Incredible Dreams (17 page)

“So, how long you been married?” he asked, digging into her psyche to see if he could figure out what made her tick. Getting her to talk about herself was also a way to soften her up, which would ultimately lead to Izzy letting her guard down.

“I don’t know.” She shunned the question with an elusive answer.

“You don’t know?” For the first time, George really looked at her.

She turned to him, stone-faced. “I don’t know if anybody told you or not, but I have amnesia.”

“Amnesia.” He repeated the word, barely audible.

“Yes.” She turned away from him, and fixed her attention out the window. “I don’t remember my husband, much less being married.”

After a moment of silence, George rallied the courage to speak. “That’s got to be rough.” God, how stupid was that? Izzy was in a terrible situation and the best he could come up with was
that’s got to be rough
?

She laugh. “That’s putting it mildly.” After a brief interlude with silence she giggled and shook her head. “Everybody thinks I’m a tramp. My sister insists upon it.” She cut her eyes toward him, her cheeks shading crimson.

She was embarrassed and he couldn’t blame her. People were condemning her for something she had no control over. George’s opinion of Jeannie fell a notch or two. He inclined his head and shook out his disagreement with the popular opinion. “I don’t think you’re a tramp.”

She snorted, unladylike, and then laughed. “Thanks,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“It’s true,” he said, glancing carefully between Izzy and the road in front of him. “I, like most, am intrigued with you. At first, I even contemplated giving Baker a run for his money.” He paused, pushing his carnal desires aside. “But I’m not one to push myself where I’m not wanted. It became clear to me at the picnic that you just aren’t interested in me. Jeannie would have me believe otherwise, but any fool can see...when your eyes light up, you’re not looking at me.” He felt the saddened smile breaking onto his face and he tried to stop it, failing miserably.

Her cheeks blushed pink but she remained silent. He hadn’t intended to make her feel bad. He was striking out left and right, even though, on some minuscule level he was no longer trying to score, not carnally anyway.

“I’m trying my damnedest to act like a married woman,” she said, sounding unconvinced.

“Considering the circumstances, I think you’re doing just fine.” He patted her hand. She looked down and nudged his hand away from hers. “I’m just trying to be a friend,” he said, moving away from her. “Nothing more.”

George marveled at his own complaisance, or maybe it was just stupidity. Either way, things had changed the moment the girl said she had amnesia. She needed a friend—a position for which her sister had shown no interest.

“It’s hard to jump back into a life I can’t remember,” she said, her tone begging for validation.

“And your sister isn’t helping.” He couldn’t deny the inferred evidence any longer, and it didn’t look like Izzy had gotten stuck in the denial route either.

“I used to put a lot of faith in everything she told me,” Izzy whispered, as if she were giving away some deep, dark secret. “But now I’m not so sure I should put a lot of stock into what she says.”

“You think she’s lying?” His tone chirped up, right along with his curiosity. Izzy had a point, although George couldn’t come up with a single valid reason for Jeannie’s betrayal. Whether or not she was lying remained to be seen, but one thing he did know, Izzy’s sister did not think highly of her.

“No.” Confusion rumpled Izzy’s face with wrinkles as she shook her head. “Not exactly. I just think she’s telling the story the way that suits her best.”

“For what possible motive or outcome?” George knew there were things Jeannie wasn’t telling, but he didn’t understand why she’d denounce her sister.

Izzy leaned in slightly toward him. “I don’t think we’re as close as Jeannie lets on,” she said, as if she were unearthing a secret that everyone was in on except her.

George didn’t know about all that. He did know that Jeannie was hell-bent on seeing him and Izzy in bed together. Neither Izzy’s marriage nor her amnesia seemed to be an important factor to her sister. And that didn’t sit well with George.

Izzy needed someone on her side. He’d gladly be that someone, but it wasn’t his place. “Why don’t you ask the Army to bring your husband home, considering the circumstances.” He suggested the only viable solution as far as he could see.

While theoretically that was a good idea, the last thing Izzy wanted was another stranger in the mix, especially one that was most likely to think that he knew what was best for her. Maybe her husband could fill in the blanks, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers.

Izzy placed her hand on the door handle as George parked the car near the hospital entrance. “Would you want to be called home because you’re wife was acting like a big baby?” She opened the car door and stepped out, uncertain that she wanted to hear the answer.

George rolled out of the car and chased her toward the hospital’s entrance. “You know what you need?” Catching up to her, he slowed his pace.

She hesitated, knowing better than to inquire. “Do I want to hear this?” She avoided his gaze.

“You need to stop worrying about everybody else. Concentrate on yourself for a change.” That was it, the extent of his advice, nothing else. No ribbing remarks. No crass comments. No salacious suggestions.

“You know, you’re right.” Now, if she could just follow through. She’d give it her best shot, just as soon as she figured out Jeannie’s condition. Her sister had to be okay, otherwise she couldn’t, in good conscience, cut the apron strings.

I
zzy strolled into the hospital ward, finding Jeannie resting in what appeared to be a peaceful state of slumber. She glanced around at the twenty or so beds lined against the walls of the long, rectangular room. The area was mostly empty, just a couple of patients in addition to Jeannie. One woman occupied a bed mid-ways down the ward, the other in the far corner.

Izzy convinced herself to focus her attention on Jeannie. Seeing her lying in the bed, just a few feet away, and seemingly sleeping serenely—at least Izzy thought she was sleeping.

What if she was in a coma or something? Even then, Izzy felt nothing. No loss. No despair. No remorse or guilt over the possibility of losing her sister.

An entire month had come and gone, and still, Izzy felt no connection to the injured woman lying in the bed before her.

The impression of being a horrible person flashed through her mind. Again. Quickly followed by,
it’s not my fault that I feel nothing for her
. She had no trouble cutting herself some slack. If she felt any shame at all, she was sure it hadn’t so much to do with Jeannie’s condition as the fact that Izzy just didn’t care one way or another.

Izzy’s stomach growled and a groan rumbled up her throat as she placed a hand against her abdomen. She considered leaving to find something to eat, telling herself it was okay because Jeannie was sleeping.

“You must be her sister.” A soft, yet focused woman’s voice caught Izzy’s attention and drew it around behind her.

Glancing over her shoulder, Izzy saw a nurse in the doorway. She was shorter than Izzy, and a bit older. Her perfectly coiffed blonde hair had been curled up around her nurses cap. Izzy marveled at the time it must have taken to do that. She wore blue eye shadow that matched her eyes. Izzy thought it somehow took away from their color’s intensity.

“She’s sleeping, and will be for quite some time,” she said with a smile that Izzy promptly labeled as
practiced
. “The doctor gave her a sedative, because of her knee.”

“Her knee?” Izzy asked, surprised at her own concern.

“It’s a bit banged up, but it’ll heal with time. Nothing to worry about.” Cool, clammy fingers wrapped around Izzy’s wrist and channeled her out into the corridor. “It’s probably best just to let her sleep for now.”

“All right.” Izzy took the nurse’s cue. This might be a good time to sate her hunger. “Perhaps I could grab an early lunch and come back later. How’s the hospital cafeteria’s food?”

The nurse’s odd gaze washed over Izzy, leaving her feeling uncomfortable. “There’s a nice diner just across the street, out the front entrance.” She paused, leading Izzy away from the ward. “You could get something to eat there.”

“Thank you.” Izzy felt like she’d just been scolded, but didn’t know why. “I think I’ll do just that.” She quickened her pace and moved farther away from the nurse and Jeannie.

A cool ocean breeze whipped past her as she left the hospital and headed for the crosswalk. She shuddered and squinted her eyes at the sun’s bright glare. Remembering Jack’s sunglasses in her handbag, she dug them out and slipped them over her eyes.

She passed a few people on the street before entering Alice’s Restaurant.

Friendly little town
, she thought as she scanned the interior of the diner. The counter was pretty full, so she opted for an empty booth near the front. Sliding into the seat facing the window, she reached for the menu wedged into the condiments rack.

Izzy removed the sunglasses and laid them on the table. She scanned the menu and quickly decided on a burger and fries. Stuffing the menu back into the condiments rack, she noticed the business-like card lying next to the napkin holder.

Madame Petulengro’s Psychic Readings. 451 Main Street. Montecito, California.

Her first inclination was to toss the card aside, but something deep within her psyche convinced her otherwise. Maybe a psychic was just what she needed. Or not. A reading would only be productive if the woman wasn’t a fake. On the other hand, it might prove entertaining, if nothing else. Izzy could use a little amusement.

She ordered the burger and fries and mulled over the pros and cons of visiting the local fortune-teller. Once she’d finished her lunch, and having been shunned by the waitress when she asked for a strawberry milk shake to go, she decided visiting a psychic couldn’t make things any worse.

Considering that the diner and the hospital were located on Main Street, Izzy didn’t have to ask for directions. All she had to do was follow the numbers in the addresses to find her way.

The address 451 Main Street was located a few blocks south. Izzy hesitated before grabbing the door handle. Curiosity more than conviction coaxed her inside. A bell chimed as the door eased shut behind her. The scent of spice bombarded her, perhaps a Sandalwood incense. The dimly lit room had three chairs against the right wall, and a table covered with a blue velvet cloth stood on the other side. A curtain of dark red velvet was the only thing on the far wall, and it seemed déjà vu-ish somehow.

Izzy sat in the chair closest to the door. Her gaze traveled around the room and settled on a set of candles, three of them varying in height, sitting on one side of the table. They were the small room’s only source of light. An incense burner on the other side billowed smoke out of its various holes. Upon closer inspection, she thought it looked like a dragon with three heads. In the middle of the table, stemmed glasses, again numbered by three, were lined perfectly and filled with rose pedals.

A slender petite woman with dark curly hair pinned out of her face appeared through the curtain. She was attired in a shiny red dress that reminded Izzy of Chinese silk. Her long fingernails were painted red to match her clothing and she’d adorned herself in a ton of makeup.

“Welcome to Madame Petulengro’s.” The woman greeted her in a strong accent that Izzy couldn’t quite identify. “You are seeking answers, no?”

Izzy stood, clutching her purse, unsure of what to say. “Ahm...yes.”

With a one-handed gesture, the tiny woman bid Izzy to follow her through the curtain. “This way. We will look into my crystal ball.”

Izzy followed her into a much larger area that was as dimly lit as the entryway. Dark blue velvet curtains lined the walls. The only furniture was a table covered by a black velvet cloth and two chairs. Another velvet cover, the size of a hand towel and blood-red in color, lay swathed over the seer’s crystal ball. A small red velvet pouch to the right of the ball was curious. Tarot cards, perhaps?

“May I see your palm?” the woman asked, draping her hand across the table.

Battling reluctant urges, Izzy lay her hand, palm side up, inside the woman’s. Izzy’s curiosity rose as Madame Petulengro tugged her hand closer and appeared to study her palm.

The psychic glanced up and peered into Izzy’s face for a second or two. The look of uncertainty flashed across her eyes as she folded Izzy’s hand together and nudged it back across the table. She snapped the cover off the crystal ball, which appeared to have a mist-like substance rolling around inside. The seer waved a heavily ringed hand over it, but there was no change. The clouded haze remained. If she was trying to clear the fog, and it stayed put—what did that mean?

Madame Petulengro turned to the velvet pouch. Loosening the draw string, she maneuvered a deck of cards out into her hand. After shuffling them a few times, she handed them to Izzy. “Please separate the cards into three stacks, towards me.”

Izzy did as she instructed, cutting the cards in the seer’s direction into three uneven piles.

Madame Petulengro reassembled the cards into a heap with the pile nearest Izzy on the top. She placed the cards one by one in a peculiar fashion with the central point focused on the crystal ball. After positioning thirteen cards in precise locations, she sat the rest aside.

Her eyes traveled over each card, settling on some a little longer than others. Finally, she lifted her gaze to meet Izzy’s. “You do not belong here.”

“What?” Izzy responded, the woman’s statement catching her off guard.

“This is why my crystal ball cannot show me.” She gestured toward the still clouded orb. “It cannot see what does not belong.”

Izzy waved a hand in the air. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got for me?” Talk about a rip-off.

“I see what I see,” she said, shifting in her chair. “Or don’t see, in this case.”

“I don’t belong here...what does that mean?” Izzy asked, her impatience shining through.