Mind of Her Own (10 page)

“I want it first!” Tim shouted

“I’m the oldest; I get it first!” Joey scrambled over the table and grabbed it from Tim.

Shocked, Collin ended his phone call with a promise to call back later. “What is wrong with the two of you?” He strode toward the table, intent on seizing the ketchup bottle.

“It’s mine,” Tim yelled.

Joey knocked Tim’s hand to the table and planted a knee on the bottle to claim victory. Tim jerked his hand away, and Joey put enough pressure on the bottle to send a blood-red ooze shooting through the air and landing on Collin’s shirt.

The boys dropped to their seats, eyes wide and open-mouthed as Collin inspected the damage to his favorite shirt. His first impulse was to yell. Two weeks ago he would have, and he would have sentenced them to their rooms for such behavior. No, that wasn’t true. Two weeks ago he wouldn’t even have been spending time with the boys on a Saturday.

“Dad?” Tim’s voice quivered. “Are we in big trouble?”

He didn’t like the looks on his sons’ faces; they knew he wasn’t the fun parent. He was the parent who was all work and no play. But Jazz had shown him how to have fun again. “No, you aren’t in trouble, Tim, but Joey,” he said with a grin, “you are, and I’m going to get you!” His laughter was low and evil. “You have five seconds to get away.”

Before he made it to two, Joey was off the table and at a run. Tim followed. Both boys were laughing as they hit the stairs.

“You can’t catch us, Dad. You’re too old!” Joey called from midway up the stairs.

“Old! I’m not old! You’d better run faster because I’m right behind you!” Collin double-timed it up the steps. The boys made it to Joey’s room. They slammed the door behind them, and Collin heard their small bodies rasping against the door as they held it shut. He jiggled the handle. “Foiled by two small boys. Come out, little boys, come out and play.”

“No!” they yelled in unison.

“We’re never coming out,” Tim said with a giggle.

One more jiggle of the handle and Collin grinned. “I’ve been beat by two boys who must have secret powers to defeat someone as strong as me. I give up.” He waited.

“We aren’t falling for that, Dad,” Joey said. “We aren’t going to open the door until you go away.”

“I’m leaving right now.” He stepped away from the door. “It’s been a treat, but I have to change shirts.” He couldn’t stop the grin on his face until he entered his closet. The smell reminded him of his college dorm room. A mountain of dirty clothes littered the floor. It looked as if laundry hadn’t been done since Jazz had arrived.

Collin stooped over to look for his second-favorite weekend shirt. He lifted a few of the shirts from the pile until he saw the faded image of a brown tail. He retrieved his Scooby-Doo T-shirt and sniffed under the arms.
Not too bad.
Still wearable.

He heard laughter and started to rise when he was bowled over by two tiny warriors. He wrestled with his sons on the floor until he had them pinned. “You came into the dragon’s lair, you wicked urchins. Now you will pay!” He brought his hand above them and formed a claw. “Tickle Monster will now perform a symphony on two male bellies.” He dropped his hand to Tim’s stomach, walked the fingers to the side, and began to tickle him. Tim shrieked with laughter. Joey tried to roll over and make a getaway, but Collin stopped him with his other hand. He curled the boy to his side and began tickling him, too.

“Stop, Daddy, stop!” Tim had tears coming from his eyes from laughing so hard.

Collin relented and let them both go. “The dragon is tired. I want a solemn promise to be peaceable at the kitchen table from now on. Do I have your word, small boys? Or do I need to go in for another attack?” He raised his hand.

“I promise!” Joey shouted.

“Me too!” Tim scampered far from his dad.

“Good, you may go, then.” He could see the ketchup from his shirt had made an impression on theirs as well. “Change your shirts before you go back downstairs.”

He pulled his own dirty shirt over his head. He glanced at the red spot smeared like a chest wound on the front. He knew he should do something so it wouldn’t stain, but he wasn’t sure what, so he tossed it on the pile of clothes at his feet.

His connection with his boys may have improved, but everything else seemed to be falling apart since Jazz arrived. He missed Louisa. He hadn’t realized how well she had kept the house running. If only there was a way to get her back, return their life to the way it was. He craved his old routine.

“Dad, I can’t find any socks,” Joey said, decked out in his favorite soccer shirt. He stood in the doorway, shadowed by his brother. “And Tim doesn’t have any clean shirts.”

“Didn’t your mother do any laundry this week?” Collin grumbled.

“Nope. We didn’t have laundry day.” Tim’s eyes were barely visible under the visor of his prized Rams hat. “Jazz wrote me a story instead.”

Great, even Tim referred to Louisa as Jazz. He had to find a way to bring her back. The kids needed her. He needed her.

“Gather your dirty clothes, boys. Take them downstairs to the laundry room, and we’ll do them. I think I still know how to turn on the washing machine.”

Collin watched the boys back out of the room with wonder on their faces. Heaven knew what they were thinking. “Probably that you’ve lost your mind,” Collin mumbled to himself as he turned back to the pile. He bent down and began to gather the stack when he noticed the closet wall seemed to have a hole in it. He bent down for another look. It wasn’t a hole but rather a hidden cubby. The hem of a shirt was caught on the corner of the door. That would explain why it didn’t shut. His wrestling with the boys must have pulled it the rest of the way open.

Why didn’t he know about this? Did Louisa have this installed or did it come with the house? Maybe she didn’t know it was there either. What was on the other side of this wall? He thought about it and remembered the shallow linen closet. That meant this hidey hole had to be a pretty good size. Good for hiding Christmas presents or valuables. That made sense; it probably came with the house. He stuck his hand inside and felt the side of a box. He slid it out onto the closet floor.

It was labeled
Private Journals
. He started to open it, then hesitated. No, he wouldn’t read them. She would be angry if he did. He shoved the box back where he found it. She must have put them there to keep them out of Madison’s hands.
Or mine,
he thought.

He’d leave them there. Collin had always respected Louisa’s privacy. He fingered the edge of the lid and couldn’t help but wonder—what had she written? How many journals could that box hold? His fingers started to lift the lid, but he pulled them back. No, he shouldn’t. It wasn’t like Louisa had died, after all. She was just mentally missing, and he didn’t have the right to read these without her permission. He gathered the clothes and gave the box one more thoughtful look, then slid it back into the cubbyhole and closed the door.

* * *

That afternoon Jazz stood in front of the mirror over her dresser. She slid her fingers over the streaks of dark blonde and red. Now that she’d added color she liked it, or most of it—she’d kept the style since she didn’t want to make it any shorter—but the glasses she hated.

Madison came into her room to model her new clothes. Getting into the spirit, Jazz put on her new shirt and pants as well. When she twirled in front of the mirror, her glasses slid down her nose. Jazz pushed the black frames back in place. “I hate these things! Glasses are such a pain. They won’t stay where I need them. And I used to think they were a great fashion accessory.”

“You could put in contacts.” Madison primped in the bedroom mirror. “You have them in the bathroom.”

“I wouldn’t know how to put them in. I can’t imagine sticking my finger in my eye.” Jazz pulled one of Madison’s new earrings away from its plastic holder. “These are really cute. They’ll look great with that shirt.” Her eyes met Madison’s in the mirror.

“Do you think so?”

“Sure, and drop earrings are the thing now.”

“I know.” Madison moved her fingers back and forth against a brush on the dresser. “I guess I have to tell you, or Dad will be mad.”

“What?”

“Mom won’t allow me to wear anything but studs until I’m sixteen.”

“Seriously?”

“Are you going to make me take them back?”

Jazz held the dangling dolphin up to the light to inspect for something that would declare the wearer without virtue. The light caught the tiny blue glass eye, and it seemed like the dolphin winked at her. “I don’t see anything inherently bad about these. They don’t dangle like chandelier earrings, so you shouldn’t get them caught on a comb or your finger. A dolphin is a friendly critter. I mean, it’s not like you chose a pair with skull and crossbones. So the message you would be sending by wearing these could be nothing more than that you like intelligent sea creatures.”

Madison chewed her lip. “Dolphins are my favorite. I just have to have them. They remind me of the ones we saw last summer in the Oceanarium at the Shedd Aquarium.”

Jazz noticed how Madison’s eyes sparkled when she talked about dolphins. “What makes them so special?”

“Did you know that every dolphin makes unique sounds like we do?” Madison warmed to her subject. “And they don’t have vocal cords. They help people in the ocean sometimes too. So can I have them?”

“I proclaim this particular pair worthy of Madison Copeland’s ears.” Jazz handed them to her. “Wear them and enjoy them.”

“But what if you remember being Mom and you don’t remember you told me I could wear these? You might ground me.”

“I hadn’t thought about that. What do you think we should do, just in case?”

“Maybe you could write me a permission slip.”

“Excellent idea.” Jazz grabbed her notebook from the nightstand and began to write.
Madison Copeland has my permission to wear her dolphin earrings whenever she desires.
With a flourish she signed her name,
Jazz Sweet, aka Louisa Copeland
. She capped her pen and tore the sheet from the spiral spine. “Here you go. Put it somewhere safe.”

Madison read the note to herself. She gave Jazz a huge grin. “I’ll be right back. I’m putting this in my jewelry box.”

Soft light bathed Jazz’s eyelids. She was so comfortable, and the bed seemed too warm and cozy to think about leaving it. Collin had pressed his back against hers, and . . .
Collin?
Jazz flung back the covers and bolted from the bed. “What . . . ?” She burst into giggles.

Cleo raised her head off the bed, and her tail thumped as if to say,
“It’s just me.”

Jazz sank back onto the bed, then remembered it was Sunday. They hadn’t gone to church since she’d been hurt, but she was pretty sure that was because life had been on the edge of insanity. She glanced at the clock and realized she’d almost overslept. Why was the house so quiet? Shouldn’t everyone else be up and getting ready by now? They did usually go to church, didn’t they?

Downstairs she found Collin still asleep on the couch. He slept on his side with his hand curled under his face. She longed to wake him with a kiss. Instead she bent down and gently pushed his shoulder. “Wake up. We’ll be late.”

Collin peeked at her through dark lashes. “What? Late for what?”

“Church. Come on, Collin, we have to get the kids ready. They’re still sleeping.”

Collin rose on one arm and then collapsed back on the sofa. “Jazz, we don’t go to church unless it’s Christmas or Easter, and it’s neither one today. Go back to bed.”

Not go to church?
She glanced at the clock on the mantel. There was still time to get everyone ready. She shook Collin. “We’re going to church as a family, so get up.”

He smelled wonderful, like comfort, and she wondered what it was like to be surrounded with his arms.
He’s not yours,
she reminded herself. She averted her eyes from the sight of his bare, masculine chest rising in front of her as he struggled to sit up on the couch.

She straightened and ran upstairs. “Time to get up,” she yelled into each room. From the closet she grabbed a navy knit dress from Louisa’s selection of clothes, but added a bright-red leather belt from her shopping trip.

Joey ambled into her room, sleepy-eyed. His pillow hair was flattened to the side of his head. “Why do we have to get up?”

“We’re going to church.” She yanked on the belt and slid it through the buckle.

“Is it Christmas?” He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“No, it’s not. But the church is open every Sunday, and we’re going.” How could Louisa be a good mother if she didn’t take her kids to church? And Collin—he should be in charge, not her.
It’s his job to get his family to church
, she fumed. She noticed Joey’s expression and felt immediate guilt at the harshness of her voice. He wasn’t responsible, and she shouldn’t take her frustration out on him. “I’m sorry, Joey. I’m a little tired this morning. Go get dressed in something nice, okay?”

After what seemed to be a lot of arguing, Jazz assembled everyone into the minivan.

Before the garage door hit the pavement, Tim began complaining. “When do we get to eat? I’m hungry.”

“After the service we will go out for breakfast,” Jazz promised. “Next week we’ll have to get up earlier.”

“Are we going to do this
every
Sunday?” Madison moaned.

“As long as I’m here,” Jazz said.
And maybe after I’m gone, if Collin understands how important this is.
That would be her prayer. It was the least she could do while taking care of Louisa’s family.

* * *

All around them, other diners dressed in their Sunday best chattered over plates piled high with pancakes. Silverware clanked against china.
The church crowd,
Collin thought. He leaned back in his chair as the waitress brought a tray of plates to their table.

“Who gets the blueberry whipped cream Belgian waffle?”

“That’s mine.” Jazz reached for the plate. “Thank you.”

The waitress handed Collin his pancake platter. “The rest are all kids’ meals, so that’s an easy one.” She placed identical plates in front of the others at the table. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you all.”

Collin scooted his chair closer to the table after the waitress left. His kids looked happy, even content, as they poured the tiny pitchers of maple syrup over their pancakes. The orange slice used for a garnish caught his attention.

He reached over and grazed the top of Jazz’s hand with a gentle touch to get her attention. He put the orange slice under her nose. “Smell this.”

She pushed his hand away. “No thanks, I have my own.”

“I didn’t say eat it; I said smell it.”

She gave him a strange look and took a whiff. “I hope that made you happy.”

“Did you really smell it? It smells like . . . ?” He waited for her to fill in the blank.

“Christmas?”

“Yes!” he almost shouted. “You associate oranges with Christmas.” His excitement seemed to puzzle her even more.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

His shoulders sank. “So no onslaught of happy memories?”

“No, sorry, Collin. It just smells like an orange with maple syrup on it.”

He put the slice back on his plate and took a bite of his pancake. “This was a good idea, Jazz.”

She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Breakfast or church?”

“Church. It wasn’t what I expected. It seemed more relaxed than the other times I’ve been there. People were friendlier, too.”

“Holidays are always different at church.” Jazz took a sip of orange juice. “It’s easier to spot the new people on a regular Sunday.”

“That doesn’t mean people shouldn’t be friendly on Easter.” Collin stabbed his fork into his pancakes.

“How do you know the person sitting next to you on Easter isn’t a visitor too?” Jazz asked. She leaned in closer to him and lowered her voice. “Collin, the kids are listening to you. Learning about God is important, and they didn’t mind going this morning.”

He looked up to see Madison leaning in with her
Don’t notice me; I’m just eavesdropping
stare. He didn’t know why he wanted to argue with Jazz this morning. He had enjoyed going to the service. The youth band had surprised him with their exuberance and musical talent. Tim had joined in clapping with the congregation, and Madison had discovered two friends from school. The sermon had even spoken to his heart. Everything about it felt right. Correction: almost everything. The twenty-minute report about the church garage sale and how well the penny room did almost drove him out of the pew and sent him running for the exit.

But it wasn’t just attending church that had him bothered. He could go to church every Sunday with his kids. He enjoyed eating breakfast with them at the Palace of Pancakes. What bothered him was the effect Jazz was having on him.

At first she had looked like Louisa, and it hadn’t been hard to imagine she was the same person. He could even ignore the way she hired a cleaning service. He didn’t mind that at all. He’d told Louisa to hire one months ago so she wouldn’t have to spend so much time and energy keeping the house spotless. Even the microwave dinners she’d been serving were edible. At least she let him have meat instead of the tofu and soy crumbles she ate now.

What bothered him was the way Jazz smiled, the way she had pulled her hair back on the side with a huge rhinestone barrette this morning, and the new colors in her hair. He found her exciting. And she smelled so good.
She must have bought perfume at the mall yesterday.

And then there was Madison.

Madison and Louisa never giggled with their heads together the way she and Jazz were doing right now. At the mall they’d both had their nails “airbrushed,” whatever that meant. It seemed to be a big deal to Madison. They had rushed into the house yesterday to show him.

He finished his breakfast, listening to the quick-paced conversation between Jazz and his daughter about fall fashions, and wondered if maybe he should read Louisa’s journals. He had to protect his Madison from the pain she would feel if Louisa returned and didn’t treat her the same.

And what about Collin’s own feelings? He couldn’t continue to fight off his attraction toward Jazz much longer. He lowered his cup. He didn’t have a choice for the well-being of his family: to him, that was a worthy excuse to breach Louisa’s privacy.

* * *

Curled on the couch with her feet underneath her, Jazz flipped through a photo album, searching for anything that looked familiar to her. The phone rang.

“When were you planning on informing me that you’d lost your memory?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Excuse me? Who is this?” She almost hung up but realized this person must have some connection to her or she wouldn’t know about the memory problem.

“Your mother, Beth Harris. Why haven’t you called?”

“What would I have said? ‘Hi, this is your daughter, and I don’t remember you’?” Something about Beth’s voice set her on edge.

“I could have been helping you remember things by now. Did Collin tell you I offered to come and stay?”

“He mentioned it, but he also said you were busy, something about a new person in your life. You really don’t need to come. Other than my vacant memory, everything is okay.” The coolness of her own attitude puzzled her. Why didn’t she want this woman to stay with them?

“Fine, I won’t come, but if you change your mind, you can call me,” Beth said.

“I will, thanks.” The words had barely left her mouth when she heard the click of Beth disconnecting.
Such an odd woman,
she thought. The mom she knew wouldn’t have even asked to come if her baby girl was in trouble. She’d be there in a flash.

Jazz put the phone on the table beside the couch. She felt the telltale sign of the beginning of a headache as her forehead tightened. She would not let this one get out of hand. She scooted off to the kitchen for her pain reliever. After taking it, she decided she should do something to distract herself.

She wandered back to the couch and frowned at the photo albums. Distraction seemed to help keep the headaches at a level she could stand. But what could she do? Looking at photos didn’t seem to help. Collin was probably in his workroom banging on something, and the boys were building a fort in Tim’s room.

“Jazz?” Madison hung over the stair rail. “Can Angie come over this afternoon?”

“Sure, I suppose so. Maybe you should ask your dad because I’m not sure what you usually do on Sundays. Last Sunday wasn’t a normal one.”

“We don’t do anything. Dad always messes around in his shop and Mom bakes,” Madison said.

Jazz frowned.
Louisa bakes.
“She might as well come over, then.”

Madison beamed as she continued talking to her friend, telling her what to bring with her.

Bakes?
Jazz wondered what she could make for the kids to eat. Maybe Louisa had the makings for marshmallow squares. Not exactly baking, but easy and sweet. And it would be a great distraction.

* * *

Collin pulled the box from under the clothes. His heart beat faster.
It’s okay,
he reassured himself. He had to find out what Louisa had written. Maybe it would help him get her back. He would take them to the workshop and read them. At least it felt like he was taking action instead of hoping every day that Louisa would be waiting when he came home, arms outstretched and eager to embrace him. Not that he wouldn’t miss Jazz’s fun spirit and quirky personality. He would.

He clutched the box to his chest to hide the block letters. No need to let Madison or Jazz see he was invading Louisa’s private thoughts. He had a feeling neither of them would approve.

As he ran down the stairs, Jazz was coming up. Her face appeared to be dusted in light brown powder.

“What’s all over you?” he asked.

“Chocolate. I thought I would try to bake something. All I could find was a cake mix.”

“Did any of it make it into the bowl?” For a moment he was tempted to lick the chocolate from her cheek.

She blushed and used her sleeve to wipe her face. “Most of it. What’s in the box?” she asked.

He felt the box grow heavy in his hand. Caught! What could he say? What would squash her insatiable interest? “Financial records,” he said with satisfaction. “I need to figure out where our money is going.”

“Ugh, math!” Jazz moved away as if he carried toxic waste.

He smiled to put her at ease. A connection. Louisa didn’t like math either—maybe he
could
find his wife again. “Then back off, lest the mere proximity of financial statements causes you great illness.”

Jazz inched close to the railing. She splayed her hands across her face in fake terror. “Please, come no closer.”

Easing into the role, he sucked in his stomach and attempted to broaden his shoulders. “I’ll keep it contained. Careful now, I’m coming through. Don’t breathe,” Collin said, using his superhero voice as he brushed past her.

“Is it safe yet?” she mumbled from behind her hands.

“It’s safe now for mere mortals. Hey, tell me when the cake is ready,” he said on his way to the basement workshop.

“No promises on how good it will taste,” Jazz called after him.

He found himself grinning at the silly exchange on the way down the stairs. Once safely behind his workroom door, Collin set the box on his bench. With great respect, he grasped the lid and set it aside. “It’s now or never,” he said softly to himself. He pulled the first journal from the box. It was from last year. Should he start with that one or dig deeper? Maybe if he started at the beginning, he could read what Louisa may have written about their dates. That would help him re-create those moments, he thought. Decision made, he took the box and turned it over. Now the journals should be in chronological order. He picked up the top one, written in a black and white composition book like the ones he had used in school.

Aware of the breach in privacy he was about to make, he took a deep breath and flipped open the cover with a finger. Louisa’s handwriting jumped from the page.
Keep out. This is a journal of my private thoughts, not meant to share with others. If you continue to read, I will not be responsible for swelled heads or hurt feelings,
he read. He’d keep that in mind, but he didn’t think his feelings would be hurt. Louisa loved him. He sat down on his stool and continued reading.

“Collin?” Jazz’s voice interrupted him. How long had he been sitting down here? He glanced at his watch. Almost two hours. He went to the bottom of the stairs and stared up at the wife he’d never really known.