Wrong Memories

by Edna Curry

  Although worried about what she would find, she started searching for Lucille Denton. Google listed thousands of Lucille Dentons, but she hoped she’d be able to narrow them down by age and photo, if any were available.

  But she found none that fit. No pictures, no dates. Though some were similar in age, the pictures either didn’t match or there were only other graphic images instead of photos. Apparently, a lot of people used cartoons or animals beside their names instead of their own photos.

  Was Lucille shy? Or just not interested in social media, as Dave had called it? Probably not everyone bothered to put their information on the internet. It might even be dangerous if she knew someone like the abusive man in her dreams.

  Lucy glanced at the clock, realized she’d been on the computer for hours and needed to get some sleep. She had to get up at six if she was to get to work by seven o’clock.

  ***

  After work the next day, she walked to a flower shop, bought several bouquets of flowers and then called a cab to take her to Calvary Cemetery. She knew it was a large cemetery and worried how she’d find their graves. Luckily, a caretaker was there, raking the grounds and cleaning up trash. He directed her to an office where the manager looked up the graves on his computer, then gave her directions to them.

  He frowned at the flowers she carried. “Lady, only urns are allowed in Calvary.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s a huge place. If the groundskeeper had to mow around vases of flowers and stuff, he’d never get done.”

  “But…but I only brought these, today. Can’t I please leave them?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose. But I can’t guarantee how long it’ll be before they mow. And when they do, anything loose like that on the graves is picked up like trash, so they can mow everywhere, you know?”

  She nodded. Rules were rules and they seemed to be everywhere now. She was sure she remembered going to this cemetery with her mother and taking vases of flowers from their garden. Back then, they’d weeded their family graves themselves, though she was pretty sure a gardener had mowed the whole cemetery.

  Few people were there today, maybe because it was a weekday. She noticed a tall, dark haired man wandering about. He looked a bit familiar, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. Perhaps, he, too, was looking for family graves.

  Ironically, the weather was beautiful, the opposite of the dark cloud that seemed to be inside her. Lucy strolled the paths to the section he’d pointed out. Even then, it took a bit of watching and reading names before she found their graves, side by side, just as they’d always been in life. Pain ripped through her as she tenderly laid a bouquet on each grave. Then she sat on the grass in front of their gravestones and cried for a long time. How sad that she hadn’t been there to see to their burial herself. Worse, that they’d had to bury their daughter. Then she pulled herself together and moved from one grave to another, reading names on stones nearby. She found Lucinda Johnson’s gravestone just at the foot of her parents’ graves. And the date on it was 1958, just as the paper had said. Lucy stared at it in awe, her stomach churning at the sight and chills running up and down her spine. How odd to be alive and looking at your own grave. How could this be? Was she now someone else and had only tapped into the past memories of Lucinda somehow? Maybe she should see a psychiatrist and get her head examined. Dare she do that? Or would they lock her away if she admitted she had the memories of a woman who died fifty-seven years ago?

  She knelt and ran a finger over the letters of her own name. She’d died two years before her parents, just like the newspaper obituary had said. So, Lucinda must really be dead. She wondered who had seen to all of their burials? Glancing from one to the other, she realized that Lucinda’s stone and her parents’ stones matched. Had her parents purchased their own stones and gravesites soon after they’d buried their daughter? It seemed likely they’d wanted to be sure they’d rest near each other.

  Her heart pounding, she laid the last bouquet on Lucinda’s grave, wondering how long it would be before the grounds man removed it.

  She’d have to see how much urns cost and get some put out here with live flowers in them that would last. She said a prayer for all of them, then slowly walked back to the entrance, where she phoned the cab to return for her. Oddly, the dark haired man still stood at a grave nearby. An older blue Chevrolet was parked off to one side of the entrance and as she got into her cab, he walked toward it.

  As she rode back to her apartment, she remembered she had computer class that night.

  ***

  In her apartment, she ate a quick supper, showered and looked in the mirror. Yikes, her eyes were all red and puffy. She got out ice cubes, wrapped them in a dishtowel and lay on the bed with them on her eyes in an attempt to repair the damage to her face her earlier crying binge had caused. Her bruises had faded a lot, to a dull purple and yellow, but were still evident. She was getting better at covering them with makeup. Then she called the cab again and went to the school.

  By now, she’d made friends with several of her classmates and was enjoying the class.

  Afterward, Dave usually asked her to go for a late night snack with him. She enjoyed their chats and spending time with him. Then he drove her home, saving her the cab fare. But she knew saving money wasn’t the only reason she accepted his offer. She was becoming very attached to the handsome redhead. She loved to hear his deep voice, whether he was explaining something to the class or just visiting with her. His eyes lit up when he smiled and she couldn’t help the way her heart sped up when he paid special attention to her.

  She knew getting involved with anyone was dangerous for her. What if she was already in a serious relationship? What would happen when her memory returned? Would she suddenly also remember she loved someone else?

  But if she did, where was he? Why hadn’t he found her and helped her get back to her usual life? If she had a serious boyfriend, but couldn’t count on him for help when she’d been injured, shouldn’t she dump him? None of this made sense.

  She tried to pull her attention back to what Dave was explaining. No, he was wrapping up this session and giving them an assignment to work on for the next class. She wrote it down on her notepad, then shut down her computer. As everyone said goodnight and filed out, Dave once again asked if he could drive her home.

  And, as had become their custom, she happily accepted. They’d built up a comfortable relationship, especially since Dave came to have lunch with his mother at the restaurant most days and often took Lucy to dinner in the evenings. She was beginning to count on him as a close friend. Still, her past haunted her, especially after what she’d learned today.

  Tonight, as they sat in their usual coffee shop, enjoying hot chocolate, she tried to think of something cheerful to talk about. But the sight of those graves kept returning to her mind.

  “You seem preoccupied tonight,” Dave said. “Is anything wrong?”

  She toyed with her cup and took another sip. “I’m just a bit down, I guess.”

  “Anything I can help with?” He ran a hand through his wavy red hair and worriedly eyed her.

  She stared back at him, admiring his sky blue eyes that always seemed to hold such a caring expression. “No, nothing, really. I’m just feeling sad because I went to Calvary Cemetery and visited my parents’ graves today.” And my own grave, she added to herself, but didn’t dare say that out loud.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. You know I’m beginning to care a lot about you, Lucy.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his, stroking it gently with one finger. “That must have been painful. Especially when you have amnesia, so you’d forgotten they were dead.”

  “Forgotten?” Oh, yes, that’s what she’d told him. She nodded. She’d told everyone that she’d forgotten things and had to relearn them because of her car accident. What would Dave think if she told him the truth? Dare she? He was a dentist, so he must have medical training. Would he think she was crazy? She sta
red into her cup. But what if he told his mother she was nuts and Vi fired her? She needed her waitress job.

  “I left flowers, but the manager there said they’d probably be trashed when they mow the grounds. So I need to order urns instead.” She wrinkled her brow, wondering how to do that.

  “Good idea. The florists will install them at the cemetery for you, I’m told. I know Mom just calls each spring and has the florist plant fresh flowers in the urn she got for my dad’s grave.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” she said with a smile. “I was wondering how I’d manage to install the urn in the ground. I don’t have any tools, or much know-how about such things.”

  “I know a lot of things, if I can just think of them,” he quipped. “Just ask.”

  “Thanks, I will.” Dare she really talk to him? With a deep sigh, she decided to give it a try. But where to start? Maybe if she showed him instead of trying to explain it?

  “It’ll still be daylight for another hour or so,” she said. “Would you mind driving out to Calvary? I’d like to show you the graves. What I have to say will be easier to explain after that.”

  He looked surprised at her request. “Sure, if you want to,” he said, picking up their bill. “Come on, then, let’s go.”

  “Thanks.”

  At the cemetery, she led him down the path to her parents’ graves. “Here they are,” she said, stopping before them and pointing to their joint headstone.

  “Ben and Mary Johnson, died January 25, 1960,” he read. “Parents of Lucinda Johnson.”

  “Yes,” she said with a nod. She watched his face, waiting for the information to soak in.

  He frowned, then his head snapped around to stare at her. “Lucy, they must have been your grandparents, not your parents.”

  “No, Dave. They were my parents.”

  “But the dates don’t add up, Lucy,” he said patiently.

  “Nothing in my life adds up, Dave. And here’s where it really gets weird. See this.” She stepped back to Lucinda’s grave and pointed to her headstone. “Here’s my grave.”

  His face paled as he read the inscription on the small foot stone. “Lucinda Johnson, born June 10, 1930, died June 25, 1958.” Again, he turned to stare at her. “That’s the name you gave me when we first met, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. And that’s who my memories say I am.”

  “But Lucy…that’s not possible, is it?”

  She looked away and bit her lip to hold back the tears, then got out, “I don’t know, Dave. Is it?”

  He rubbed a hand over his wavy red hair in frustration. “When we met on the bus, you told me your name was Lucy Johnson and you had just talked to your parents the weekend before. But you needed to check on them because you couldn’t reach them by phone and a policeman had told you they were dead.”

  She nodded and dropped to the grass beside her grave, staring at the engraving on the stone in front of her, as though the words etched in solid stone made it a fact. “That’s true.”

  He sat on the grass beside her and took her hand. “Lucy, could you try to explain what’s going on here?”

  She gave a little laugh that ended in a sob. She bit it back. She couldn’t start crying now or she wouldn’t be able to stop. “I wish to God I could, Dave. It makes no sense to me, either.”

  He closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them and asked, “What happened after I left you at the bus station that day? Did you go to your parents’ house?”

  “Yes. I found the house, but it looked different. It had been painted blue and the little willow tree had grown huge with long, weeping branches.” She bit back a sob, then swallowed and continued, “When I rang the doorbell, an elderly couple answered the door. They said they’d bought the house from a realtor after the Johnsons had died in a car accident during a snowstorm back in 1960.”

  “Yet your memories seemed to be that they were alive?”

  “Yes. I thought it was still 1955. The police detective thought I was hiding something, or playing a game with him. He as much as called me a liar.” She shuddered, remembering the irritating man.

  “You told him you weren’t Lucille Denton? Didn’t he try to figure out who you really were? Surely he had ways of finding that out.” Dave shifted uncomfortably on the grass.

  Lucy nodded. “Why would he? I had Lucille Denton’s driver’s license and social security card in my purse. My face and description matched the driver’s license. So, he just figured I must be lying to him.”

  “He didn’t try to ID you any other way when you said you weren’t Lucille?”

  “Yes, he took my fingerprints. But he didn’t come back to the hospital to talk to me, so I couldn’t ask more questions. The nurse told me he’d left a message saying my prints weren’t on file.” She sent him a wry smile. “I guess if I wasn’t a wanted criminal, I wasn’t worth wasting his time on.”

  Dave laughed. “The sun is getting low in the sky. It will be dark soon. We’d better head back.” He rose and held out his hand to help her up.

  She rose and brushed dead grass from her clothes, then they headed back down the cemetery path to where he’d left his car.

  As they drove back to her apartment, he asked, “Lucy, my sister, Georgia, is a psychiatrist. Would you like to talk to her about all this?”

  Lucy gasped, “No, Dave, I can’t. What if she thinks I’m crazy and commits me to a mental hospital? I couldn’t stand being locked up!”

  Dave shook his head vigorously. “She won’t do that, Lucy. I know my sister. She will only listen to you and try to help you figure out what happened to you. And maybe she’ll have answers for us.”

  She swallowed hard and chewed her lip as she considered that. Could she trust Dave? He’d done nothing but try to help her so far. “Are you sure you can trust her?”

  “Positive. You have to be a danger to yourself or others to be locked up. I know you’re not. I care about you, Lucy. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise.”

  Reluctantly, she nodded.

  “Good.” He parked in front of her building, then got out and walked her to her door. “I’ll call Georgia and set up a time to talk to her, okay?”

  “How much will it cost?”

  “Nothing. My treat. I told you, I care about you and want to help, Lucy.”

  “Please don’t tell anyone else about this, okay? Especially not your mom. I need this job and I don’t want her to think I’m crazy and fire me.”

  “Mom’s not like that, Lucy. She cares about you, too. But, yes, I promise not to talk to anyone except Georgia about this. And she’s bound by law not to talk about her cases.”

  “Thanks, Dave.” She lifted her face for a kiss, expecting a quick goodnight kiss.

  Instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around her and deepened the kiss, then followed it with quick little butterfly kisses all over her face and throat. “You’re special, Lucy. I’ll call you tomorrow after I talk to Georgia. I don’t know what her schedule is, but I’m sure she’ll make time to talk to you soon. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Dave.” She turned and entered her apartment, her heart pounding. Had she just made a big mistake, telling Dave all that? Would he really help her, or had she set herself up for more trouble? The thought of a mental hospital sent fear running through her veins. She’d never heard anything good about those places.

  ***

  Hours later, she awoke screaming. This time, she’d dreamed she was lying on a warm, sandy beach somewhere in the tropics. Palm trees lined the shore and a modern, ten-story hotel was behind them. People were swimming in the ocean farther down the beach, but no one was close by. She’d fallen asleep on a lounge chair. She’d been reading a novel which lay upside down on her chest.

  The tall, blond young man stood over her, yelling at her. “You’re getting all sunburned, damn it! Why did you fall asleep out here? I told you to be careful. We have to go to my dad’s fundraiser parties in just a couple of days. You won’t do his election ca
mpaign any good looking like a cooked lobster, you stupid twit! Get back inside and put burn cream on that sunburn.”

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Besides, I thought you were right here. Where did you go? Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Don’t blame me, you lousy bitch! I don’t have to stay close and babysit you.”

  He’d reached out and slapped her hard, again and again. Her head rocked from side to side with each blow. She screamed and whimpered, then got up and ran into the hotel.

  Now, Lucy shivered and shuddered as she woke and remembered the horrible dream. Had it really happened to her? Or had Vi and Martha’s suggestions and questions about her bruises brought on these dreams? A case of suggestion?

  Climbing out of bed, she turned on the lights, trying to dispel the shadows and bad memories. She went to the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water.

  Returning to her living room, she made herself a cup of hot tea, hoping to warm away the icy fear that still raced through her. It was only five a.m., and she really needed more sleep. But she was afraid to close her eyes, lest the dream return.

  Opening her laptop, she began to surf the internet. She needed something to occupy her mind and chase away the image of the blond man’s angry face and the pain he’d inflicted on her.

  On impulse, she opened a new Xcel spreadsheet like Dave had shown them in their last computer class. She started to set up a list of expenses she’d spent Lucille’s traveler’s checks on. Then she laughed at herself, realizing Quicken would be a better way to do that.

  She searched for it online, chose a version to download and then realized she needed a way to pay for it. She chewed her lip for a minute, then remembered seeing a credit card in Lucille’s purse.

  She found the purse and looked for it. Yes, there it was. Would it work? She typed in the number and expiration date, then turned it over for the code. She typed it in and filled in her current address. It accepted her order and began to download.

  Getting up to make another cup of tea, she began to shiver with the sudden realization. How had she known how to download a program? How had she remembered the name of it and how to use a credit card?