Incredible Dreams

by Sandra Edwards

  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.

  “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 ha
ve 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.

  Arriving 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.

  Izzy 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 hardene
d, 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.

  Izzy 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.