“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.
At 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?
She checked all the usual places—under the bed, inside drawers, cupboards, and closets—finding nothing. Her knees weakened with her mounting frustration and disappointment. She dropped to the bed and laced her fingers together in her lap. Outlandish thoughts crossed her mind as her eyes traveled around the room.
No wedding ring. No marriage license. No proof or memorabilia anywhere in this tiny apartment. All these things combined made no sense.
The door opened and Izzy rose from the bed. Jeannie entered, wearing a green suit. She looked pretty, Izzy thought, and no worse for wear and tear from the accident. Not even the slightest limp from her banged up knee. Odd.
“You’re home. Good.” Jeannie latched onto her arm and tugged her back down to the bed. The sisters sat together. “I heard you had lunch with George.” An insinuated request for more information accompanied her words, but it did little to encourage Izzy into gossiping about George.
“Do you know where I keep my marriage license?” Izzy asked in a somewhat strangled voice.
For a second, panic paled Jeannie’s face ashen. She sat motionless for what seemed like an eternity, frozen, before any expression washed over her facade, and then repainted it with a smile. “Sure.” She
dropped to her knees and half-way disappeared underneath the bed, reemerging seconds later with a shoebox. “Here you go.” Jeannie offered her the container. The shadow lurking in her eyes startled Izzy.
Wait a minute— That box wasn’t there moments ago when Izzy checked under the bed. Was it? It must have been. Jeannie certainly didn’t pull it out of her sleeve. Did she?
Izzy considered questioning the box as she braced her fingers around it, but decided against it. She eased the lid off with a bit of hesitance. A strange feeling swept over her, churning her stomach into knots.
Inside the carton lay a folded document pleated open, previewing its purpose—a marriage license. She dared to touch it, afraid of what she’d find.
Izzy plucked the paper from the box as if she’d lose her hand. Curiosity begged her to examine the document even though she was still afraid of the outcome. The sight of her name listed as the bride crushed Izzy. Harry’s name had been filled in as the groom, confirming her fears—they truly were married.
She read the particulars—bride’s age, groom’s age, their places of birth and such, but her mind refused to take it in or accept it.
Under the marriage license, she found birth certificates for herself and Harry, and a few photographs. She examined each one, easily identifying herself but none of them, not one, sparked the least bit of emotion or recollection. Izzy felt like she was looking at the life of some look-a-alike who was in fact a stranger.
She stared at the photograph of herself and a young man, whom Jeannie readily identified as Harry. Izzy wanted to feel something, and she wanted to remember something. Anything. But it was no use. Nothing seemed right, nothing felt familiar about the man in the picture.
With an air of vagueness, Izzy tucked the box under one arm and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Jeannie asked with quick bird-like movements, trying to land between Izzy and the door.
Izzy wedged herself between Jeannie and the exit. As she opened the door, the notion to lie flooded her judgment. “For a walk. I’m got some processing to do.” Izzy retreated into the hallway. With a shell of apathy, she closed the door between herself and Jeannie. Remorse for misleading her sister did not overcome her and she felt no guilt for her misdirection.
Instead of going for a mere walk, she high-tailed it to the base and back to see Corporal Larry Thompson.
George strolled through the park, suspicious of Jeannie Miller’s request for a meeting. Ever since his chat with her sister on the way to Montecito, he no longer trusted Jeannie.
Cutting through a patch of trees, he saw her sitting on a park bench. Prudence twisted in his gut and stiffened the rest of his body. “Jeannie.” His indifference chilled the air. George dropped down beside her, leaving plenty of room between them.
Jeannie Miller was dangerous.
She had the touch, sexually, even though she wasn’t necessarily that appealing in the looks department. For George, looks didn’t matter so much as willingness, but Jeannie wasn’t that bad. She was pretty enough, but the fire hadn’t ignited like it did when he looked at Izzy. Not until Jeannie touched him.
Jeannie’s touch, at first he thought it was magical, but now he just looked at it as lethal. When she brought him pleasure, it was so fantastically gratifying that at the moment before fulfillment, she could ask him anything and he’d gladly promise her the moon just for a moment’s pleasure.
George realized the danger in that, and went to the park intending to keep a safe distance between them. But when Jeannie placed her hand on the bench between them, his loins stirred urging him to move closer. He fought it but the struggle was all-consuming.
“George, how are you?” she asked with a lustful gleam in her eye.
He struggled to tear his gaze away, to sever the connection he knew she was establishing. “I’m fine.” Unable to break away, he gave her a once-over. His eyes grazed over her small breasts peeking out from the low-cut dress, his heart palpitated lust through his veins.
“I heard you had lunch with my sister,” she said in a deep, honeyed voice.
“Word gets around fast.” His eyes were still glued to the inviting curves of her body. Her breasts seemed, not necessarily bigger but definitely more prominent than before. Maybe that was because he wanted to touch them, rough-handle them, mold them around his—
Jeannie’s voice broke into George’s thoughts with an undeniable harshness. “Are you going to give her what she wants, or what?” Her severity allowed him to break the hold she’d cast over him. For the moment.
“What exactly do you think she wants from me?” He tried to reinforce the need for caution in his thought processes.
“She wants you to have sex with her.” Her voice, now sounding fond and sly, had an almost seductive ring to it. Even so, he was able to rally common sense around his thoughts.
Jeannie’s statement was an unrealistic observation, as well as an odd and crude way to put it. “Really?” Doubt rumbled out in his laughter. “And how do you know this?”
“She told me.” She crooked her neck and cut her eyes at him, then shot him a look that said Izzy wants you.
He was almost convinced of Jeannie’s implication when Izzy’s own words while on the road to Montecito, those that questioned the validity of her relationship with her sister, crossed his mind. “That’s funny.” He chuckled, realizing her deceit.
“Why is that so funny?” Jeannie trailed her hand across the bench toward him, moving closer.
She touched him and his desire ignited as her fingers traveled up his arm. Blood rushed to his head, bringing with it anticipation. He waited anxiously for her hand to slip inside his shirt. Her touching his bare skin would mean desire overload.
He wanted to take her right here, right now, in the park, and satisfy that insatiable sexual desire that only came from her touch. It was like a monster eating him alive.
“Why—” Jeannie’s voice wrapped him in a sense of false security. “—is that so funny, George?” She withdraw her hand from inside his shirt and traced it down toward his groin.
“Ahm...” His voice cracked as he tried to remember what indeed was so funny. He had no clue. All he knew right now was that he wanted to take Jeannie, by force if necessary, and he was certain she’d approve.
Jeannie stood and stepped in front of him. George captured her wrist and yanked her down on top of him. She straddled his lap and fidgeted, either to tease him or examine his manhood—which he wasn’t sure. Either way, he enjoyed it.
“It’s really not a good idea to taunt me.” He grabbed her hips and yanked her over his growing erection with hard, vigorous strokes.
“Going to get a little forceful, are we?” Her question was goading more than fearful. “I know what you want and you can have it, any way you like.” She paused, moving in closer, brushing her breasts against him. “But first, you have to do it to Izzy,” she said, nibbling on his ear. “She likes the forcefulness...only more. The harder you play with her, the more she’ll thank you.”
She left his manhood with a powerful thrust before slipping away from him. In essence, leaving the brunt of his desire to retarget toward Izzy.
She stopped over him and leaned down, exposing her breasts in all their glory, her nipples hard and firm, begging for his tongue. “You give it to her real good, and I’ll take you to the moon.” She grazed her bosom against his chin and over his mouth. He parted his lips, even though his sensibility said no, and let his tongue taste her forbidden fruit. “When she says no...she means do it rougher, harder.”
Jeannie’s audacity mesmerized George. His better senses urged him to proceed with caution, but she’d ignited a burning desire, one that was hard to put aside. The will was too strong for him to dismiss. If Isabelle Miller was half the wild-cat her sister proclaimed, he was going to have a good time dousing her fire.
Chapter 21
CORPORAL LARRY THOMPSON waited until Izzy closed the door behind her. Once she disappeared from sigh
t, he reached for the telephone. He waited for the Post Operator’s brief introduction before speaking. “Get me the 479th,” he said, tapping his fingers on the desk. He listened as a clerk answered the phone at the squadron’s base. “Captain Jack Baker, please.” Another short pause and the Corporal silently urged Baker to hurry up and answer the call.
“Baker.” The captain’s voice filtered across the wire.
“It’s Thompson.” He paused, catching his breath. “Turns out your man is quite popular.”
“Excuse me?”
“Harry Walker.”
“You found him?” Baker’s tone perked up.
“No, I still haven’t located him. But you’re not the only one looking for him.”
“What?” The sound of confusion fueled Baker’s inquiry.
“Apparently his wife is anxious to find him. She brought in all sorts of information to assist in the hunt.” Thompson fiddled with the documents she’d left in his care.
“You think you’ll be able to find him now?” Hope filled Baker’s voice, although the corporal didn’t understand why. In Baker’s shoes, there was no way Thompson would be trying to bring the man home.
But it wasn’t his place to pass judgment. His job was to find Walker, especially now that he had a legitimate reason. The man’s wife had requested it. “I’m confident of it.”
“Good.” Baker expressed his gratitude, but Thompson knew better. The captain’s intentions might seem like good ones, but Thompson knew the last thing Baker truly wanted was for Harry Walker to come home to his wife.
“That’s weird how she doesn’t remember him, huh?” Thompson said in passing. “She seemed overwhelmed—really uncertain about the whole affair. Any way you look at it...searching for a husband you can’t remember has got to be tough.”
“Very.” Baker’s tone quieted, sounding vague.
Corporal Thompson heard Jack utter an anthem of thanks just before the line went dead. After a brief interlude of rest, he went back to the task of locating Captain Harry Walker. With this much information, it shouldn’t take more than a few days to pinpoint his location.
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