Prom Night in Purgatory (Purgatory #2)(10)
“Hi,” she said sweetly and smiled again. She looked at the dance floor and back at him. “Are you going to ask me to dance?”
Johnny held out his hand, and she walked forward and slid hers into it. Her hand was smooth and small, and he had the inexplicable urge to grip it tightly so she couldn’t slip away. He led her to the dance floor just as the music kicked up into a rollicking swing. Damn. He wanted to pull her close, not swing her around. He turned to ask her if she wanted to wait this one out. One look at her, and he knew what her response would be. She was practically vibrating with the music, her eyes sparkling, waiting for him to engage. He hoped she could dance.
Without a word, Johnny took her little purse and shoved it into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket. She couldn’t dance with that thing in her hand. She didn’t protest but gave him both of her hands and lifted her eyes to his. And they began to move. Oh yeah, she could dance. It was like she knew what he was going to do next, like she understood his timing and had danced with him before. He spun her around, pulling her in and out, and watched her in amazement as she matched him step for high-paced step. The kids around them started to take notice, and the space around them widened, clearing their way for more ambitious steps. Her long hair streamed around her, and her skirts flew around her slim legs as her feet dared him to keep up. He tossed her up, and her legs snaked from side to side and up into a hand stand and quickly down before her skirts revealed more than she would have liked. There was a gasp and a smattering of applause, and Johnny swung her around his hips like a hula hoop. She laughed out loud and whirled back into his arms like it was where she belonged. The music ended with a crash of cymbals, and their audience whooped and hollered. Johnny thought he heard Carter and Jimbo taking credit for some of his moves. He laughed and looped his arms around his partner’s waist, pulling her into him. The music cooperated, and the Bell Tones began a slow doo-wop as Bobby crooned his affection into the microphone. She raised her eyes to his, and his breath hitched once more. Her eyes were so blue and welcoming, and he desperately wanted to kiss her. Man, he was known to move fast, but not this fast! He had met her only minutes before, and here he was, wanting to kiss her in the middle of a crowded dance floor. Her lips were parted in a smile, and her slim arms were embracing him in a dance that felt suddenly too intimate and yet not nearly intimate enough. She raised her chin the slightest degree, and his eyes dropped to her mouth. She breathed his name. “Johnny.”
His eyes closed as he felt her whisper cross his lips.
“Johnny….”
And then she was gone. His arms still held the memory of her form. His face was flushed from the exertions of their dancing. He could still hear the song they had moved to echoing in his head. His eyes snapped open, and he shot up in his bed, only to cry out as the pain in his chest and right shoulder awoke right along with him.
“Johnny?” It wasn’t her voice anymore. He wondered at what point it had changed. The woman who professed to be his sister stood at the side of his bed.
“Your heart monitor started beeping like you were in cardiac arrest. I’m sorry I woke you…It just scared me. You must have been having quite the nightmare.”
Johnny almost laughed at the sheer irony of her words. The nightmare existed only when he opened his eyes. He refrained from commenting though. It would only sound like a complaint, and he knew she was only trying to help him. She had barely left his side, and for all the confusion and anger he kept hurling her way, she never lost her temper with him or addressed him in frustration. He had done what she had told him, only because he didn’t know what else to do. He claimed he had no memory of who he was, and she had done all the rest, running interference with his doctors and making sure he was taken care of.
She looked like his mother. She wasn’t glamorous or beautiful, but the resemblance was still there. She looked like Billy, too. Her hair was dark like his had been, and she had the same cowlick in front. This made it easier to accept that she was family...and harder to accept that they were gone. Johnny slid back down to a prone position and stared at the ceiling. The late afternoon sun peeked beneath the blinds at his windows, reminding him that he slept constantly. They said it was a normal part of the healing process, it must be working, because he was healing fast. He couldn’t care less about that. He just welcomed the escape sleep provided from the despair that was every waking moment. He slid his eyelids closed, willing himself to return to the dream.
It had been a dream, after all. He recognized the mystery girl now that he was awake. It was her, the girl who had sobbed her heart out at his bedside the day before. The girl he hadn’t been able to remember. Margaret. Maggie. In the dream she hadn’t worn glasses, but it was her. The prom had been real though -- down to the smallest detail. He remembered it all clearly. After all, it had only been a few months ago. He stopped himself then. According to him, that is. It wasn’t 1958 anymore. Jillian Bailey said it was now March 5, 2011. That would make Prom 1958 an event that had happened almost fifty three years ago.
He had taken Peggy Wilkey. She’d worn a pink strapless gown that displayed her generous cleavage to perfection. Carter had just about died when he had seen her, and he had spent the whole night trying to woo her, despite the fact that he was supposed to be showing his frumpy cousin a good time. It was all the same as in the dream: the people, the fishing nets and glittering starfish, the discomfort of his tie and his wish to be free of it. All of it the same….except for the girl, except for Maggie. Funny, in his dream she had been wearing the dress Irene Honeycutt had worn. He remembered that dress. Nobody else had worn red. Pastels were the flavor of the occasion, and Irene had shown up in that little number and tongues had wagged and wagged. Irene had wilted under the scrutiny. He had thought she looked wonderful, but apparently she wished she had chosen differently.