by Edna Curry
“Please don’t think this is a strange question.”
He nodded encouragement.
“What year is this?”
He swallowed, hard. Was she a mental case? His mind flew back to his young cousin, Cora, who’d had mental problems. Everyone had shunned her, making things much worse until she’d given up and committed suicide. He knew poor Cora had needed understanding and love, not ridicule. So, now, he tried to stay calm and polite, not act as though this woman were crazy. “2015.”
She nodded, tears rolling freely now. “That’s what the policeman said. But my last memories are of 1955.”
Dave stared at her, open-mouthed. “You lost your memory?”
She tried to control her sobs. “I…I guess so. The doctor says it’s amnesia, a head injury from the accident. And that my memory should come back soon. But, in the meantime….”
“But how could you lose sixty years’ worth of memories when you’re not that old? I mean, you don’t look more than mid-twenties.”
She smiled through her tears and her voice was shaky. “I don’t understand it either. According to the driver’s license that’s in my purse, I’m not. Don’t worry about it, I’ll figure things out.”
“Can I help in any way?” He shouldn’t get involved, but this was one bizarre tale. Along with the bruises, it made him worry. Could she take care of herself? If only someone had helped Cora when she’d needed it, she might be alive today. Could he be that someone for Lucy?
“No, no,” she insisted, wiping her eyes and shaking her head. “I’ll be fine, thanks. I’m going to my folk’s house and everything will get straightened out.”
“May I have your phone number there?”
She shook her head, looking troubled. “Their phone isn’t working. I’ve tried calling and keep getting a message saying that’s not a valid number.”
“I see. Don’t you have a cell phone?”
Her blue eyes widened. “Oh. Yes, I do. I just bought one. See?” She pulled it out of her purse to show him.
“Here, put my phone number in it.” He dug out a business card and handed it to her.
She looked confused. “I…I don’t know how. Will you show me how to do that?”
She didn’t know how to use her own phone? He took it and went through the steps of entering a phone number. As she leaned toward him to watch, her sweet scent teased him. Apricots? Was it her shampoo? She watched as he pressed buttons on her phone, but still looked confused.
“Well, my number is in your contact list now, here, under Dave. So if you need any help, just call me. I’ll do my best. Here, I’ll put your number in my phone, too.”
She frowned at him. “How do you know my number?”
He stared at her. “I’m copying it from your phone. See, it’s right here. If anyone asks for your number, give them this one. Here, I’ll write it on the back of my card, so you won’t have to try to find it on your phone again.”
“Thanks.”
He eyed her, worried. Maybe she was mentally slow as well as having lost her memory. Still, he was intrigued by her and couldn’t help saying, “Do you mind if I call you to see how you’re doing in a day or two?”
Lucy smiled, took the card and her phone and tucked them in her purse. “Thanks, that would be nice. But I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
His phone rang and she watched him with a surprised look on her face as he answered it and talked for a while to his mom, then hung up.
“A cell phone works even on a moving bus?” she asked.
Wow, she’d really meant it when she said her last memories were of 1955. She didn’t even know how a cell phone worked.
“Yes, it works anywhere your phone has service.”
“Service?” she asked.
“Different cell phones are made by different companies. They use cell towers to send out signals that your phone picks up,” he explained, hoping that made sense to her.
“I see,” she said, but still looked puzzled. “Like a radio signal?”
“Yes, similar.”
“I guess I have a lot to re-learn.” She sighed and turned back to the window again. Resting her head on her hands, she went back to sleep.
Dave leaned back to catch a nap himself. But wondering about his strange conversation with the lovely young woman beside him kept him awake. What had happened to her? Was she a mental case? If so, why was she riding a bus alone? He should have asked more details so he could have researched her on the internet.
Damn it, why was her situation bugging him so? He had enough problems himself. He was just getting established with a group of dentists in a clinic. When he had enough patients of his own, he’d like to set up his own practice. Dealing with the petty office politics of a couple of the guys in their group was getting on his nerves. But that was the norm, several other guys at the convention had assured him. The new guy got the brunt of the problem patients, the crabby ones you couldn’t please, or who took forever to pay their bills.
On top of his problems at work, his mother had surgery a month ago. She insisted she was fine and was even back at work, but he worried about her anyway. She wasn’t very good at taking care of herself; she always pushed herself beyond her limits. He must get over to see her soon.
***
When Lucy awoke, an hour later, they’d arrived in Mankato. She said a polite goodbye to her handsome, red-headed seat-mate, wondering if she’d ever see him again. Men always said they’d call, but usually didn’t, at least in her experience.
After collecting her suitcase from the driver who was unloading luggage from the storage compartment in the side of the bus, Lucy went to find a cab and was pleased to see several waiting at the curb by the bus station. Panic still sat in her stomach and fear of what she’d soon learn had it tied in knots. What would she find at her parents’ house?
She took a cab to their home, carefully writing down the phone number she saw on the side of the taxi in case she needed him again, which she was sure she would. When the driver stopped in front of a blue house instead of a white one, she started to tell him he had the wrong address. Then she realized everything about the house except the color was correct. But the flowers were different and the little weeping willow tree her dad had planted in the front yard was now huge and droopy.
She swallowed, wondering what to do.
“Lady, I said, we’re here,” the cabbie repeated.
“Ah, yes. I see that. Um, can you wait here for a bit? I need to see if it’s the right house,” she muttered.
“Sure, lady, but I have to keep the meter running.”
“That’s okay.” Leaving her suitcase in the cab, worrying about what she would find, she walked on wooden legs to the front door, her heart pounding in trepidation.
A white-haired, thin, elderly man answered the door. He frowned at her. When she asked where Ben and Mary Johnson were, he said, “Don’t know nobody like that.”
A chubby woman of about the same age appeared behind him and peered at her over his shoulder. “Sure, you do, Harold. That was the name of the people who owned this house when we bought it, remember? The couple who had that bad car accident in the snowstorm and died? Back about 1960, remember?”
“Huh. Really? Mebby so. My memory ain’t so good anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Miss,” the woman said. “Did you know them? They didn’t have any kids, I heard. We bought the house from a realty company afterward.”
“Oh,” Lucy said, her heart pounding in frustration. She wanted to scream, “Yes, they do have a daughter. I’m standing right here.” This made no sense. They must really be dead. She swallowed hard and got out through stiff lips, “Sorry to bother you. Bye.”
She turned and hurried back to the cab. Panic made her pulse race and she almost fell, getting back in. She slammed the door and covered her mouth to prevent the sobs from escaping.
“Where to now, lady?” The cabbie impatiently eyed her in his rear-view mirror.
She swallowed a
nd forced her voice to sound calm. “Take me to a hotel. Nothing too expensive, please.”
“Lady, we don’t have much fancy in Mankato. There’s a big Super 8 Motel. That’s probably your best bet. They should have a vacancy.”
“Fine.” She huddled back into her seat, feeling numb with shock. Somehow she got through the ride to the motel, which proved to be a huge new building. And when she checked in, the woman at the desk was working on a computer, typing away.
“I need a room, please,” Lucy told her.
“Certainly. One bed or two?”
“One is fine,” Lucy said.
The clerk told her the cost and took Lucy’s travelers’ checks without a question and handed her a plastic card. “Room 310, ma’am.”
“I need a key, ma’am,” Lucy said, frustrated.
“That is your key, dear.” She pointed to the card in Lucy’s hand.
Lucy stared at it. A plastic card that looked like a credit card was her key? “It is? How does it work?”
She looked at Lucy strangely, then shrugged. “Haven’t you stayed in a motel before? You slide this card into the slot on the door. A light will turn green, then it’s unlocked, so you can open the door. Would you like some help with your luggage?”
“No, thanks, I can handle it,” Lucy said, grabbing the handle of her suitcase.
“The elevator is right over there, okay?”
“Thanks.” Lucy pressed the up button between the elevator doors and got on.
Another woman stepped in with Lucy. Her hand hovered over the row of numbered buttons. “What floor?”
Lucy smiled at her. “Three, please.”
The other woman got off on the second floor and the elevator doors closed and the elevator moved on up to three.
Lucy quickly stepped out, followed the numbered signs on the wall to her room, then tried several times to open the door with the card. Her eyes were welling with tears and she couldn’t get it to work.
Finally, a man walked by, and told her, “Try it upside down.”
She did and it worked. “Thanks,” she said and hurried inside, locking the door behind her.
She flopped on the bed and cried for hours. Her parents may have been dead for years, but she felt as though she’d just heard of it. Yes, the detective had told her yesterday, but she hadn’t really believed him. Now, the pain was overwhelming.
Finally, feeling starved, though her stomach still churned, she freshened up in the bathroom, staring at her swollen eyes and purple bruises. She splashed cold water on her face and used makeup to cover the damage as best she could, then went downstairs and walked to a nearby family restaurant for some food.
The restaurant was busy, but the staff friendly and helpful. Booths lined the walls with smaller tables filling the center. A hum of happy chatter filled the room as she looked nervously about. Its window advertised home-style food, so it shouldn’t be too pricy. A young girl came forward and welcomed her, then showed her to a booth.
Lucy’s eyes widened at the prices of the food, once again reminding her of how things had changed. She decided on a sandwich and hot tea, wondering if that would be sufficient.
But when her order came, the sandwich was huge and half the large plate was also covered in French fries. It looked like enough food to fill up at least two people. Wow, they’d certainly changed the serving sizes over the years. She ate as much as her upset stomach would allow and left the rest. She could just hear her mother saying, “Clean your plate. Those starving children overseas would love to have that.”
At the thought of her mother’s pithy sayings, tears welled again.
Her gray haired waitress stopped beside her. “Is everything okay, miss? Are you feeling all right?”
Lucy brushed aside her tears and smiled at the friendly woman. “I’m fine, ma’am. Everything is delicious. I just need my check, please.”
“Of course.” She dug her order pad from her uniform pocket and paged through it until she found the right ticket. She put it on the table and took Lucy’s plate. “Have a nice evening,”
The sun was setting as she returned to the motel lobby. She asked the clerk where the library was and learned it wasn’t close enough to walk, she’d need a cab.
But first she needed a hot bath and some sleep. She went to her room and filled the tub. She soaked in the hot water until it cooled, then went to bed and cried herself to sleep. She spent most of the next day in bed grieving, only leaving to eat once.
That evening she decided she had to pull herself together and work out some kind of plans. If it was truly 2015, her teaching job in Conley was certainly no longer open to her. Her parents were gone, and if they were, surely all her cousins and her friends were, too. How was she going to survive alone?
Was she this Lucille Denton? Or had she, through a weird coincidence at the car accident in St. Paul, gotten another woman’s purse who happened to look like her? That seemed too far-fetched an idea to be true. The detective had said the Minneapolis address on the driver’s license she carried was out of date, that Lucille didn’t live there anymore. So going there would be a waste of time. She wished she’d asked him more questions. Surely he could have found answers for her. But he’d been so crabby and uncooperative, she hadn’t dared. She’d have to find out the truth another way.
Should she ask someone else at the police station there to trace this Lucille? But that St. Paul detective hadn’t believed her. He’d only insisted she was Lucille and was playing a game with him. And if they did find the real Lucille, how would she pay her back the money she’d spent? She shuddered. Best play it by ear, day by day.
She had no idea what kind of training or job skills Lucille had, or what references her name might bring up. Best to lay low and wait to see what happened. Anyway, what good would it be to pretend to be this woman when she didn’t have her memories? She might be well-trained for a good job, but if she couldn’t remember that training, it might as well not exist. No, she had to try something else. She’d worry about repaying the real Lucille when she showed up. Maybe by then, she’d have a job.
Tomorrow, she’d go to the library and research her parents’ death. Surely there would be an article in the Mankato Free Press about their accident. And an obituary, if they were truly dead. That thought brought on tears again. She had to get cleaned up and presentable. She took a hot bath, climbed out of the tub, dried off and went to bed where she cried herself to sleep.
***
The next morning, she felt a little better. Again, she did her best to cover her bruises with makeup. Finding coffee and breakfast items in a room off the motel lobby, she helped herself, trying to ignore the other guests’ curious stares at her bruised face and arm.
Then she took a cab to the public library, which also looked very different from what she remembered. Now it was a huge brick building. Was it even the same building? She couldn’t remember and right now, it wasn’t important. The highway looked different, too. There were more lanes and overhead signs. Nothing looked familiar, even the shape of the river. Had they changed that, too? She remembered it tended to flood parts of both North Mankato and south of Mankato proper, usually in May or June. Now the highway had more lanes and ran on top of a huge embankment that had probably been made to contain the river. That must have been an expensive undertaking.
She stepped inside the brightly lit building onto gray carpet and looked around. Rows and rows of tall shelving held many books. Each of the librarians’ sat at her own large desk in front of a computer. She’d never find anything here without help.
Moving to a friendly looking woman, she asked how to search the old newspaper files for an article about her parents’ accident which the woman at their house had said happened in 1960. At first, the chubby, middle-aged woman merely smiled and pointed her to a row of computers, so Lucy had to explain that she didn’t know how to use one. The woman frowned and reluctantly agreed to look things up for her. Her fingers tapped over the keyboard so fast,
she reminded Lucy of the girl in her high school touch-typing class who’d typed so fast she’d made the rest of the class all look like slackers.
The librarian printed out copies of the Mankato newspaper articles on her parents’ accident and their obituaries and handed them to her with a condescending smile.
Lucy thanked her, took them and moved to a table to read them. Seeing it in black and white made her realize they were really gone. She didn’t understand how so much time had passed without her knowing it, but obviously it had.
Reading their obituary made her gasp. “Preceded in death by their parents and one daughter, Lucinda in 1958.” She was dead, too? She pinched herself. Felt alive to her. What the hell?
Next, she asked the librarian to search for herself under both the name she remembered being hers, Lucinda Johnson and the name on the driver’s license that supposedly belonged to her, Lucille Denton. She didn’t, of course, tell the woman those were her own names. The woman already seemed to think she was either strange or a little short of brains.
Lucy learned that Lucinda had indeed died in a small plane crash in 1958, not far from here. She’d gone for a ride with her cousin, Bob Johnson, and they’d both died in the crash.
Lucy numbly thanked the woman, paid the fees, tucked the print-outs in her purse and excused herself, rushing to the bathroom.
She had to take a break to try to get her emotions under control. After another crying jag in the stall, she splashed her face with cold water and put on fresh makeup to try to cover the damage to her face. Not that she could really cover all the bruises, anyway, but she did what she could to hide them and the redness from her crying.
Then she went back to research some more. This time, the librarian only said, “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing in the local newspapers about a Lucille Denton. There are many different ones on the internet and they live in different states and are different ages. I’d need a lot more information to narrow the search as to which person you want to know about. See all these Facebook pictures of people with that name?”
Lucy nodded. None of the pictures the woman had on the screen looked anything like herself. She didn’t want to explain the real reasons she was searching. She had to learn to do this computer searching herself, without involving others. What if impersonating this Lucille was a crime? Certainly spending her money was illegal. She didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble for helping her in any way.