Incredible Dreams (15 page)

“Well, if you do...please let me know.” He slid his hands inside the pockets of his trousers and Izzy wished she had somewhere to hide her own.

Guys are so lucky
. He could go out and get himself laid to work if off, but that wasn’t an option for her. She’d be branded a tramp. Hell, Jeannie had already done that. Where was her husband when she needed him?

For the first time, Izzy considered sex with someone other than Jack. She didn’t like the thought.

“Fate is a cruel bitch, ain’t she?” Izzy remarked, almost laughing at the helplessness of their predicament.

Jack stopped, and she hesitated but did the same. “I should go.” The words came from his mouth but his eyes lingered on her face, as if staring long enough would make it all fade away.

“If it’s any consolation, I’d change it if I could.” As she said it, she wondered why she couldn’t do that.

Of course. She knew the answer, she was just kidding herself. She couldn’t risk ruining Jack’s life, not even in the pursuit of happiness—could she?

CHAPTER 18

JACK REGRETTED leaving Isabelle in the park but he had no choice. She wasn’t available. He had to keep telling himself that. Even so, it didn’t do much to help him accept it. This was one reason he was determined to find her husband and bring him home. Maybe then Jack would be able to accept the inevitable and move on. If nothing else, Isabelle needed someone on her side she could trust. And who better than her husband?

Jack sprinted up the few steps leading into Lincoln Annex, the building housing Central Processing for Parker Field. He eased through the corridor and slipped inside a door midways down the hall.

The young man behind the desk smiled.

“What do you have for me?” Jack didn’t wait for an invitation to sit in the empty chair at the corporal’s desk.

“Not much, I’m afraid.” He avoided Jack by straightening the files on his desk.

“Come on, Thompson.” Jack slammed a palm onto the desktop. “How hard can it be to find a guy named Harry Walker?”

“Oh, that’s not the problem.” The corporal defended his abilities with a staunch expression. He looked overwhelmed. “There’s too many Harry Walkers in the Army. It’s going to take some time to identify the right one.”

“You mean he’s not stationed here?” Jack’s curiosity piqued, awakening his suspicions.

The corporal’s slow nod said it all. “Nor is he scheduled for this post anytime during this year.”

Things were turning stranger by the minute. Hadn’t Jeannie insisted that she’d accompanied Isabelle to California to wait for the husband’s return?

Looks like I need to have another chat with Isabelle’s sister
, Jack decided. “Thanks, Thompson.” He rose from the chair, saluted the corporal and backed out of the office.

S
omehow, Jack had known he wouldn’t get far with Jeannie. He studied her as she leaned against the wall near the boarding house’s front door. Jack, on the other hand, draped his arms across the back of the porch swing and rocked on his heels, gently propelling the swing.

“What do you want, Jack?” She stiffened, straightening herself with dignity.

“I’m just a little curious about Isabelle’s husband, see. He’s not stationed here at Parker Field.”

She rested her hands behind her back. “What’s your point?”

“I’m just trying to figure out why you’d tell Isabelle that her husband’s stationed here, when he’s not.” He hoped his voice was as stern as he thought it sounded. Jeannie didn’t intimidate easily. He needed every advantage he could assemble.

She pushed off from the wall and opened the door. “Not that it’s any of your business—” The time it took her to step toward the entryway seemed like an eternity. “But I didn’t say it...she did.” Jeannie disappeared inside and the screen door slammed shut.

“So you say.” Jack remained in the swing, unaffected by her declaration. He wasn’t sure what was going on, or why Isabelle’s sister would lie, but he was beginning to doubt Jeannie’s integrity and her loyalty toward her sister.

First, she said they moved to southern California to further Isabelle’s singing career. Then, it became about the mysterious, absent husband who was currently overseas but stationed here. How convenient. And a lie.

Thompson’s revelation that there was no Harry Walker stationed at Parker Field made it official; Jeannie Miller was up to no good. What her intentions were or why, he didn’t know. But he intended to find out her motivating factor. He had to be sure she wasn’t out to hurt Isabelle.

The quicker he found Walker and brought him home, the better it would be for Isabelle because Jack now realized Jeannie could not be trusted.

Jack had initiated the process to bring the man home, but sticking around to watch Isabelle live the life of another man’s wife was not an option.

There was only one thing left to do. He had to request reassignment.

L
eaving Hanson’s Jewelers on Main Street, Izzy covered her eyes with Jack’s sunglasses.
How prosaic
, she decided of the street name. Tired from walking the several blocks from the boarding house to the jewelers, she contemplated taking the city bus to the Cool Cat. Still at least six blocks away, she felt she’d never been that into exercise and didn’t relish the thought of more walking.

Laziness got the best of her and she waltzed toward the bus stop. She smoothed her red polka-dot dress and sighed before sitting, reminding herself that it was a favorite of Jack’s.

She glanced at her wristwatch, now ticking away like clockwork, and marveled at her own stupidity for having gone to the jewelers looking for a battery. Imagine having to wind the damned thing to make it tick—a concept that seemed totally foreign.

A shadowy figure entered her peripheral vision and she glanced up, peeking over the rim of her shades. The young man smiled at her, a flyer she guessed by his aviator’s jacket, cap, and sunglasses.

“May I?” He gestured toward the bench.

She didn’t say anything, only shrugged and tilted her head, then motioned toward the empty seat beside her.

“Do you know if this bus goes out to Caraway?” His casual and friendly manner was overshadowed by his sad blue eyes and their poignant faraway look.

Unfamiliarity slowed her response into a syrupy nod. She pursed her lips and exhaled a blast of frustration. “Beats the hell out of me.”

He chuckled. “That’s a rather odd expression.”

“Yeah, well...” She paused, glimpsing down the deserted street. “I seem to do that a lot.” Loneliness swamped Izzy and she turned to face him. “Most people that know me have gotten used to it. Either that, or they’re just humoring me until the men in white coats come to take me away and have me Baker-Acted.”

“Baker-Acted?” He repeated her words, confusion wrinkling his brow.

“Just color me crazy.” She rolled her eyes. “Want to talk about the weather?” Her face spread with a smile born from doubt. She poured it on thick, trying not to appear as crazy as she felt.

A mysterious darkness clouded his eyes. “The weather was good that day. I thought it was going to be a routine patrol with nothing out of the ordinary happening.” He gazed off, staring past her. “If I’d known I was going to die that day...” His words were filled with regret and disillusion.

That woke her up. “What?” Even while sitting, she felt her knees buckle.

“Yes, I’m afraid it’s true.” He rested one hand atop the other and draped them over his knee.

“Is this some kind of joke?” She jetted her eyebrows up, casting him in a suspicious light. “Did Jeannie put you up to this?” Uneasy and dangerous words poured forth. She didn’t like thinking her sister could do something so horrible. But out of everyone she knew, Jeannie was the one she trusted least.

If somebody wasn’t playing a joke on Izzy, that meant something was seriously wrong with her. First, there was that guy at the hospital. He’d kept fading in and out. And she’d conveniently tried to forget about that, but now this. Izzy could only draw one conclusion—she was seeing dead people.
Hm
. That sounded like a movie she’d seen somewhere.

“I do not joke when it comes to the particulars of my untimely demise.” His solemn, invading voice yanked her out of her thoughts.

The need to prove him a liar forced her hand toward him. As she partly suspected, her fingers sliced through his body, which was beginning to fade. She wasn’t prepared for, or expecting, his translucent state. Her head dizzied, her heart started thumping double-time, and fear weakened her ability to think logically. “How is this possible?”

“I have no idea.” He shook his head. “You’re the first living person I’ve been able to communicate with since it happened.”

Izzy crinkled her brow and she studied him. She still wasn’t sure that she hadn’t been punked. But her inability to touch him blew that idea.

A curious thought crossed her mind and she let the words spill out. “Do you remember what happened?” As quick as a flash she had the urge to help the flyer. Obviously, he was dead and for some reason his soul was bound to his earthly existence.

“Clear as a bell.”

“Want to talk about it?” A soothing quality entered her voice and she hoped it would calm his soul. “Maybe you have some unfinished business. Perhaps that’s why you’re still here.”

“Indeed I do.” He folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “I’ve been sent here to tell you my story.”

The suggestion intrigued her. “Why?”

“I’m just supposed to tell you my story.” His heavy shrug seemed to bear the weight of obscure anonymity. “That’s all I know.”

“Okay.” Nervous anxiety crept up her throat. “So what’s the deal? What’s your story?”

“It was a simple patrol mission gone wrong.” His tone had started out even and calm, but she sensed the urgency creeping in and intensifying with every additional word. Recalling the last details of his final moments, his chest heaved. “The damned dinghy blew on me. Son-of-a-bitch wedged right between me and the controls. I tried to get to the stick but I couldn’t. It was out of my reach.” Disgust curled a frown on his lips, despair slatted his eyes, and denial shook his head in a thick, sluggish motion. “I couldn’t get to it.” He breathed the words again, barely above a whisper this time. His voice cooled and his heavy breathing settled. The phantom tilted his head and glimpsed at her, his once cool and collected demeanor—the trademark of the flyer, at least it was with Jack—had been overshadowed and overrun with vulnerability.

“There was nothing you could do.” Realizing his fate, regret filled her solemn voice. “That must have been awful.”

He nodded before speaking. “To say the least.” He inhaled, as if drawing in a deep breath and slapped his hands against his thighs. Izzy heard the echo of transparent body parts slamming together. “But, you know what the irony is?” he asked, but didn’t wait for a response. “If I’d just had a damn blade, I could’ve easily carried a hunting knife in my flying boot, and I would’ve been able to save myself.”

“Huh?” Why did that sound so familiar? Her interest swelled, beefing up her curiosity. She didn’t know why but she had a desire to know more. “How exactly would a knife have helped you?”

“If I’d just had an LL Bean in my flying boot, I could’ve stabbed the dinghy. There’s always the chance that I could’ve regained control of the plane. At the very least I could’ve climbed out of the cockpit and parachuted to safety.”

She saw it in his eyes. He fancied the idea that he would’ve pulled off the hero’s piece, thereby saving his plane right along with himself.

The full impact of his fate returned to the forefront of her mind. “That’s awful.” She choked back the lump in her throat.

“An LL Bean hunting knife,” he repeated the solution as if it would help. “That’s all I needed.”

“So little...yet, so much.” Izzy closed her eyes, afraid she might cry, as if the obstruction would help. When she opened her eyes again and turned to face the flyer—he was gone.

She surveyed the area around her, awed by the vacancy of the street. Not a soul wandered the empty sidewalk, especially not the ghostly flyer. His disappearance was sudden and shrouded in mystery.

The bus turned the corner and relief washed over Izzy, calming her anxiety. She stood, eager to escape the remnants of the bizarre incident. “That was so weird,” she whispered, smoothing the sides of her dress.

Brakes squealed and a mechanical smell surfaced. The bus slowed to a stop in front of Izzy and the doors folded open. She reached for the railing, determined to push the episode out of her mind, and climbed aboard. Besides, she had more important things to worry about—like remembering to wind her watch.

She tapped the empty seats as she passed them by. Her gaze traveled over the other riders. She made her way to an empty seat mid-way down the aisle and slid in next to the window. The bus rolled into the street, jerking before it shifted into a smooth glide.

Izzy looked out the window at the scenery rolling past. She didn’t deny or dispute the fact that she was in 1940s America. What she didn’t understand was why it seemed so foreign and outdated.

For the most part the ride to the Cool Cat was uneventful. Had it not been for Izzy’s private ramblings, she might’ve enjoyed a short nap.

Arriving at her destination, a warm breeze whipped past Izzy as she descended off the bottom step of the bus. Her hand went up like a magnet, smoothing her hair in place and she strode toward the side entrance of the Cool Cat. She liked entering from that angle even though Charlie had no qualms about employees coming in through the front door.

The side entrance opened up into a hallway that led into the entertainment area. Tables to the left had been freshly adorned in anticipation of the evening’s patrons. The band usually waited backstage, off to the right, because back there they didn’t have to exercise the same behavior they did out in the lounge. Izzy could stand in the hallway, virtually unnoticed, and scan the clientele, although she didn’t bother much anymore. Jack hadn’t been into the club in such a long time.

Idle curiosity led Izzy to the edge of the hallway where she glanced inside and saw Jeannie, Paul and George at a table near the stage.

What are they doing here
? She pressed her back against the wall. Was this another one of her sister’s blatant attempts to push her into George’s arms? But why? Why was she so determined to see Izzy commit adultery with George, but it wasn’t okay with Jack?

Izzy pushed off the wall and headed down the corridor, away from Jeannie and the boys. The door to her dressing room creaked as she guided it open.
Damn it
. She didn’t know why but the sound annoyed her. She slipped inside and shut the door. Taking quick, even steps, she made it to the other side of the poorly-lit room and settled down in front of the vanity.

She clicked on the desk lamp. Worry reflected on her face in the mirror. What the hell was her sister was up to?
Her sister
. While their kinship was apparently true, it didn’t feel right.

“Stop it, Izzy.” Her own demand seethed through agitated lips and gritted teeth.

Questioning Jeannie was Izzy’s mind playing tricks to justify her desire to be with Jack. But her doubts weren’t real. How could they be? If Jeannie wasn’t her sister, who was she? And why would she claim it if it weren’t true? As much as Izzy didn’t like it, her life was what it was—her life.