In Another Time Page 2

  “No, I’ve got it all with me. Thank you,” Sam nodded.

  “Please feel free to call me if you need anything. Just dial ‘0.’ My wife Celia or I are always on hand. Also, we have some delightful local dining establishments and unique shops if you find yourself with some leisure time. You’ll find a brochure with a map of the town in your room. Again, please let me know if we can be of service and we hope you enjoy your stay with us at the Harmony Inn.”

  “Thank you, Joshua. I’m looking forward to it.” Sam had nodded in the direction of his rental car and said, “I left the key in the ignition,” as he picked up his bags then headed up the stairs.

  His room was richly appointed. The furniture was fashioned out of a rich-looking, dark stained wood. As he ran his fingers over the finely carved details of the armoire, he figured it was probably mahogany. Underneath the large picture window was an ornate antique desk and wooden chair on brass rollers. The carved ball and clawfoot sleigh bed was adorned with a cozy plaid comforter and several fluffy pillows which enhanced its comfortable appearance. Sam hoped it would accommodate his tall frame. If not, he could sleep diagonally, as he’d grown accustomed to doing on business trips. The bedside table offered plenty of space for his personal items. A beautifully restored lamp was the only item on it. Sam admired it and upon closer inspection recognized it as a chrome & copper art deco lamp. There’d been a similar one in his dad’s office at Smitty’s.

  Inspecting it more closely took him back to his boyhood and the lazy summer afternoons he’d spent hanging around his dad’s garage. He’d fish a Nehi Grape out of the old pop chest and put the nickel he’d earned for sweeping the shop into the vending machine for a bag of peanuts. Then sitting behind his dad’s desk, he’d play on the Burrough’s adding machine until the Markel lamp would capture his attention. He’d always felt that its sleek, unique design fit in so well in the garage. Running his finger up, down, and around its polished shape inspired visions of smooth, modernized automobiles and fanciful flying machines. He chuckled at the fond memory and felt himself beginning to relax.

  Feeling pleased with the ideal accommodations, he began to feel a keen sense of belonging. A sensation he realized he hadn’t experienced throughout most of his adult life. For a reason he didn’t understand until his second head injury, he’d never felt a solid connection to his own life. There’d always been a hint of something missing. Nothing he could ever put his finger on, and he’d grown so used to it that he eventually figured that it was just residue of the amnesia.

  Drawing the curtains to see what kind of view the ample window offered, much to his delight, he saw a generous perspective of the town square was perfectly framed. “There, now that’s the Harmony Glen I remember,” Sam muttered smiling happily.

  He placed his attaché case on the desk and unzipped his suitcases and garment bag on the bed. Reaching into the suitcase, he lifted his journal out, opened the top drawer of the bedside table, and placed it inside. Next, he carefully pulled out folded clothes and placed them in the handsome dresser and his coat, blazers, shirts, and slacks in the armoire. Placing two pairs of shoes on the floor of it, he stowed his bags behind them. In the spacious bathroom he set his shaving bag on the marble vanity beneath the gilded mirror. Then stepping back into his room, he stood with his hands clasped in front of him, drew a deep breath and looked around. Blowing it out, he thought the place was starting to look and feel a little more like home. Not traveling extensively for work, he found that when he put away his belongings it helped him feel more at home.

  His unpacking complete, he was eager to explore the town and see how much of it recalled fond memories. Grabbing his coat and scarf, he pulled the door closed behind him, and looking at his watch, thought he’d have just enough time to take in the downtown square and blocks of houses that spanned out around it before Lillian’s business closed for the day.

  As he walked along the streets of the town square, the buildings certainly were as he remembered, even though most of the businesses inside weren’t the same. Seeing that Venturo’s was still in operation was a pleasant surprise. It was in the same place it’d occupied years ago on the corner of Poplar Lane. While scanning its familiar—although updated—facade, he recalled a cherished memory that he and Lillian had enjoyed there so long ago, and his bright, blue eyes grew misty. Dang, she’d been so gorgeous.

  Many of the noble houses in the well-established neighborhoods within easy walking distance of the square hadn’t been altered much either. Well-manicured yards and tasteful revivals of the desirable properties hinted that the owners took pride in their possessions. As he strolled down the mature tree-lined streets, he noticed that most of the homes boasted fresh paint and other restorations, but none of the improvements belied the grand homes’ former glory. They still exuded grace, character and charm and he mentally gave an appreciative salute to the current owners.

  Meandering along the once familiar streets, he felt his feelings of being a young man in love bubble to the surface, inspiring his light mood and leading his mind to stray as he explored his surroundings.

  He’d always thought he’d come back here after the war and marry Lillian. He’d get a good job or maybe even start his own business as his dad had done. They’d work hard and eventually own one of these grande dames. Two or three children would complete their family. Then their children would grow up, get married, and bless them with beautiful grandbabies. All of it would happen in this three-by-three-mile space. He and Lillian would grow old together and be as happy as people could be.

  Funny how life has other ideas.

  As he walked on, he wondered if he would have been happy here. Would he have felt content, complete, satisfied? As it was, he’d lived out on the West Coast for most of his adult life, and it wasn’t until the tree baler accident that he’d even given a thought to living anywhere else. But it wasn’t until then that he’d even known that he’d lived in another time and place. So many memories locked away.

  For close to forty-four years, he and Jeanette had lived a good life, a happy life even. Then two things happened that changed their lives forever. First, Jeanette had started feeling run down and tired all the time. She developed a nasty cough and eventually lost her appetite. After several consultations and numerous tests, the doctors discovered the cancer that had been slowly eating away at her. Then only a year after they’d received that devastating news, while Jeanette was fighting for her life, Sam’s second head injury had happened and the memories he hadn’t even known were lost had been revived.

  But he’d loved Jeanette and their son Donald and knew that they returned his love, and when Jeanette had reminded him that she couldn’t bear any more children because of Donald’s difficult birth, he’d taken it hard since he didn’t have the memories of Donald’s birth or the first year of his life; therefore, Sam had felt somewhat cheated. But Donald had been an easy, loving child and they’d felt so fortunate to have him.

  Sam’s life had been full in other ways, too. His employees and patrons were loyal and he’d developed a mutual respect and even a friendship with many of them. He’d actually grown quite fond of their circle of friends and could even say that he trusted them. The numerous happy times they spent together were a testament of their fidelity. So, yeah, all in all, he’d say they’d been quite happy and comfortable.

  Although there’d always been a few things that had bothered him. From the day he woke up in the hospital until a few days before she passed from this earth, Sam had sensed a deeply buried sadness in Jeanette. Smiles never quite touched her stormy, gray-green eyes.

  At first, he thought it was because she’d almost lost him in the war. The thought of coming so close to losing a loved one would definitely warrant her tepid, cautious behavior. He recalled the first time they were intimate after his injury. She’d behaved fluttery and self-conscious. Barely looking at him, she’d timidly, but sweetly, received his desirous advances. Their love-making had been satisfactory, but not
passionate, and afterward, instead of luxuriating in the afterglow, she’d hurriedly left his side with the excuse that she had to check on Donald. Of course, it got better, but he’d always sensed that she never fully gave herself to him. He’d eventually accepted that it was just her way.

  Upon getting to know her better though, he realized it was more than that. It was always there. Whether she was with their group of friends or when she thought she was alone—and didn’t notice him watching her—it was there. An underlying sadness. A deep, personal sorrow. The look of wounded animal. Questioning her about it several times over the years, he’d see her lips would smile and she’d give him the same response, “I’m fine. Really. I’m happy.” But Sam knew something was wrong, just off somehow. Not only did her smile never reach her eyes, but he couldn’t remember one time that she’d ever just let loose and lost herself in laughter. It’d ultimately produced in him a protective sort of tenderness toward her.

  Then there was the pocket watch. Reaching into his pocket now, he felt for the watch he still carried. The one that had the puzzling inscription on the back. Before the second accident, he’d often take it out, run his fingers over the engraving and wonder who’d given it to him. He’d done this so many times that the letters were barely discernible now. Asking Jeanette about it once had been enough to let him know for sure that there was something mysterious about where it’d come from, and it was obvious she didn’t want to talk about it.

  Not long after they’d moved to the Christmas tree farm in northern California, he was sitting in the rocker on the front porch studying the cryptic message. Humming an upbeat tune, Jeanette began traipsing joyfully up the steps carrying a basket of vegetables she’d harvested from the garden, looking up and smiling sweetly at him. Smiling back, he held up the watch, dangling it by its chain and asked if she knew who it was from. Her eyes flicked over it, her steps slowed, then her body tensed. Looking away from him and the watch, she clutched her neck with her free hand and skittishly replied that she didn’t know. She only knew that it’d been in his pocket when their plane had been hit, and it was among his few personal items when they brought him to the hospital. Then she scrambled up the remaining steps and ducked quickly into the house. Again, he’d had the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling him. Not only that, whatever it was, he thought she didn’t want to tell him.

  Two other strange incidents had also occurred before they’d left Los Angeles and moved to northern California.

  On one occasion, he and Jeanette had run into Donald’s babysitter at the movie theater, and the other time they’d bumped into one of her colleagues in the grocery store. In both cases, Jeanette had stammered over his name when she introduced him as her husband. Then flustered and embarrassed, she’d giggled in a tinkly, brittle way and passed her blunder off as being tongue-tied. Playing along with her blunder, Sam would smile, put his arm around her and hug her to him.

  Both times, after the parties had departed, Sam had looked questioningly at her. She’d bitten her lip averting her eyes, then shaking her head, she’d smacked the side of it with her palm, and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I do that. I just get so flustered when I’m caught off guard. You know, like, I wasn’t expecting to run into someone I know.”

  She’d sounded sincere, but the churning sensation in the pit of his stomach left him feeling unsure about his own wife on those occasions. After all, it was he who’d had the head injury and the excuse to act peculiarly, not the other way around.

  Funny. He hadn’t thought about those strange episodes in years. Thinking back on them now, he realized so many things that seemed odd at the time suddenly made perfect sense.

  So here he was sitting on the edge of his bed in his rented room and it was nearly six o’clock. Earlier, as he’d been walking in the direction of Lillian’s bookstore, he’d suddenly felt sick to his stomach and slowed his pace. All that reminiscing had left him feeling anxious. His nerves had gotten the best of him, and he wondered if he should just plan to visit his grandson David at the university instead.

  During his walk he’d wavered only momentarily before making a decision and turning and scampering back toward the inn. That’s where he’d remained until there were only a few minutes for him to make it to the bookstore in time to approach Lillian today. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he thought he looked like a pitiful, scared, little schoolboy instead of a mature, sophisticated sixty-four-year-old man. That did it. Mustering all his resolve, he grabbed his scarf and jacket and dashed out of his rented room.

  Chapter 3

  Monday Evening

  Sadie Connelly opened her eyes, blinked lazily several times, then stared blankly at the Science and Nature section of the nearest bookshelf. Groaning inwardly, she realized that dusting the shelves yesterday had been all in vain. Coaxing her head off her arm flung across the book she’d been studying, she stiffly rose to a sitting position. Her fingers began to tingle. With her other arm, she numbly swiped at the drool on her chin and that which had pooled on the book she’d been laboring over before she’d fallen into a deep, troubled sleep. Blinking a few more times to clear the cobwebs from her head, she yawned and stretched languidly wondering how long she’d slept as she eased her sleep-heavy body off the stool. As if in answer, the six o’clock whistle began blaring, announcing that the business day in Harmony Glen was a wrap.

  It’d been a slow afternoon at the bookstore, but it was just as well. Barely managing to keep an eighty-nine percent average in Human Physiology II, she’d needed the precious moments to begin cramming for Friday’s midterm exam. If her advisor hadn’t strongly recommended that she take the class from Dr. Evans, she could easily be making an “A.” Everyone in the pre-pharmacy program knew that Dr. Michaels’ class was a breeze in comparison. Of course, she’d agreed with her advisor that the more comprehensive curriculum would work in her favor once she got into pharmacy school.

  Thinking about Dr. Evans galled her. She’d never met anyone who had such an off-putting disposition. Did the man ever smile? Words that came to mind were aloof, haughty, arrogant…gorgeous. Her furrowed brows melted into a dreamy smile as she pictured his soul-piercing gray-blue eyes fringed by thick, sooty lashes, his full, pouty lips perpetually surrounded by dark stubble, and those glorious raven waves of unruly, run-your-hand-through hair. Ugh. She scolded herself, That’s enough. Focus, Sadie. Never mind his seductive, smoldering looks. Remember, he’s the one making your life miserable.

  She recalled the three times already this semester she’d met with him only to leave his office more baffled than she’d been before their meetings. Somehow, he always skirted her questions, never quite answering them, all the while seeming anxious for her to leave, but at the same time unaffected by her presence. His haughtiness was so maddening she could just stomp her foot! Hmm…hottieness. Ugh! She’d scheduled one more meeting with him to pick his brain on Friday morning before the ten o’clock midterm. That was all that mattered—acing the test. “Pull yourself together, girl,” she admonished and rolled her eyes.

  Snapping back to reality, Sadie’s heart dropped when she thought about the consequences of not earning an “A” in his class. It would mean spending another semester taking cutting-edge courses to pad her GPA so she could even get a nod from one of the three pharmacy schools in the state.

  “Ah, well,” she encouraged herself, “I’ve got this whole week to prepare for the midterm. I’ll be ready.” She was determined not to walk away from their meeting until she felt satisfied with his answers to the list of questions she’d been composing. Even if she did have to tolerate his detached manner again, this test was just too important for her future.

  Gathering her study materials, she ambled down the center aisle of the cozy book store on her way to the stockroom in the back where she’d stashed her hat, scarf, coat and backpack. In the stockroom, she readied the coffee pot for the next morning’s brew, swished some dishwashing liquid around in the coffee cup she�
�d used, rinsed it and placed it on the drying rack.

  As she made her way to the front of the store, she straightened the magazines on the shelves and turned off the reading lamps that lit the spaces above the comfy chairs. After she glanced fondly around the cherished store to check that everything was in order, she exited through the front door of the stately, ancient brownstone that had sheltered the beloved bookstore for over twenty years.

  Tugging the heavy oak door to her, Sadie ran her hand affectionately over its welcoming turquoise painted finish then bent at the waist and secured the lock with the ornate brass skeleton key.

  Standing up and tucking a stubborn lock of auburn hair behind her ear, she sighed and thought, Oh, Lala, how I wish you were here. I could really use a dose of your optimism right now. Of course, she knew Lala’d say in her fiery way to “Suck it up, Buttercup!”

  That brought a smile to her lips, and feeling somewhat invigorated by the image of her beloved grandmother swirling in her head and the gulps of crisp October air she was greedily inhaling, her spirits lifted. With a renewed sense of determination, she dropped the key into the outer pocket of her bulging backpack, tugged on the zipper to close it and headed south on Chestnut Street.

  Strolling along, she fantasized about the energizing and delicious latte and the delectable pastry she was going to enjoy at her aunt’s café, Comfort & Joy, before she had to get back to studying.

  Comfort & Joy. Her family was just so darn artsy and creative. Coming up with names like La-La Land, a place to get lost in a book; Comfort & Joy, a place to enjoy delightful coffees and luscious pastries and gourmet sandwiches; Holly’s Hock, Aunt Holly’s pawn shop/antique store; and Keep on Trucking, Dad’s cross-country freight company. Ugh, then there was her, the analytical, scientific, boring pre-pharmacy student.

  “Man, this must be Feel Sorry for Sadie Day. Okay, that’s enough. No more pity party for you,” she chastised herself again.