Prom Night in Purgatory (Purgatory #2)(17)

Maggie stiffened and raised her chin slightly, a look Johnny was quickly coming to recognize as her battle stance. “You told me that, too. You also told me you’d read almost everything in the school library. You said it was better than boredom.”

He didn’t respond to that, and Maggie turned, pacing away from him for a moment.

“Have we ever danced?”

She spun around and looked at him, her mouth agape. “Why? Did you remember something?”

“Have we ever danced?” he shot back, repeating the question.

“Yes,” Maggie breathed. “We’ve danced. I love to dance. You said you used to watch me. Then one night you actually danced with me. You’re a good dancer. Do you remember that?”

He turned away and braced his hands on the hood of the Camry. “I had a dream where I was dancing with you….but it wasn’t the way you describe. In the dream it was still 1958. Everything in the dream was true to life – except you. But it hasn’t faded like dreams do. It feels like a memory. But how could that be? Unless you were around in 1958?” He looked at her and raised one eyebrow in question.

She shook her head. “No.” Only in her dreams.

“Yeah. I didn’t think so.” He leaned under the hood and began to scope out the inner workings of the Camry. Maggie watched him for a minute. Maybe, like her, he had heard all he could for the moment.

“I brought something for you,” she offered after several minutes.

He didn’t respond but kept tinkering with this and that.

“It’s a scrapbook from the years you were gone. It belonged to Roger Carlton. He could never come to grips with your disappearance; he was a little obsessed with it.”

“How did you get your hands on it?”

“We found it a while back. He’s been dead over a year now. He was married to my aunt....Irene Honeycutt. I think you knew her.”

“Irene Honeycutt is your aunt?” His voice was incredulous, and he stood up so fast he banged his head on the Camry’s raised hood.

Deja vu slammed into Maggie. They had had this conversation once before, only that time it had involved Irene’s car. The words were almost exact, including Maggie’s next response.

“My great aunt. Her sister was my grandmother.”

“Your great aunt…” Johnny repeated slowly. Maggie remembered how he had tweaked her braid the last time. She guessed that part of the conversation would not repeat itself.

Johnny slowly straightened and walked back to where Maggie held the big book out in front of her. He took it from her gingerly and began to flip through the pages slowly, one by one. He sank into the chair Maggie had vacated, so Maggie rummaged around until she found a bucket she could sit on and pulled it close to him, watching him as he read, following along as he turned the pages of the worn scrapbook.

He stared at the headings and the pictures, shaking his head in disbelief. His breath came faster and faster, and Maggie feared he would hurl the book across the garage. She reached to take it from him when suddenly he flipped to the back where the pictures were inserted in neat little rows.

“Where did he get these?” He traced the picture of himself standing with his mother and Billy at graduation. “I haven’t even seen some of these.”

“He had police reports and all kinds of stuff. Irene hadn’t ever seen the book. We’re not sure where he got them.”

“Look at that….that’s me and Peggy at the Prom.” His voice trailed off as he stared at the picture. “There’s another one – you can see Carter there in the background. He sure had a thing for Peggy. I think that’s your aunt right there.” He pointed at a photo, and Maggie leaned toward him to look. Sure enough, the photographer had captured a group of young people in sports coats, bow ties, and ball gowns sitting around an oval table with a seashell centerpiece. Irene was smiling brightly into the camera; Roger had his arm slung possessively around her shoulders.

“Huh…” Maggie frowned. “She told me her dress was red. I could have sworn she said red. This photo may be black and white, but that dress definitely isn’t red.”

Johnny jerked the book from her hands and stared down at the photo. His eyes widened perceptibly as he drank in the details of the picture of the smiling teens. He sat frozen for several heartbeats and then slammed the book closed and tossed it rudely at Maggie. Jumping up from the chair, he paced back and forth between the two cars with their mawing hoods, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was a bundle of nervous energy, and everything she said just seemed to make him angry.

“Johnny?” Maggie asked softly. He didn’t respond. After a moment she resumed talking. “I don’t know what to do or say. You saved Shad’s life…Gus told you about that, didn’t he?” Johnny jerked his head in affirmation. “And you saved my life. Something happened that night; somehow you escaped Purgatory. I can’t explain it, but….” Maggie took a deep breath and plunged on. He deserved to know how she felt. “I think you made a choice. You chose life and all the ugly hard things that go with it, even though Heaven would have been easier.”

Johnny had stopped pacing and was facing her, his feet spread, his hands clenching the greasy rag like it was a lifeline. Maggie looked down at her own hands so she wouldn’t have to watch him watching her. She didn’t see him cross toward her, but suddenly he was there, in front of her. He tossed the rag to the floor and reached for her, gripping her by the shoulders and pulling her to her feet. Johnny’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, and for a moment Maggie thought he would break down. His hands were big, and it hurt where his fingers dug into her flesh. He was almost panting as he spat out his next words.