Mind of Her Own (17 page)

“Don’t think so, darlin’. It’s wheels for me, not feet.” Her voice had acquired a Southern accent.

“
Darlin’
? Did you just call me
darlin’
?”

“Yes, I guess I did. Sorry. I’ve been working on this story, and the heroine, Kelly Rose, calls her beau
darlin’
. It just slipped out.”

“I kind of like it. I could get used to you calling me that.”

“Kelly Rose calls her beau that. Didn’t you hear me?”

“Well, you be Kelly Rose today, and I’ll be her beau.” Why did he say that? Maybe he was losing his mind along with Jazz.

“Seriously?”

Now he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t think she would really want to do it. “Well, maybe. What’s the guy’s name?”

“
Beau
, not
guy
.”

“No way am I doing this if the beau’s not a guy.”

“Well, he is a guy, but they didn’t call them that in the 1800s.”

“So what’s his name?”

“Jackson.”

“Nope, no way am I going to be a Jackson, not even for a day.”

After Jazz quit laughing, she said, “It’s Dylan. Will that work for you?”

“Dylan.” He sat straighter on the bike. “I like that name. What kind of work does Dylan do? Is he a doctor, a vet?”

“No, he’s a funeral director.”

“Funny. He is not.”

“Yeah, you’re right—too hard to make that into a romantic role for mainstream America. He’s a lumber baron.”

“So he’s rich?” This was appealing, a man who worked with wood and a rich one. Not a bad life.

“Very.”

“How ‘very’?”

“He has his own shipping line.”

Collin sat even straighter. “Now that’s more like it. Kelly Rose?”

“Darlin’?”

“Let’s stop at the bridge and admire the outcropping of stone; maybe one of my ships will come downriver.”

It seemed to Collin that Jazz may have started pedaling as their speed seemed to increase the closer they came to the bridge. He chose not to mention it since he didn’t mind the help. Or arriving more quickly at the place where he could get off this hard bike seat.

They reached the bridge and hopped off the bike. Jazz yanked off her helmet and freed her ponytail from its rubber band. “These things are hot and uncomfortable.”

“Not the best-looking hats either.” Collin hung his helmet from the bicycle’s handlebar.

They found a place under a willow tree where someone had placed a park bench perfect for resting. Jazz collapsed onto it. “Ouch. Another hard surface.”

Collin slid in next to her. “Riding a bike is much harder than I remember.”

“Want to walk back?” Jazz rubbed her thighs and moaned.

“I’m not giving up. The tunnel has to be around the corner. Besides, I’m enjoying the view. The river flowing next to us and the bluffs on the side of us. It’s serene.”

“Collin? Do you think I’ll ever remember being Louisa?”

He looked at her. Her head hung low and her hair had swung over so he couldn’t see her face. “Jazz.” He lifted her hair and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You will someday. Until then, we’re doing okay.”

“What if I don’t, though? What if I stay Jazz forever?”

“Then I’ll love Jazz like I loved Louisa.”

“But you don’t even know me. What if I’m not a person you want to live with? We already know I’m not good at being a mother, and the wife thing . . . well, I don’t know anything about being a wife.”

“You could learn.”

“I don’t know if I want to learn, Collin. It doesn’t look like much fun to have to do laundry and make dinners and grocery shop.”

“What do you think it should be like, Jazz?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know. I write the books, but after my characters get married, the bedroom door closes and the story is over. Does that mean the romance is over—the flowers, the phone calls during the day, the surprise getaways?”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. It depends on who you’re married to. And we’re on a surprise getaway, aren’t we?”

“I guess we are. What was it like for you and Louisa? What kind of places did you go together?”

Collin removed his arm from her shoulders and brought it back to his side. He thought about the last few months before the accident. He came home late almost every evening, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had sent Louisa flowers, if he didn’t count the ones sent in apology. Had he even said thank you for all the nights she kept his dinner warm? He didn’t want to go back to that complacency, that world of taking someone for granted and not even remembering if he had kissed his wife good-bye before he left for work. “No, it’s more like you feared. We had become comfortable with each other, and I had begun to depend on her for everything I didn’t want to do.”

“So how do you know it won’t happen again?” Her eyes locked with his.

He wanted to give the right answer. He didn’t want to disappoint her. “Because I’ve learned how wrong I was. I’ve learned how valuable a good wife is—worth more than treasure.”

“So I’m not doing so well; I’m not a treasure. I’ll never figure out all that needs to be done.” She slid her feet to the bench and propped her head on her knees in a sign of defeat.

“Yes, you will, Jazz. You will because I’ll help you find your way. We’ll ask for God’s help, and everything will work out.”

“It won’t be the same for you. Not like it was with Louisa.”

“Jazz, it’s okay if it isn’t. I love Louisa, and if she returns, I am going to do things differently. And that’s because of what you’ve taught me. If you stay Jazz, I will love you.”

“This must be weird for you. Like having two wives.”

“Yeah. It is.” Collin patted her leg. “Ready to ride?”

Jazz stood, rubbed her thighs, and groaned. “I can’t believe how much I hurt.”

“We’ve only ridden a few miles too,” Collin said. The sun rested on Jazz’s hair, giving it a glow. His heart yearned for his partner. With an idea forming in his mind, he leaned close to her face. “Kelly Rose?”

“Yes, darlin’?” She fell back into the game with him.

“Do I ever get to kiss you?” He stroked her cheek with a finger.

“Oh, why, I’m sure Daddy wouldn’t like that without knowing your intentions.”

“Daddy’s not here, Kelly Rose. And my intention is—” Collin tipped her face to his and skimmed his lips over hers—“to kiss you more than once.”

* * *

Jazz made the trip back to the bed and breakfast in a dreamworld. She trembled, remembering the kiss Collin had bestowed upon her lips. She tried to write the feeling down but found herself staring into space, reliving the sensation over and over. Collin kissed like no other man had ever kissed her. Gentle yet strong, full of passion yet somehow respectful. Very much the way any hero would kiss his girl.

She placed her fingers on the keyboard and began typing.

Kelly Rose had defied her daddy’s wishes. She had allowed Dylan to be alone with her, and if Daddy found out, she would be sent to Boston to live with old Aunt Sue. She couldn’t allow that to happen. If it did, she would never again experience another kiss like the one Dylan had placed on her lips not more than an hour ago.

Ten pages later, she paused and shrugged her shoulders to relieve the tension gathered there. She didn’t know what would come next in Kelly Rose’s story, but she was eager to find out. A quick glance at the small alarm clock by her bed told her she wouldn’t have time to write any more. Collin would be waiting for her in the lobby soon. She’d rather stay in her room and write than eat dinner, but she didn’t think he would understand that desire. Frowning, she started to save her document.
Just one more sentence,
she thought as her fingers began to fly across the keyboard, making the sound of music in her ears. Done. She shut the laptop cover and scooped up her door key, ready to meet Collin in the lobby.

They were back to ordinary life, and the weekend seemed a distant memory already. It was one she would replay in her mind for many months. Such romance! She hadn’t known Collin could be so kind, caring, and loving. The best part was that he respected her decision to wait yet a little longer to become his wife physically. She didn’t know why, but there was something keeping her from taking that step, and that something was major. Jazz peeked over the couch to see why Madison had been so quiet. “What’s up?”

Madison jumped and slammed the book shut she’d been reading. She hunkered over and held it close to her chest, arms crossed to protect it. The only thing visible was the dolphin’s head on Madison’s T-shirt peeking over the top of the book. “It’s nothing. Just a book I found that my mom wrote.”

“A book or a journal?” Excitement flooded Jazz.

“Maybe.” Madison stood and walked past Jazz. At the bottom of the stairs she turned. “Yes, it is my mom’s journal.” She took off running to her room.

Shocked, Jazz charged up the stairs two at a time after her. She jumped on the bed, landing in front of Madison. Answers to her questions may be just a notebook away. “Give it to me.”

“No.” Madison frowned at her and clutched the book tight against her chest.

Jazz tried to wiggle her hand under Madison’s clenched arms.

Madison scooted away, pressing her back into the headboard. “It’s not yours. You have no right to read it.”

“Neither do you. It belongs to your mother, and maybe she doesn’t want you to read about her innermost thoughts.”

“Are you going to read it if I give it to you?”

Jazz stopped wrestling with Madison. “I want to. Maybe it will help me get my memory back.”

“But you keep saying you aren’t really my mom.”

How could she explain her own confusion to a twelve-year-old? How could she make the facts add up when she woke every morning and wondered how she had gotten to this place? In her mind she knew her name wasn’t Jazz, but Louisa. But in her heart, deep inside, she felt like Jazz. All the photos in the world of her as Louisa had not brought her back. That was why she needed this journal. Maybe reading the words Louisa had written would help unite her two personalities.

Using her most authoritative voice, she demanded Madison give it to her. “Now hand it over.”

“No.”

“Then you can’t leave this room all day.”

“But you promised to take me to the mall with Angie.”

“I’m changing my mind. If you don’t give me what I want, then you don’t get what you want,” Jazz said. “It’s a two-way street here, sister.”

Madison’s face flushed with anger as she thrust the book at Jazz. “I hate you. I wish my mom would come back. She was never mean to me the way you are.”

Jazz sat open-mouthed at Madison’s outburst as she watched her flounce out the bedroom door.

With Madison out of the room and the journal now in her possession, Jazz hesitated. Did she really want to know what words flowed across these pages? She traced the letters written in gold, sparkly ink on the cover:
Louisa’s Journal
. She checked her watch to see if she had time to read before taking Madison to the mall. She wouldn’t have long, so maybe she should put it away until tonight after everyone had gone to bed.

She needed to hide it somewhere Madison wouldn’t find it. She didn’t want to go through that trauma again, and she had a feeling once Madison returned from the mall, she wouldn’t be able to get it away from her a second time.

Madison appeared in the open doorway dressed in a different outfit. “So are we leaving now or not?”

Jazz felt a moment of pride as she did a mother thing, checking Madison’s attire to see if it was appropriate.
Don’t be too proud,
she told herself.
This girl has given you plenty of practice in this area. You’ve learned by survival.
“Madison, you look nice. That blue shirt brings out the sapphire in your eyes.”

Madison gave her a wicked grin. “My name isn’t Madison. Not anymore. If you can be someone else, so can I. Call me Summer.”

As she watched “Summer” leave the room, she knew something had to be done about her own identity, and soon.

* * *

Knowing Louisa’s journal waited for her at home made it difficult to shop with the girls. When the newly named Summer began insisting on henna tattoos, Jazz lost her cool-mom status. After a brief argument that would probably be followed with weeks of silent warfare, they left the endless miles of looking at clothes that only a stripper would wear.

Back at home she locked the bedroom door and pulled out the book from the nightstand. Getting comfortable, she snuggled into the tower of pillows and flipped open the journal cover. It was inscribed with a date and
Book 7—If you are reading this, you are invading my privacy and deserve to be upset if you read something you don’t like.

Book 7? That meant there were six that came before this one—and what about after? Could there be more? Jazz jumped from the bed and ran to the closet to search. Nothing. She tore into the dresser drawers and the armoire. Still she came up with nothing. Where would Louisa hide her journals? In her heart she knew they were the key to regaining her memory.

* * *

Collin went to investigate the noise coming from his old bedroom. It sounded like Jazz was moving furniture. He didn’t expect to see drawers open, some with clothes and socks dripping over the sides and others empty, their contents in a heap on the floor. “What are you doing in here?”

“Journals. Louisa kept journals, and I’m trying to find them. Do you know where they are?” Jazz spun from the armoire with her hand on her hip. “Do you?”

“The journals?” Collin hadn’t expected to be nailed on those before he showed her the office and explained his reason for hiding them.

“Yes, as in more than one.” She grabbed the one now on the dresser and flashed it at him. “This is number seven. That means there are more. Do you know where they are?”

“Where did you get this one?” How was he going to explain this? The fury in Jazz’s face was a force he didn’t want to play with. How could he tell her he had them?

“Madison had it.” Did she know what he’d done downstairs too? Had Madison found the secret stash of journals?

“Summer! My name is Summer!” Madison yelled from her room as she slammed her door.

Collin’s mind raced, trying to connect Madison’s new edict with the journal. And where or when did she find the journal? Confusion won. “Why is her name Summer?”

Jazz glared at him. “Because I pulled the mom card and took this—” she waved the journal in his face—“away from her.”

“And that’s why she calls herself Summer?”

“No. It’s because she decided if Louisa could be someone else, so could she. I have to know where the rest of these journals are, Collin. They hold the secret of who I am.”

Collin sank back against the wall and scratched his chin with the palm of his hand. “I have them.”

“What?” She couldn’t believe he had the possible key to her memories.

“I found them a few weeks ago, and I thought by reading them, I could help you regain your memory.”

“That’s pretty selfish, Collin. Don’t you think that if I read them, it would have been more helpful?” Jazz thrust a pile of clothes back into a drawer and slammed it shut.

“I know it was wrong, but when the doctor suggested I might be able to help you by re-creating events from our past, I thought this would be the best way to do it accurately.”

“Well, it didn’t work your way, so why don’t you get them for me now?” She stood with both hands on her hips.

He held out his hand to her. “Come with me. There is something else I want to show you.”

“I’m not taking your hand, Collin. Right now I’d rather bite it than hold it.”

“They’re downstairs.” He turned away. “Please try to refrain from kicking me down the stairs. I know I deserve it.”

He stopped in front of the workshop door. “Please forgive me, Jazz, but I was only trying to solve this mystery.”

“Just give them to me.” She placed her hand on the door. “So that’s why you’ve been down here locked away from us all these nights? Spying on Louisa’s life?”

“Not exactly.” He tilted his head back and searched for the correct answer, one that would help her understand that his desire had been to help, not pry into her secrets. Expelling a deep breath, he grasped her hand and held it tight as she tried to pull away. “Listen to me. Since you’ve been here, I’ve learned more about my wife and what I’ve missed with her—with you. I only wanted us to be happy, and by reading those journals I discovered how unhappy I’ve made you.”

Jazz started to say something, but he touched her lips with his fingers. “Shh. Let me finish. You have every right to be angry, but I hope when I open this door, you’ll forgive me.” He took a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. With a quick turn of the handle, he opened the door, reached in, and flipped a switch. The sound of the ocean drifted through the doorway. “This is for you.”

He watched her face as she stepped through the doorway. Her lips parted as a little-girl whisper drifted out in a soft
oh
. “Collin, it’s the ocean! You’ve given me back my home.” She ran her hand against the spines of the books on the shelf. She seemed to sink into the sand on the mural, and for a moment he felt he’d lost her. She turned then, and her eyes were damp with tears. “Is this really for me?”

Excited by her reaction, he grasped her hand. “I know the bookshelves are pretty empty now. I’ve set up an account for you so you can buy what you need. And see these frames? I know they’re empty right now too, but since I’m convinced you will be published soon, these are to hold your book covers. And when we were in Rocheport, I stopped at the printers’, and they are printing copies of the stories you’ve already written.”

She sucked in a breath. “You mean . . .”

“Yes, Jazz Sweet, you are real. The journals hold more than details of your life; they have stories—great ones—that you’ve written.” He moved her into the chair. It sat in front of the mural that included a beach-house porch. “Here you can sit and read and edit. I kind of hope you’ll let me sit here with you sometimes.”

“Collin, I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay. I just want you to know you are Louisa, but all the stories you’ve written have been penned by Jazz Sweet.” He opened one of the cabinet doors on the bottom of the bookcase. “The journals are all here—except for the one Madison found.”

“Thank you.” Jazz wiped a tear from her eye. “Thank you for giving up your space for me.”

“I wanted it to be different. I wanted to surprise you, but not this way.” He leaned against the desk.

“It’s okay that it’s different, though. Nothing about my life these past few weeks has been normal, so why shouldn’t this be a golden moment in the middle of a battle?” She jumped out of the chair and embraced him. “I am so blessed to have you.” The corners of her lips twitched as she trailed her hand over the stack of journals in the cabinet. “But could you leave now so I can catch up on my reading?”