Fated Memories (3 page)

CHAPTER 3

W
ith Mondays being the busiest days at the diner, Maggie had been run ragged. Just after the noon rush, she noticed doofus guy come in and ask to be seated in her section again.
Dumb or not, he’s really hot
. She was flattered and more than a little excited that he came back and asked for her section. Though still flushed and hesitant, at least this time he made an attempt at conversation.

“Hello again.” Maggie’s heart pounded in her ears and she prayed he couldn’t hear it. “Are you back for more of our world famous cuisine? Should I start you off with an Arnold Palmer while you decide what to order?”

“You remembered. I’m impressed. Yes, I’d like that. By the way, my name is Simon.” He extended his hand and Maggie shook it, surprised by its warmth.

“Maggie McGrail. Nice to meet you. I’ll get your drink while you read over the menu.” The heat surged up from her feet and her hands were shaking.
What, am I fifteen again? I hope he didn’t notice
!

“Ooh, look at you blushing like a school girl.” Nothing gets past Sylvie. “Don’t tell me you’re taking a shine to the doofus garbage man.”

That made Maggie’s face even redder and now she had to stop and breathe for a moment before thinking of a smart-ass reply, let alone returning to the table with the drink.

“Right, because my life doesn’t stink enough I need a garbage man in it. Get serious.” Although that shut Sylvie up, the knowing smile stayed on her face as she watched Maggie stumble back to the table.

Simon saw she was unsteady and tried to take the drink from her hand, but it wound up spilling all over the table and his lap anyway.
How mortifying. I never spill things on customers. Who’s the doofus now?!
Apologizing profusely, she grabbed a fistful of napkins and started wiping up the table, but only succeeded in pushing still more ice cubes onto his already sopping pants.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, really.” He tried to make light of the awkward situation as he attacked his pants with the whole dispenser full of napkins, his face flushing redder. “We’re having a heat wave right now so this’ll cool me off.”

Sylvie rushed over with more absorbent paper towels from the back and, turning aside, said under her breath, “Damn girl, ease up, will you! You’re gonna scare this one away before he even gets started.”

Maggie plopped into the booth across from Simon and pressed a damp towel to her own head to calm herself. If he heard what Sylvie said, she’d just claim insanity and go home. Luckily, he either didn’t hear it or ignored it. Instead he led her by the hand to an adjacent dry booth and sat across from her dismissing the manager’s apologetic attentions.

“Are you okay?” His warm, genuine smile put her more at ease.

“Yes, I’m so sorry. I guess I’m just a little off my game today. I’m really not this clumsy. Not ever.”

“How about I let you make it up to me? I’m in town for the Gettysburg re-enactment and I have tickets to the museum artifact display for tomorrow afternoon. If you go with me I’ll forget all this happened. What do you say?”

“Oh, well, I…”

Simon untucked his shirt, but it did little to cover the dark stain. “Maggie, I’m gonna be leaving here looking as if I just wet myself so I think you owe me this. Come on, it’ll be fun. And I’m a real Civil War buff so I can bend your ear, I mean explain, everything on display.” He reached for her hand again, peering into her eyes. “Look, I know I acted like a dork last week, but I promise you, I’m one of the good guys. Will you meet me there? Two o’clock? I promise not to spill anything on you in retaliation.”

His good-natured manner settled her and she couldn’t, or rather didn’t want to, refute his logic. At least Maggie’s past American history classes made her confident she could speak intelligently on the subject as long as she remained calm and avoided liquids. “Okay, yes, I’ll be there.”

Artie, the manager, returned offering him a free meal, but Simon opted for a rain check, saying he’d be back another day with drier pants. Maggie slunk lower in the booth as Artie glared at her.

Simon winked, “See you tomorrow,” and left holding a towel over the front of his pants. 

Maggie cornered Sylvie in the supply closet. “Sylvie, remember when you said you ‘owed me one’? Well, I have a date tomorrow; at least I think it’s a date. Will you cover for me?”

Sylvie continued to refill the napkin dispenser and restock the paper towels while Maggie followed her around like a cocker spaniel waiting for a treat. “You mean the guy you almost drowned asked you out?”

“Please? I’ll work a shift for you another day if you want.”

“That’s okay.” Sylvie stopped moving and gave Maggie a motherly hug. “I could use a few extra bucks. You go have fun.”

***

Maggie contemplated the situation. She hadn’t been on a date in months, many months, and she need time to prepare herself—physically and mentally. Did this even classify as a date? It was a museum exhibit in the middle of the afternoon, not dinner or a movie, and he’d asked her to go as payback for ruining his lunch. Maybe if she didn’t think of it as a date she’d be less nervous.
Why am I nervous anyway? Good God, McGrail, you’re losing it!

Maggie came back from her morning run dripping with sweat, but invigorated and ready to face the day. After changing clothes three or four times, she chose a simple, cute, flowered sundress that flattered her figure without being too revealing and low-heeled sandals that were fashionable, but comfortable enough to walk around in for a few hours. She swept her hair up in a casual ponytail and used only a light brush of mascara to it keep it from dripping down in the heat and leaving black smudges on her face. Ready and out the door just after one p.m., she had plenty of time to find a place to park.

A whole five minutes early, she climbed the stairs to the museum and saw Simon at the entrance smiling and waving. He smoothed back his hair and Maggie realized he’d just gotten it cut and styled. Yesterday’s stubble had disappeared, and the aftershave or cologne he’d used smelled like expensive leather. The light-blue shirt he wore with his khaki jeans even matched the flowers on her dress. Simon had gone out of his way to look his best today and she flattered herself that he’d done it for her benefit. Maggie let him link her hand through his arm as he ushered her inside and out of the heat.

Only a small museum, most people perused the exhibits and video presentations at the Gettysburg in a couple of hours. Simon excitedly examined each display of weapons, ammunition, uniforms and diaries. He recognized and expounded on everything with amusing enthusiasm, and Maggie countered with the tidbits she’d learned at the college. Even other patrons stopped and listened to their conversations at a few of the exhibit stations.

As they neared the exit of the museum, Maggie’s stomach betrayed her with a loud rolling growl that echoed through the hall. “Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Well, I’m hungry too. I, um, passed a decent-looking restaurant not far from here; it may not be the caliber of Sammy’s, but the crowd inside appeared to be enjoying their lunch. Will you join me for a bite if I promise not to bore you any more with my Civil War obsession?”

“I’d love to. And I’ll try not to spill anything on you.”

***

The tiny Italian restaurant had only one window in the front, but the delicious spaghetti Bolognese made up for the cramped quarters. At this time of day, the sun favored the other side of the street, leaving the restaurant candlelight-dim and cozily intimate; a perfect place for two people to get acquainted over wine and mountains of spaghetti.

“My life story is pretty mundane,” Maggie said as she buttered a piece of bread. “I’ve lived in Harrisburg forever. I was a late-life baby. My parents thought they couldn’t have children, so they were shocked when Mom became pregnant at fifty. But then they died soon after I graduated high school, within a year of each other. Mom from cancer and Dad, I think, from a broken heart.”

“Wow that must’ve been difficult for you.”

“Yeah, it sucked, but at least I had my grandma for support. I’ve worked at a few odd jobs here and there, got my degree in economics from Penn State then took a few classes and seminars at the local Junior College in American History. You recall my brilliant display of knowledge at the museum.” Maggie rolled her eyes and smirked.

Simon cleaned a smudge off his knife before digging into the bread. “With so much education, why are you working as a waitress?”

“Well, Sammy’s gives me enough to get by on, so I can spend more time at the library and on the internet following my current passion, genealogy research. Oh, and I’m a nut about fitness and nutrition. Spaghetti and wine notwithstanding.”

“Huh, the family I come from is larger than most, I guess,” Simon remembered. “Even so, I’ve always felt like an outsider, as if I didn’t belong. So I can relate to anyone who’s grown up as an only child.”

“Why would you feel like an outsider in your own family? I always envied kids with sisters and brothers.”

Simon squirmed in his chair as if all of a sudden his clothes had grown too tight. His reaction disturbed her, and she thought he sensed her unease. “I had hoped we’d get to know each other better, so you can see I’m not crazy or a weirdo, before I tell you my story. But I guess it’s better to be upfront after all, because the story also involves you.”

Now she was really worried.
A crazy weirdo? And it involves me?
The scary news stories that flashed through her head must have shown on her face.

“Maggie,” he said, startled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Please, let me begin again. Maybe I started off wrong. Please?”

She cautiously agreed, and he began. “I was only five years old when my three older brothers and I each got these plastic toy guns from Santa. You know, or maybe you don’t, but in a large family everyone has to get the same gifts so there’s no jealousy or fighting.” Simon put his fork down and sat up straight in his chair. “Anyway, while my brothers ran off to the backyard to play war, I stayed inside, confused. I mean, any toy from Santa is great, right? But something about it seemed wrong. As I held it, I remember getting these images in my head of a soldier going into battle with a long rifle and, somehow, I was sure that soldier was me.” Simon stopped talking to sip his wine. “Of course my dad nearly fell over when I told him and, after Christmas, he took me to the library and we looked at hundreds of pictures of guns until I found the one from my vision. Turns out it was the Sharps breach loader used by Union soldiers during the American Civil War.”

Maggie held her own wineglass inches from her lips. “You were only five when that happened? That would’ve scared the crap out of me. How did you handle that?”

“Well it was too real to me to be scared.” Simon shrugged, tilting his head. “I know it sounds insane, but it’s stayed with me over the years and I’m sure it was—is—a past life memory.” His voice became low and husky as he leaned closer. “I can still see it so clearly. I can see the camp, my fellow soldiers, hear the deafening noise of the artillery. My leg even hurts when it rains because that’s where I got shot. I can remember my battalion walking shoulder-to-shoulder towards the battle line, rifles and bayonets pointed forward with conviction in my heart and sickness in my stomach. I was there, I know it.” Simon finished the wine in his glass with one gulp and signaled the waiter for more.

Maggie’s hand shook, forcing her to lower her glass. “So you said this involves me, how do I figure into this?” She almost didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Remember when I called you Lucy at the diner? Well, I remember being married to a woman called Lucy when I fought in the war.” His head tilted with the slight, embarrassed shrug. “Your face felt… familiar.”

“Hmm, interesting. So your obsession with Civil War history and the Gettysburg re-enactment stem from this… this past life memory?”

“Yes.” His eyes pleaded for acceptance. “People who study these things say it’s children who are most likely to have past life memories because their new life has only just begun. There’ve been thousands of documented cases of kids claiming to have been someone else and being confused by their new surroundings. Most times the memories fade in a few years but, for me, the memories have never faded and I’ve always felt as if I’ve been walking with one foot in each world. That’s why, for the past few years, I’ve come here every July for the Gettysburg re-enactment. For that brief moment in time, I’m home.”

Maggie sighed with relief and twirled a glob of spaghetti onto her fork. “Well that’s not so bad. When you confessed to being a crazy weirdo you made me worry.”

The tension in her body subsided, and she smiled again. “I’ve heard of this past life memory thing before and I’ve always been fascinated by it. It’s kind of cool to meet someone who’s experienced it and I see now why you’re such an expert on that era. Uh, you don’t physically fade in and out do you?”

“No.” Simon laughed out loud. “It really is all in my head.”

“Good to know. So tell me more about your family. You said you had brothers. Any sisters? What were you like as a kid?”

Simon swallowed the forkful of spaghetti he’d been chewing and leaned back in his seat, dabbing at his mouth with the napkin. “No sisters, just me and my brothers which suited my dad just fine. He owned a machine shop in Wellsboro and spent all week indoors, so when the weekends came he scooped us up and headed for the hills. Literally.” Simon’s whole face lit up and his eyes had a far- away look as he recalled his pleasant childhood. “We’d head for the most remote places possible, pitched our tents or sometimes just built shelters from loose branches and leaves and did a lot of hunting and fishing. Mom cooked up whatever we caught, and we’d sit around the campfire eating s’mores and singing songs. I remember it being a wonderful time. For my twelfth birthday, my dad bought me an antique Civil War musket rifle and together we researched how to use it. It didn’t have the power or range of the contemporary ones my brothers had, but I got pretty good with it.”