Crazy For You

by Sandra Edwards

  “You know you mean more to me than anything in this world.” He caressed her cheek. “Including music.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “I think I was jealous of the music before, but I’m not anymore. I just want you to be happy.”

  “I’ll be happy as long as I have you and our children.” Children. He liked the sound of that. “Music could never take your place. It was only a means of expressing my feelings.”

  “You have to do this show,” she said. “And I hope you won’t hate me for forcing you.”

  “Don’t you know by now?” He laughed softly. “I could never hate you.”

  After the concert, Frank and Roxanne returned home. She was still riveted with the excitement of seeing him on stage for the first time—that she could recall anyway.

  She twirled around the room. “Oh my God...that was so cool.”

  A one-sided smile curled on Frank’s lips. “You liked that, did you?”

  “Did I like it?” She stopped in front of him. “Oh, Frankie...” She clutched his hands in hers. “Watching you up there on that stage…that was such a turn-on.”

  “Really?” he said with a measure of intrigue.

  She tiptoed up and kissed him eagerly. “Okay…” she said breathlessly.

  “Wait!” He backed her up to look into her eyes. “Are you sure it’s okay? It won’t hurt the baby?”

  “It won’t hurt the baby.”

  Hours later, Roxanne lay comfortably on Frank’s chest, covers scarcely draped over their bare bodies. He was still wound up from the concert. Thoughts of the event rambled through his head as he gently caressed her hair.

  “So…how do you feel about playing now?” she asked.

  “I guess I did miss it,” he admitted, still stroking her hair.

  “Will you do it again?” She looked at him.

  “How would you feel if I went back into the studio?”

  “If it makes you happy,” she said, “I wouldn’t mind it.”

  “And what will make you happy?”

  “My memories,” she said with a little shrug. She wasn’t bitter about it though. She’d accepted it. What she’d lost wasn’t coming back. But she was making new memories. And she was okay with that.

  “I’m sorry I can’t give them back to you.”

  “It’s okay. Sometimes I just wish I could remember things like Frankie’s birth or our wedding.”

  “Well, Frankie’s birth is something neither of us have.” Nobody could do anything about that. “But I can give you our wedding again.”

  “The video tape is not the same thing as living through it.” She thought she knew what was on his mind.

  “Very true.” He smiled. “That’s why you and I are going to get married again.”

  “Huh?”

  “You will marry me again, won’t you?”

  “Are you serious?” she asked. “You’d do it again? For me!”

  “Of course. I’d do anything for you. Don’t you know that by now?”

  ***

  Chapter 37

  Three Weeks Later

  The sounds of laughter filled Roxanne’s bedroom as she, Candy, and Glenna prepared for the renewal of Roxanne and Frank’s wedding vows.

  They’d dressed in the same gowns they’d worn the first time, but the bittersweet situation had no effect on any of them now. The day was a truly happy one for everybody. Especially Roxanne.

  “Okay,” Candy said. “Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.” She paused for effect. “For something new...” She handed Roxanne a small box.

  Roxanne took it and opened it. Inside was a sixpence for her shoe.

  “And for something borrowed...” Glenna—not one to be outdone—handed her a small jewelry box. “I wore these when Glen and I got married. I would be honored if you’d wear them today.”

  Roxanne opened the tiny case to find a pair of diamond droplet earrings. “Oh my God, Glenna. These must be very special to you.”

  “They are. And so are you.”

  “I will take very good care of them. I promise.”

  “Now...” Glenna bit back her tears. “For something old…I guess your wedding dress could be considered that.”

  “That’s true,” Roxanne said, “But I have something else in mind for something old.” She opened the middle drawer of her vanity and carefully pulled out a large jewelry box. “I hope you don’t end up hating me for this,” she said to Candy.

  “Why would I hate you?” Candy asked, as if it were a ridiculous notion.

  “Because I didn’t wear these the day that I married Chuck.” Carefully, she opened the case. A beautiful strand of white pearls rested against black velvet. “These were given to my grandmother the day she got married. She gave them to her daughter, my mother, the day she got married.”

  Candy gave Roxanne a comforting pat on the shoulder. “They weren’t meant to be worn before today.” She sucked in a breath. “Now all that’s left is something blue.”

  “And we have that covered,” Glenna announced proudly, pulling out yet another box that contained a blue garter.

  After the ceremony, Frank swept Roxanne away to the airport where they were destined to fly off into the sunset on a private jet.

  She glanced out the window and then back to him. “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere that no one can find us,” he said.

  Back at Frank and Roxanne’s house, Rich had just informed Candy that they too were going on their belated honeymoon.

  “But I told Roxanne I’d take care of Frankie while she was gone,” Candy argued with him.

  “Roxanne and Frank are both aware that you and I will be out of town, too,” he said. “They know Frankie will be with Glenna and Glen.”

  “Really?” Excitement invaded her tone. “We’re actually going?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “I was thinking someplace tropical. A place that doesn’t require a whole lot of clothes.”

  Roxanne and Frank ended up at an elite resort on an obscure little island in the Caribbean. Clearly, Frank had gone to great lengths to ensure their privacy. A heartwarming gesture, she thought, since she was aware that the press had shown up on their first honeymoon.

  After a couple of days on the island, the couple emerged from their private cottage in the late afternoon. The bride had expressed an interest in watching the sun set, and the groom was happy to oblige.

  With a blanket tucked under one arm and the other arm draped around Roxanne, Frank led her to the sandy beach. He spread the blanket out and they lay down together.

  She turned on her side and faced him, propping her chin in her hand. “Am I the same?”

  “The same as what?” he asked carefully, uncertain of what she was fishing for.

  “As before?”

  He thought about it. “Mostly, yes.”

  “Mostly?” she said slowly. “What’s different?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” he said warily. “It’s like you have a confidence now that you didn’t have before.”

  “Maybe I do,” she decided. “I’m only guessing here…but I think you’re probably different, too.”

  “And you base your opinion on what?” he wondered playfully.

  “I could never have left the man here in front of me now...not in a million years.”

  “I’ll never give you a reason to want to leave me again,” he said.

  “I’ve been thinking...I want to turn the book you, Candy, and Rich wrote into a screenplay while I’m pregnant.”

  “A screenplay, huh?” He paused, pondering the idea. “Who’s going to play you in the movie?”

  “Well me, of course.” She giggled. “And who’s going to play you?”

  “Well me, of course.” He laughed.

  “Would you really do a movie with me?” she asked, hopeful.

  “Well if you’re playing you…then nobody’s playing me, except me.”

  “I�
�m going to hold you to that, you know.” She traced her fingertips along his jaw line and then kissed him.

  Frank wrapped her in his embrace and cupped her face in his hands. He surveyed the beach, wondering if they could get away with making love at the water’s edge, but he saw a couple off in the distance walking toward them.

  “Looks like somebody’s got the same idea as us,” he said, with a little nod toward the couple. “Well at least I know it’s not going to turn out to be your sister this time.” He chuckled, thinking of a time that Candy had walked in on them in the bathroom at the condo.

  Down the beach, the couple strolled along arm-in-arm. Frank and Rich had never discussed the particulars of where they planned to take their respective wives on their respective honeymoons.

  As Rich and Candy walked along, it became increasingly evident that someone was on the beach up ahead of them.

  “Look,” Rich pointed toward the beach-goers, “it seems that someone else has the same idea.”

  “My luck...” Candy snorted a laugh. “It’s Frank and Roxanne!”

  ***

  Epilogue

  September 7th was the day Emily Candice Garrett was born. Later that afternoon, reports indicate that her proud father was seen at the nursery window, handing out pink cigars.

  *Thank you for taking the time to read Crazy For You. If you enjoyed this book, please think about leaving a review at Amazon (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B003WJRJ4Q), Barnes&Noble (http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Crazy-For-You/Sandra-Edwards/e/2940012051646), and/or your favorite online retailer. Please turn the page for a preview of Incredible Dreams by Sandra Edwards.*

  ***

  Incredible Dreams

  by

  Sandra Edwards

  Chapter 1

  There wasn't a single ghost in the entire joint. But spirits—now that was another matter. Izzy Miller was well-acquainted with both. In her experience, the latter was harder to handle.

  She paused in the doorway of the abandoned hangar and surveyed the vast, near-vacant interior. Dull, dingy windows smeared with grease and grime from years of neglect lined the top of the back wall and blocked out most of the sunbeams.

  Slow, guarded steps led her just inside the entryway. Adjusting to the darkened interior took a few seconds. She fine-tuned her surroundings and blurry images of ancient aircraft flickered inside the hangar. The ghost planes disappeared before she could identify the aircraft, but she took them for World War II era, military.

  Excitement surged through her veins and settled in her lungs. If there was something in here, it had been around a long time. Longer than the sprites and fairies that had begun to dive-bomb her head.

  Shoo. Izzy swatted at the pesky little creatures. They were worse than gnats. She hated sprites. Hated that they were present on ninety-five percent of her cases. Hated their meddling, interfering, disruptive ways.

  Her cell phone vibrated inside the bag hanging off her shoulder. She let it go to voice mail. Whoever it was could wait. Nothing was more important than her current project. The United States Air Force had offered a big fat bonus if she cleared the hangar by the end of the month. Not that money was her driving force. The challenge fueled her motivation. Always had. Always would.

  Izzy wandered through the deserted hangar, soaking up every inkling, letting everything, seen and unseen alike, penetrate her senses.

  Dust and cobwebs covering the remains of old furniture tickled her nose. The musty scent of neglect threatened to bring on a sneezing attack.

  Her escort Lt. Harry Stark had been quietly transferring several boxes from his car to the hangar’s interior. Now, back by her side, he let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a cough and a gurgle.

  “So, you’re a ghost-buster?” The lieutenant’s laughter rippled through the air and chafed her ego. Why would the Air Force send her a skeptic?

  “If you mean like in the movie...no,” Izzy said between intermittent nasal spasms and turned her back on her companion. The sneeze swelled inside her head and exploded. She covered her face. A loud, hearty kerchoo echoed around the hangar like a racquet ball.

  The lieutenant whipped out a handkerchief. Taking it, she wondered if he was always this efficient.

  A wave of light shimmered and swirled behind him. Damn sprites. The lieutenant’s face paled, and Izzy suspected the nymph had tapped him on the shoulder. He stiffened and jerked around, inspecting the space behind him. The sprite twisted with him, staying at his back. He pivoted around, tugged at his uniform and let out a stretched sigh.

  She wiped her nose, shot an over-practiced glare at the nymph, and beckoned the lieutenant to follow. “What I do isn’t quite so dramatic, nor do I have the aid of technological equipment that borders on science fiction.” Izzy kept her tone calm, constant and methodical. Strolling through the hangar, she gravitated toward a partition along the back wall. “I’m a spiritual therapist. I remove ghosts or apparitions, and convince spirits to cross over.”

  “So you’re like that girl on TV? The one who talks to the dead and gets them to go to the light...all in an hour.” His eyes narrowed and his tone hinted at mockery.

  Izzy let it go and focused on his paranormal education instead. “Sort of. But they don’t come to me. I go to them.” The sprite circled his head and she ignored it. “I’m surprised you’ve never heard of me. All branches of the United States military have been using my services for nearly five years.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of you.” Doubt shuddered off his tone. The sprite shot through his head. Lieutenant Stark let out a sharp gasp and spun around like a speeding top. Of course, there was nothing for him to see. She almost felt sorry for him as he wound down and stopped in front of her, looking like a helpless child in a playground full of bullies.

  Izzy knew he hadn’t seen anything. The sprites weren’t going to reveal themselves to him, and that warranted a smile. “You okay, Lieutenant?” False concern masked her amusement.

  “Y-yes.” His voice cracked, his stance straightened and his chest inflated in a manner that suggested—no, insisted—he was not spooked.

  Izzy turned away from the lieutenant to keep from laughing in his face. Her gaze drifted to the far wall displaying a group of old black and white photographs, images of pilots long since forgotten. She moved from picture to picture, a step at a time, and stared into the face of each flyer.

  She paused a little longer on the boldly handsome man who stood out amongst the others. His mouth curled into an attractive smile, forever on the edge of laughter.

  Sadness slammed Izzy. Sorrow stole her breath away. She tried to recover, struggled for every hard-earned mouthful of air, each eclipsed by the fear that it was her last.

  The flyer’s eyes, dark and intriguing, gave the impression of lighting up. An invisible gleam trailed out, enveloping Izzy in a blanket of comfort.

  “Who is he?” She pointed to the flyer’s picture.

  Lieutenant Stark lingered at her side and shifted into an at ease stance with his legs apart and his hands crossed behind his back. “Captain Jack Baker,” he said with clout. “A flyer during the Second World War. He was quite the hero.”

  The sprite danced around the lieutenant’s head, teasing Izzy with threats of piercing the man’s body again.

  She disregarded the creature and remained fixated on the man in the photograph. “What happened to him?” Loneliness swept through Izzy and stalled inside her heart where it intensified with an emptiness she’d never experienced but felt she knew just the same.

  “I believe he was killed during a training exercise.”

  “Details?” She tried to pull her gaze from the flyer’s picture. She wanted to look at the lieutenant now instead of catching glimpses of him in her peripheral vision. She managed to direct her attention to the man before her, but her thoughts remained on the one in the photograph.

  The lieutenant wavered as he rocked on his heels. “Well, I’m not privy to all the particulars, but the United States mi
litary is known for its record-keeping.”

  The thought of not wanting to leave the hangar washed over her like a warm summer rain. While scintillating at first, once she got used to it she welcomed it, embraced it, reveled in it. “I’d like to read the records here, please.”

  “That much was anticipated.” He gestured toward an office on the other side of the wall of photographs. “They’re on the desk.”