Whether or not you will give birth...I do not know.”

Great
. Izzy reached for the curtain. More mumbo-jumbo. She slipped through the draped doorway, determined not to stop, even if the woman called out to her again.

Chapter 20

AS IT TURNED OUT, Jeannie and Paul’s injuries from the car accident were not life-threatening. Jeannie had a battered knee, and Paul’s hand had gotten banged up. After a couple of nights in the hospital, both were released.

Today, as with last night’s dinner at a small café across the street from the hospital, George was all charm and politeness, and Izzy was tempted to believe that she liked him. But that notion presented two problems. First, she was married—even Madame Petulengro had said so. And secondly, she had to be careful. Somebody was going to have a baby, according to the psychic, and it had better not be her. Having no memory of her husband, Izzy wasn’t quite ready for that kind of commitment.

George was a nice enough guy, but Izzy was a one-man woman. Unfortunately, the man she had in mind was neither her husband nor George.

On the drive home, Izzy cleverly placed herself in the backseat alongside Jeannie where she didn’t feel compelled to make small-talk with George.

The men in the front seat carried the conversation fully, discussing a number of topics including the war, the army, and the accident. Jeannie chirped in every so often, offering her thoughts. But realistically Jeannie didn’t have much hands-on knowledge of things like the war and the army. She couldn’t contribute much more than her personal insight on the car wreck.

Izzy’s thoughts rambled away from the conversation and kept returning to her reading with Madame Petulengro. The woman had said some strange things. What seemed to bother the seer most was that Izzy was in danger of losing her soul. Izzy didn’t understand the statement, but still she took it to heart. She’d already decided to hide the excursion from everyone.

Especially Jeannie. Even the psychic had her doubts about their relationship. That didn’t make any sense to Izzy, so she decided to follow her heart and keep quiet.

Izzy had grown accustomed to keeping the strange things that kept happening—like seeing ghosts—to herself. Madame Petulengro, although not a ghost, fell under that category. Considering the weird things the woman had said, disclosure of their meeting might not be prudent.

A
rriving home, Paul winced as he scooped Jeannie from the car and carted her inside the house. George lingered on the porch, and Izzy, feeling compelled to stay outside with him, strolled to the swing and eased down onto it. She patted the empty space beside her, coaxing him over. George had been all politeness and gentleman-like during the course of the trip and she couldn’t bring herself to put on a cold shoulder.

He joined her on the swing but kept a noticeable space between them.

Izzy’s attention momentarily focused on the car in the driveway. “I see you got Dottie’s car home,” she said, resorting to small-talk after all. “When’d you manage that?”

“I never reveal my secrets.” George chuckled, draping his arms along the back of the swing. His hand grazed her shoulder.

Repugnance hit Izzy unexpectedly and propelled her to her feet. Reverberation petrified her senses. Revulsion pounded her heart against her chest. She felt her way to the nearby wall. Any reasonable explanations for her reaction had eluded her mind. It wasn’t his touch that bothered her, Izzy’s response wasn’t sexual. Still, she found it unsettling.

Paul exited the house alone, and George rose from the swing upon seeing him. She nodded at Paul and pushed herself off the wall.

“She okay?” Izzy approached him, hands clasped loosely behind her back. Paul nodded. “And how about you?” she asked, acknowledging his bandaged hand. Paul had been driving with his hand hanging out the window and had gotten what he’d referred to as a few scratches during the collision.

“I’m fine.” He raised his bandaged hand and wriggled his fingers. “See...?” He spoke with a forced smile, which Izzy took as a front to cover his pain.

“Okay, Superman.” She laughed, moving toward the steps as both men trotted down to the sidewalk.

They both stopped, looked at each other, shook their heads and glanced over their shoulders at her. “Sometimes, you say the damnedest things.” George chuckled and walked away.

Yeah, I know
. Izzy gazed out at the yard until they left, but not really watching them go. She was more worried about her present state of mind.

Just when she started to feel like she belonged, she would see someone who wasn’t really there, or say something that made no sense to anyone—not even herself. Thinking about it only made things worse. Made her question her sanity. Made her hide her fears.

I
zzy welcomed her next appointment with the psychiatrist. Although, she wasn’t ready to talk about some things, like seeing ghosts and all the crazy mumbo-jumbo she’d been inadvertently using as amusement. Her goal, more to the point, was getting someone else, other than Jack, to tell her it was okay to bring her husband home so she could divorce him. She hadn’t expected the shrink to see right through her.

“Is there another man?” he asked.

It took her a while to respond. “No.” She didn’t want to admit the truth to anyone for fear of jeopardizing Jack’s standing with the Air Force. There is was again. Why’d she keep calling it the Air Force when everybody else said it was the Army Air Corps?

“Are you asking my permission to divorce your husband?” The frankness of the doctor’s question startled Izzy. She wasn’t expecting that.

“Well, no...” Awkward babbling spilled forth and she stalled, searching for an educated response. “I just want to know if I’m way off base.”

“Off base?” Confusion lit the doctor’s face. Clearly, he had missed her meaning.

“Will that make me a bad person?” Izzy’s tone hardened, she fidgeted in her seat. The last thing she wanted was to appear like the ‘old Izzy’, the one who cared so little about other people and had no trouble showing it.

“Bad? No.” The doctor shook his head and his reservation colored his voice. “Some may call it unfeeling. But, then again, you need to do what’s best for you. He took an oath to stand beside you in sickness and in health. So, if there’s any divorcing to be done, it’s most likely going to have to be initiated by you.”

That settled it. Two people had pretty much given Izzy a green light to do as she wanted, not what she thought was expected.

Izzy’s plan was to divorce Harry because she was in love with Jack, but she wasn’t going to tell Jack until her divorce was final. There was still a matter of jeopardizing Jack’s career, not to mention his reputation. She didn’t want anyone, least of all the United States Government, accusing Jack of home-wrecking.

I
zzy had no idea where to begin. Common sense told her she couldn’t divorce a man if she didn’t know where he was. Common sense also told her the Air Force was her best bet to find him. Still, she wasn’t sure how to go about it. And since George had suggested that she should have Harry brought home, she decided to start with him.

George probably got the wrong idea when Izzy sent word for him to meet her at Woolworth’s lunch counter, but she had to take the chance. She’d have to invite trouble, and handle it accordingly, to free herself so she could follow her heart.

George wore this shit-eating grin as he strolled through the restaurant and approached the booth where she waited. Swamped by an uneasy feeling, she grabbed her iced tea and turned away.

“Izzy.” He slid into the empty side off the booth. “I was surprised, but pleased, when I got your message.”

“I need your advice, George.” She needed to dispense with formalities and remove any doubt behind her motive for this meeting. The last thing she wanted was to give George false hope.

“All right.” His nerves showed up and he began fidgeting with the silverware on the table.

“You said something the other day about having the Air Force bring Harry home...how do I go about doing that?”

“The Air Force.” He chuckled, but cut it off quickly when she flashed him a stern look. “Just how is it that you know about the Air Force?”

“I don’t know,” she said, exasperated. She’d been through this with Jack, the doctors, the shrink—and now, she was tired of it. “Don’t change the subject. How do I have him brought home?” she asked again, more demanding this time.

“Go see Army Personnel. They’ll find him.” He draped his arms along the back of the seat and grinned at her. “You going to divorce him?”

“That’s a fair bet.”

He didn’t say anything, just waggled his fingers back and forth between the two of them.

“No.” She tried to offer him a condoling smile, and if she managed it, somehow she doubted it’d make up for the accompanying rejection. “You’re a great guy and all, but I wouldn’t be able to give you my whole heart. And that just wouldn’t be fair to you.”

He hesitated and gave her a once-over before saying, “Good one.”

An approaching figure diverted their attention, distracting them. Izzy looked up, seeing Margaret, Jack’s sister, standing over them. Izzy didn’t speak, but greeted the girl with a polite smile.

“Hello, Isabelle. George.” Margaret fixed her gaze on Izzy. “We haven’t been introduced, but I know who you are. I’m Margaret, Jack’s sister.”

Izzy felt the embarrassment lingering over from the picnic crawling up her neck, heating her skin along the way. But she’d be polite. It was the thing to do. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Margaret edged Izzy over, sitting on the outer rim of the seat. “Did you know Jack’s birthday is next week?” She glanced back and forth between them. “Some of us were thinking of throwing him a surprise party. Can I count on you two?”

“Sure, why not.” George’s answer came a little too quickly to suit Izzy.

Izzy stalled, searching for a reasonable excuse to back out. “When is it?” she asked. Margaret answered with a date and time, and Izzy responded with a remorseful, “Oh, I’m sorry, but I already have a previous engagement.”

“You can’t rearrange it?” Margaret sounded wounded.

“I’m afraid not.” Izzy wanted her to get up so she could leave. The conversation was upsetting. How could she celebrate Jack’s birthday and at the same time keep her mouth shut?

“Gosh, Jack will be so disappointed,” Margaret said, almost whining.

“He’ll live.” George chuckled.

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got to get going.” Izzy edged Margaret off the seat.

She had to get out of there. If she hung out too long, Margaret would guilt her into attending the party. Izzy would be tempted to tell Jack she was divorcing Harry. And after that, she feared Jack might do something that could end up jeopardizing his career.

Izzy couldn’t have that responsibility laid at her feet.

A
t George’s suggestion, Izzy went to the Personnel office on post. During the past few weeks, she’d recounted the tale of her memory’s demise more times than she cared to consider, and still, this time just like all the rest, she fidgeted during the process.

“I’m sorry to hear about your loss.” Corporal Larry Thompson laid his pen on the desk and focused his attention on her. “But how does it relate to the Air Corps?”

“Well, I need you to find my husband.” She clutched the brim of her purse, drawing it closer to her bosom.

“You lost him?”

“I have amnesia.” Her tone hardened as she cut her eyes, cold and reprimanding she hoped, toward him.

“Oh, yes,” he said, apologetically. “Is he military?”

“Yes, or so I’m told.” She scanned the office around her. It was bland, just the necessities. A desk, a couple of chairs and a file cabinet. The army definitely could use a woman’s touch.

“What can you tell me about him?”

“His name?” she asked, needing clarification.

“The more information you can give me, the better the chance I have of locating him.” He frowned. That probably wasn’t good. “Do you have a marriage license? Birth certificate?” he asked, hope filling his tone.

Izzy’s mind went blank. Did she have those documents? Hell, she didn’t know. “I’m not sure.”

“Perhaps you should go home and do a thorough search? Surely you must have these articles somewhere...at least a marriage license.”

Why hadn’t she thought of that? Of course there must be a marriage license. “Thank you,” she said, rising. “Great idea. I’ll go home and see what details I can dig up about Harry.”

“Harry?” his tone perked right up, and Izzy caught it.

Sitting back down, she let her curiosity do the talking for her. “Yes, why does that surprise you?”

“Second Harry this month I’ve been asked to find,” he said, without much emphasis on the number of
Harrys
getting lost these days.

“Really?”
Now that’s interesting
. “How about Harry Walker? How many of those have you been asked to find?”

“That your husband’s name?” he asked.

“Yes.” She didn’t miss that he’d answered her question with his own.

“Both quite common names. I’d venture to say there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of Harry Walkers in this country.”

Okay, she’d give him that. “But I’m only looking for just one.”

“Bring me some documents and I’m sure we can find him,” the corporal said, dismissively.

“Thank you for your help.” She tried to subdue the unfriendliness washing over her, and plastered on a thank-you sort of smile. This was not the time to get snippy with the clerk. Izzy needed him to find Harry and it wasn’t the clerk’s fault that she couldn’t locate him at this exact moment.

She gave him a gentle nod and retreated discreetly.

A little while later, Izzy slipped into the boarding house through the front door, hoping to bypass the parlor without being seen. She wasn’t in the mood to chit-chat with Dottie. Her focus was on finding information—preferably documents—that legally tied her to Harry or at least proved his existence. According to the army clerk, that was her best bet for bringing him home. It seemed a reunion was the only way to get on with her life, confront Harry and end it face-to-face.

Luckily, she sailed past Dottie and her friend Flo, and tiptoed upstairs. Closing the door of the tiny studio apartment, she perched her hands on her hips and scanned the room. “Hmm...” Her reaction lingered on her tone.
Where would I store important documents
?