Incredible Dreams

by Sandra Edwards

  “A Calgon moment?” The clerk repeated Izzy’s words. Her confused expression said it all. She didn’t have a clue about Calgon, much less ‘the moment’. Then again, neither did Izzy. A look washed over the girl’s face, one that said she prided herself on always having all the answers. “You could check Marshall Field’s,” she suggested, pointing a knowing finger off to the right. “They might have what you’re looking for.”

  They might. But somehow she doubted it. They might be more upscale, which wouldn’t take much to rise a step or two above a five and dime, but still, she got the feeling that no one was going to know or understand what she was talking about.

  Hell, not even she understood.

  These seemingly strange thoughts that kept popping into her head was frustrating. And the fact that no one else knew what she was talking about didn’t help. Still, she had the good sense not to openly draw attention to herself.

  “Thanks, I’ll try there,” Izzy said, as if it were the natural thing to do. She turned on a heel and walked away.

  She wandered through the store, appearing to browse the retailer’s goods. The façade, a pretense of shopping, was effective in hiding the inner turmoil brewing inside her thoughts.

  Was she crazy?

  So far, two different and seemingly dead people had appeared to her on two separate occasions—people that no one else saw. One had even talked to her and told her how he died.

  To make matters worse, when she tried to touch the self-proclaimed ghost, to expose his ruse, her hand had slipped right through his body.

  She talked about things that no one else knew anything about—like movies and music. And yet, she had no real memory of the odd things that popped into her head. It was enough to make a girl worry about her sanity.

  There was only one thing that could help. Izzy wanted comfort food and she’d been ecstatic to have found some at Woolworth’s. Tootsie Rolls.

  While she had no clear-cut memories before Jack, the sight of the candy sparked some internal cue that sent her senses reeling.

  The chocolate melted in her mouth. She savored the taste, texture and scent of the succulent morsel. The entire experience of eating a piece of candy delighted her senses. God! It was so good. And so familiar.

  Izzy lost count of the number of pieces she ate on the walk home. Good thing she’d purchased a couple of generous handfuls. She rounded the corner of Fifth and Elm and popped another mini-morsel into her mouth. She rolled up the brim of the paper bag and tucked it inside her purse as the boarding house came into view.

  Dottie, Izzy’s landlady, met her at the door. The woman’s face looked pale, pasty and washed-out. The fear in Dottie’s eyes grabbed hold of Izzy.

  “What’s wrong?” Izzy asked.

  “It’s your sister.” Dottie snatched Izzy by the wrist and dragged her inside. “There’s been a car accident. She’s in a hospital up near Santa Barbara.”

  “What?” Izzy paused. Reality swirled around her senses but it didn’t quite catch on.

  “You must go to her.” Dottie latched onto Izzy’s upper arms and led her toward a table near the entrance. The landlady held onto her with one hand and rifled through a drawer with the other, pulling out a set of keys. “Here.” She shoved them into Izzy’s hand.

  Izzy wrapped her fingers around the cool metal keys and studied Dottie’s face for some clarification. All Izzy could do was shake her head.

  “Take my car.” The landlady pushed her toward the door.

  “But what if I need to stay overnight?” Izzy braced herself against the doorway.

  “You stay there as long as you need...until you can bring Jeannie home.”

  “I’ll probably need a suitcase.” Izzy used every argument that popped in her head as a means of stalling and putting off the inevitable.

  “Of course.” Dottie changed directions, urging Izzy upstairs. “No time to waste. You must go now. Hurry.” Dottie swatted Izzy’s backside as she trotted up the stairs.

  Feeling like a scolded child, Izzy raced around the room and threw random articles of clothing into a primitive suitcase she found under the bed. She’d thought the locks were too large and hard to manage. Again, she was faced with something that seemed foreign and really dated.

  Izzy ordered her thoughts to center on her sister’s welfare instead of the odd suitcase. That was what she was supposed to do, wasn’t it?

  Operating Dottie’s car turned out to be quite the task. When did driving become such a chore? Izzy was fairly certain she knew how to drive, but controlling this big old boat was another matter. In the rural environs she gathered the courage to increase the speed a little—to thirty miles an hour.

  Where in the hell were the speed limit signs anyway? She hadn’t seen a single one in town, and now that she’d driven for almost an hour out in the country, she still hadn’t seen sign one.

  The steering wheel jerked in her hands and the car banged and clanked. Izzy let off the gas, somehow knowing what was wrong. Flat tire.

  “Damn it,” she muttered through gritted teeth and navigated the car to the shoulder of the road.

  What else can go wrong today? Don’t ask, breezed through her thoughts as she stepped outside the vehicle.

  She checked the driver’s side tires, first the front and then the back. Both were fine. She strolled around the car, knowing what she’d find—the front passenger’s side was as flat as a day-old opened can of soda.

  Can of soda? Izzy shook the odd thought out of her mind. She had more urgent things to worry about. Like a flat tire.

  “This sucks.” She charged back to the driver’s side, where she dipped inside and grabbed the keys from the ignition. She climbed out, slammed the door and stormed toward the back of the car. The key slid into the lock easily and the trunk popped open slightly. She had to put some muscle into it to pry it open further.

  “What the...?” She glimpsed inside the trunk but it appeared empty.

  Izzy leaned in, half her body disappearing inside the humongous compartment. She examined the edges, looking for a way to open the obviously secret section that she hoped was hiding a spare and a jack.

  When she finally uncovered what she was looking for, the tire was heavy and she struggled to lug it from its hiding place. The jack was bulky and hard to handle and just plain weird.

  After several tries, and ominous failures, Izzy tossed the jack to the ground and plopped down against the side of the car. Frustrated, she sighed, studying the black grease and smut covering her hands and forearms. She searched for a clean spot, finding a small one on the back of her right forearm and used it to swab her forehead.

  Wallowing in self-pity didn’t appeal to Izzy. She pushed herself up and returned to the trunk in search of something to clean her hands.

  She found a rag lying in the corner and used it to scour her hands and arms, but turned them more red than clean. Accomplishing nothing more than blending the smudges together, she tossed the rag back into the trunk, swiveled around and settled against the car. She folded her arms. Which way led to the nearest civilization?

  She heard the approaching automobile before she saw it rounding the curve. Panic only had a second or two to resonate before recognition chased it down the road in the other direction.

  George. For once, she was glad to see him. Izzy pushed off the car and waved. The vehicle slowed, stopping behind Dottie’s sedan. Izzy tucked her fingertips into the back pockets of her jeans, Levi’s she’d bought in the men’s department at Marshall Field’s.

  George emerged from his car with a big smile spread across his face. “Having car trouble?” His gaze darted back and forth between Izzy and the crippled automobile.

  “Flat tire.” Izzy struggled to stifle the helpless laughter building inside.

  “Well then, it’s a good thing I came along.” He pranced toward her like a peacock trying to attract a mate. “I guess your daddy never taught you how to change a flat, huh?”

  “I couldn’t figure out ho
w to use the jack.” Vulnerability and frustration knotted inside her. Maybe he was right. Maybe no one had ever thought that she, a girl, needed to know how to change a tire. She learned a valuable lesson at that moment—when and if she ever had children, her sons would not be the only ones taught self-sufficiency.

  George picked up the pieces of the jack off the ground, reassembled them effortlessly and jacked up the car. She developed a newfound respect for his muscular arms, they handled the job of changing the tire with ease.

  Heat rose in her cheeks and Izzy didn’t like it. What the heck? He was a handsome guy. She didn’t dispute that. But he wasn’t her type. Disco wasn’t her thing either, but she didn’t mind listening to it occasionally.

  What the hell is disco? She blew out an audible grunt and perched her hands on her hips.

  George glanced over his shoulder, giving her a quick once over as he tightened the last bolts securing the tire in place. “Everything okay?”

  “Thanks to you. What are you doing out here anyway?” she asked as he stood up.

  “I’ve been ordered to Montecito, to check on Paul North.” He paused a moment, sorrow saddening his eyes. “I heard your sister was with him. I’m really sorry about that.”

  A touch of guilt washed over Izzy but failed to saturate her in remorse. Damn, what kind of person was she? George was showing more compassion and concern for Jeannie.

  Izzy couldn’t help the way she felt. She was going to Jeannie because of an obligatory sensation nagging at her, not because she was afraid of losing her sister. No matter what anyone said or did, Jeannie was a stranger. One Izzy felt no connection with.

  “So, ah, since we’re headed the same way...mind if I follow you?” She felt a little nervous under his examining eye.

  “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll have someone come get Mrs. Barton’s car and take it back to her.” He suggested politely enough, but Izzy didn’t trust him.

  Izzy knew it was a bad idea, but she didn’t relish the thought of being stuck in the middle of nowhere any longer. “You sure?” She questioned herself as well as George.

  “We don’t have any more spares for this car.” He gestured to her landlady’s automobile. “It would be irresponsible of me to let you drive it any farther. Besides, you’ve got more important things to worry about right now.”

  Izzy knew he wasn’t talking about Jack Baker. Still, that’s the only thing that had taken up residence in her mind.

  George tried to limit his sneak peeks to quick glances at Izzy. He didn’t quite understand her. Not only was she beautiful, but she was such a sweet girl. Her promiscuity and blatant disregard for her husband tainted this otherwise perfect woman.

  Her flaw didn’t affect or bother him one way or another. Married women were the safest kind. George liked that he didn’t have to worry about the morning after, spurned lovers, talking his way out of uncomfortable situations. Married gals were always eager to skip out before dawn to preserve their reputation. And that suited him fine.

  George intended to add Izzy to his long line of conquests. He marveled at the prospect of comparing the two sisters’ carnal knowledge. He liked the idea of labeling one better than the other.

  “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.

  Izzy 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.