Mind of Her Own (3 page)

“To what? Where are you going to go?” He waited to hear her plan, watching her eyebrows bob up and down while she thought. “Well?”

“I’ll go to a hotel. So there, problem solved. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. You’re free to go.” Again, she waved her hand toward the door, dismissing him as she lay back against the pillow. “If you don’t mind, would you hand me my purse before you leave?”

“It’s at home.” He looked down at her. Her blonde hair feathered across the pillow and caught the light from overhead, softening the silky strands. He reached out to touch it, as he often did, but her icy look kept him at a distance. “That’s what you want? To be here alone in a hospital, in this town, and not knowing anyone?”

She nodded and pointed to the door.

“Then I’ll go.” Collin paused at the doorway and turned to give her a chance to change her mind. She didn’t say anything, just lay there looking like a lost child, eyes wide and fighting tears. “Nice meeting you, Jazz Sweet.” He knew he needed to convince her to come home with him. He couldn’t leave her here until her memory returned. There had to be a way, but for now, he’d let her think she’d won this battle. He left the room and didn’t look back.

Jazz willed the sharp spears of light to stop stabbing at her closed eyelids. She curled into a ball on the coarse sheet. The thin pillow encased in plastic and covered with cloth crackled under her head. Shivering under the rough blanket, she tried to plan.

She needed answers to basic questions, like where to sleep tonight. Was there a hotel close by? Did she have money or a credit card? Then she remembered—unlike a fashion doll, she didn’t come with accessories. No purse. Did she have shoes? She continued to stress over her lack of information. Her easy option had walked out the door the minute she sent him. Now was not the time to celebrate finding a man who would do what she told him. She’d have to do this alone.
Not alone. God is with me, all the time.
At least her faith remained.

She needed to be strong and courageous. She didn’t know about her own strength, but she knew she could rely on Christ to get her through anything, even this. They’d been through tougher times together. Hadn’t they?

Removing the covers, she sat and slid her feet onto the floor. For the first time, she realized she had on socks. Odd socks. They were white cotton with tiny red hearts across the toe line where they would be hidden by any kind of shoe. Kind of like wearing lacy underwear under plain clothes to keep the real person a secret. A chill went through her. What kind of bra did she have on? Fearful she might find a sheer, black, racy number, she dipped her head and with one finger slowly raised the neckline of the hospital gown away from her chest.
Sports bra in white, nothing to fear.

The cold from the tile soaked into her toes. Did they keep the room cold in case someone died?
Too morbid, Sweet. Think of something else—like if you don’t have shoes and cash, what taxi is going to take you anywhere? A taxi to nowhere.
Forget that, what hotel would let her stay without paying for the room?

It didn’t matter. She was determined to find a way once she passed through the exit of the hospital. But first she had to locate the clothes she’d been wearing. Trotting through the exit door clad in a hospital gown wouldn’t work. She stood. Unprepared for the sudden slice of pain that ripped through her head, she yelped like a puppy. In defeat, she sank back onto the bed.

The door opened, banging against the wall.
Collin.
She tried to still the odd feeling of happiness that leaped in her heart at the sight of him. “Did someone call a code?”

“You yelled. I came.” He loomed over her like a large ape. All he needed to do was beat his chest to complete the image of a male on the loose.

“How very manly of you.” She wouldn’t admit it to him or even to her best friend, but having him rush in to save her plumped her self-esteem to another level. Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad to have around.

Collin scowled at her. She’d made him angry, or at least she thought she had. Maybe she’d embarrassed him. Her mother always said she’d never win a man with her quick tongue or her cooking. So far her mother had been right.

“I can’t leave. It’s my duty to take care of you because you’re my wife. I can’t leave you here.”

Duty?
That was a loaded word, and she had a feeling he’d like to leave her here. “Your duty? You’re not a policeman, too, are you?”

“That might have been a wrong choice in words. I meant I’m not leaving even if you don’t know who I am. Like the vows say, in sickness or in health. This qualifies.”

“Still not going with you, sick or healthy—which I am, by the way. There’s nothing wrong with me except you.” That stung, and she knew it the minute the words charged from her lips like a dog after a squirrel. She realized she should be a little nicer. After all, he had been sweet ever since she woke up in this place.

“I have proof.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Look.” He flipped it open to a picture. “That’s you and me in front of our home.” He turned the plastic page. “Here’s a school picture of our daughter. Now do you believe me?”

Jazz took the wallet from him and turned back to the picture of him and his wife. “You think I look like her? I don’t.”

“There’s a mirror over there.” Collin grabbed her wrist and started to pull her from the bed.

She resisted. “Stop it. I’m not getting out of this bed with you sitting there.”

“Why not? It’s just a mirror.”

Her face flushed. “Because there isn’t a back to this lovely gown, and I’m not married to you. You aren’t allowed to see my backside.”

His lips twisted into a grin. “I’ve seen it before, but I get it. You don’t remember.” He slid his arms out of his suit coat and placed it over her shoulders. “Slip this on; it will cover enough to protect your virtue.”

The jacket was warm from Collin’s body, and the heat relaxed Jazz in a way that made her feel safe. The exotic smell of spice and cedar surrounded her as she clutched the front together. “Thank you.”

Collin held out his arm for her to grasp. He led her to the tiny mirror over the sink. Jazz found herself looking not at her familiar reflection, but at the woman from the picture. “My hair is shorter. And it’s not red.” She reached up to touch the foreign blonde locks.

“It’s never been red, but you threaten to dye it at least once a month. And you cut it a few weeks ago; that’s why it’s shorter.” He reached for her hand to bring the photo next to her face, its image reflected beside hers in the mirror. He pointed to it. “Look at the grin and then compare it to yours. It’s you. You are Louisa.”

She stared at the familiar face standing against the backdrop of an unfamiliar world. She felt the corners of her lips reach for the ceiling in an attempt to replicate the smile.
Could I be her?
The wallet felt heavy in her hand, and a few bills peeked over the edge, tempting her to find a way to take them. If he were so concerned about her, he could pay for a hotel room, at least for the night. But he didn’t offer and she didn’t ask. She gave him back his wallet, wishing for more options.

She wouldn’t be in this mess if she had her BlackBerry with its vast lists of e-mail addresses and cell phone numbers of friends, but she didn’t. She considered going back to his house. At least she would have a place to stay tonight, and maybe in a few hours she would remember where she really lived.

Still, he could be crazy. Convincing, but crazy.
But where did he get the picture?
The arguments for not going home with a stranger bombarded her already-overloaded brain. She decided only one thing could ease her mind. “Are you a Christian?”

“What?” His eyes blinked fast as if processing each word letter by letter. The astonishment on his face didn’t offer her comfort. “I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before.” He gazed past her head as if he would find the answer inserted between the upside-down
E
s on the eye chart behind her. “Yes. I am.”

Not exactly the quick response she’d hoped for. But maybe she could trust the answer since he did take time to think about it. “I’ll go home with you for a while—until morning, anyway. If I decide to stay, you have to call me Jazz and hire a nanny. I don’t know anything about children.”

“Great. Your stuff—”

She glared at him.

“Sorry,
Louisa’s
stuff is in here.” He retrieved a bag with the name Copeland emblazoned on the side with a thick black marker. He reached in and pulled out a pair of black-frame glasses. “Maybe you’ll recognize me if you put these on.”

“Glasses? Am I losing my sight?” She held her hands in front of her face. She could see them fine, ten manicured fingers. With
pale-pink
nail polish? When did she stop biting her nails? And light pink? That had to come off.

“You’ve worn glasses since the sixth grade.” He held them out to her. “You need them for distance.”

She pushed them away from her. “No thanks. I don’t require them.”

“Sure. This is one you’ll find out on your own soon enough.” He tossed them back into the bag. He pulled out a white cashmere sweater and some jeans and set them on the bed. “Why don’t you get dressed?”

“But . . .”

“I’ll wait outside. Don’t worry.” He left, closing the door behind him.

She wondered if he was standing guard so no one would enter, or had he walked down the hall? It didn’t matter. Here was an answer to one of her problems. Clothes—not what she would choose, but they seemed to be her size. Tossing Collin’s jacket on the bed, she picked up the soft sweater and slid it over her head, then climbed into the jeans. She tried to wrap her mind around the fact that they fit. Fit well, even.

Jazz called out to Collin that it was safe to enter. She watched his expression to see if there was any reaction to her appearance. Did she look like his wife to him? He went straight for the bag on the floor.

Picking it up, he reached in and withdrew a pair of navy Crocs and handed them to her. “I brought these from home. Slide them on and we’ll get out of here.”

She shuddered. “I don’t wear Crocs.” Kristen would know something was terribly wrong if she saw Jazz in a pair of Crocs, and navy ones at that. “I suppose Louisa wears these, too?”

He nodded. “Since these are the only shoes we have right now, I’d suggest you put them on your feet.”

She took the offending shoes from him. The rubber felt clammy in her hand. There were scuff marks stretched across the toe. Nothing like the expensive leather she usually wore. Would they fit or feel strange on her feet? She’d worn her cousin Amy’s old shoes when she was younger, and she had vowed never again to wear another person’s shoes. Yet here she was, sliding a cold navy Croc on her foot. “It fits.”

“Yes, Cinderella, it does.” He plopped on the bed next to her and watched as she slid on the other one. She slipped a quick glance at him, startled to find him staring at her. He smiled. She didn’t.

“You have a sense of humor—funny. One more thing, Collin.”

“What?” He put his hand in his pocket and jingled his keys.

“I’m not sleeping in the same room with you.”

She watched as his lips moved, but he didn’t say anything. She wondered what he held back. “Collin?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch. Anything else,
Jazz
?”

“That’s it, except I’m hungry. What did the cook make for dinner?”

After going over all the things Jazz couldn’t do or shouldn’t swallow in the next eight hours, Emily the nurse thrust her official clipboard into Jazz’s hand. “Sign here, by this
X
and this one.” Both were circled in red ink on the canary-yellow paper. For emphasis she tapped one
X
with her index finger, where purple polish lingered in the edge of her cuticle.
Are nurses told to remove all the color from their nails before coming to work? Does Emily paint her nails, then take it off before her shift every day? If she didn’t, would her supervisor stick a note in her permanent file?
Rules and how they got broken fascinated her. She started to ask but then remembered she had bigger problems. How to sign her name stood first in line. Louisa? Louisa what? She couldn’t remember. With a flourish, she wrote
Jazz Sweet
, scribbling across the two required lines and thinking if they didn’t like it, they could keep her here. Finished, she handed Emily the clipboard and waited for her reaction.

“You can go home now,” Emily said without looking at the signature. She ripped off the sheet of instructions and handed a flamingo-pink copy to Jazz. “Make sure you follow all of these tonight. And you—” Emily turned to Collin on her way out of the room—“don’t forget to wake her every two hours.”

“Sure, no problem.” Collin straightened his back and moved away from the wall. He retrieved the plastic bag from the chair where he’d dropped it. “Do you want to keep this bag? It has your name on it.”

“No.” Did he expect her to take
that
with her? She would stuff things in her pockets and increase the size of her hips before she carried a cornflower-blue bag with plastic handles anywhere. Besides,
her
name wasn’t on the thing. “You take it. There’s nothing I can use in there—no phone, no purse, no cash.”

Collin reached inside the bag. “You need your glasses.” He tried to hand them to her. She slapped his hand away.

“I don’t need those. I told you before; I don’t wear them.” He shrugged his shoulders and muttered something as he tossed them back into the bag. The only word she could make out was “stubborn.”

“Let’s go, then.” He scrunched the neck of the bag in his large hand. She doubted it would fit through the handles.

He offered his elbow for her to grasp, but she ignored it. She still didn’t feel comfortable leaving with him and didn’t want to touch him or give him any sign of encouragement at all.

“Are you coming?”

“Yes.” She grumbled inside about committing to going with him, knowing she wouldn’t go back on her word. It was a matter of principle. She remembered a lesson from sixth-grade Sunday school class about “letting your yes be yes and your no be no.” Or something like that. Often she reminded herself of the promise she’d made to do that. Right now it seemed like a foolish vow. He still held his arm out for her. Despite her misgivings she grabbed on, and granite connected with her hand. Under that suit coat lurked a muscular man.

After a few strides, her confidence grew and she let go. She could walk on her own. Determined to prove it to him, she rushed ahead. Except everything seemed out of focus, like Vaseline had been smeared across the lenses of her eyes. She banged into someone on a gurney, sending it squeaking a few feet down the hall. “I’m sorry.” She tried to retrieve it, but instead of metal, she grasped air. She waited for him to laugh.

“There’s no one there. Now will you try the glasses?”

With exasperation instead of humor, she didn’t turn to face him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the frustration she felt. “Fine, but they won’t work. It’s just this head injury.” Behind her, she heard the crinkle of the bag. Rubbing her eyes failed to remove the offending film. Giving up, she held out her hand.

He slapped them into her open palm without a word. She winced as she slid the cool plastic frames over her ears. The hallway in front of her sharpened into view. She gasped. “I can see!”

Collin remained silent.

“You were right about the glasses. And the shoes.” She hated to admit that to him but was still thankful he didn’t use the opportunity to gloat. One more piece of the puzzle to cram into place. Her gut twisted at the unknowns waiting for her at Collin’s home.

They walked to the parking garage like bordering states with a river between them. The lights on the ceiling cast a yellow pall over the concrete floor, and the oil stains resembled dried blood. Car exhaust hovered low, making it difficult to find a breath of fresh air. Her stomach threatened to uproar if she didn’t leave the premises immediately.

Collin stepped out in front of her, turning her with his body and herding her like a lost sheep. “That’s ours.”

A minivan. A red one.
Could it get any worse?
Collin held the door open for her. “Do you do this for your wife?”

“Always.”

The way he looked to the side when he answered made her think he might be stretching the truth. But he did it right, waiting until her entire body was safely inside, unlike her experiences with other novice gallant males.

Settling in the seat, something crunched underneath her foot—a fast food bag, trash. She wrinkled her nose as her stomach almost bolted. The smell made her think about delving into one of those multicolored, polished-page cookbooks. Almost.

A glance into the back proved Collin told the truth about having kids. Soccer balls, greasy fingerprints on the window, and a French fry poking out between the seats proved it. A chilly wave of reality broke over her head. She struggled to breathe.

He touched her arm. “Hey, something wrong?”

“No.” Her eyes linked with his. The intense ache of longing shocked her.
Who is this man? Could he be my husband?

Collin looked away first. “Buckle up.”

Her heartbeat slowed at his suggestion. Did he think her a child? “I intended to.”

“Sorry, it’s a habit. You—Louisa—always get distracted with the kids and forget to buckle yourself.” He reached across the console and brushed away her hand when the clip refused to connect.

The belt clicked and he retreated. Jazz tried to ignore the warmth his hand left on hers. “She must be a good mother if she cares more about her kids than herself.”

“The kids always come first in Louisa’s life.”

“Where do you fit in?” Using her foot, Jazz pushed the trash on the floorboard into a neat pile in the corner.

Collin gave her an odd look she couldn’t decipher. He flipped the blinker with his hand and pulled onto the street. “I don’t want to talk about my life with Louisa. Not until you remember who you are.”

“I thought I could gather insight into marriage. Research I can use, since I’ve never had the experience of being married.”

He didn’t reply but stared ahead as if she didn’t exist. And she didn’t, at least not the way he wanted. Something deep inside suggested to her that this wouldn’t be just a gleaning of insight into marriage—more like stumbling into the mother lode of knowledge.

* * *

Collin wrestled with his feelings about bringing Louisa home with him. The doctor had assured him there wasn’t anything more they could do for her. Still, it felt unethical to be shuffling her to a place she didn’t want to go. But what else could he do? He was married to her, and he couldn’t leave her at the hospital. Maybe he should offer her a hotel room for the rest of the night.
It’s still not too late to do that,
he argued with himself as he weighed the pros and cons like any good lawyer. His problem? He didn’t have a judge and jury to make the decision for him.

To drown out his thoughts, he pushed the knob to turn on the stereo. A CD Louisa had in for the kids began to peal. He didn’t want to listen to high-pitched children’s voices singing about swallowing flies right now. He switched to the radio and began a scan. Sound bites crowded the airwaves. He let it run through its cycle until it circled back to the university station and soothing, soft jazz notes fragmented the quiet of the van. Increasing the volume, he sneaked a peek at his wife to see if it bothered her. Her eyes remained closed, so he settled back against his seat.

His thoughts went to the work stowed in his briefcase. The case would be going to trial in a few weeks. That would bring more trouble into his life. Louisa hated how much time trials took from their family. And he knew she was right, but he loved the thrill of the fight and the excitement of the victory.

A small moan came from the other side of the van. He glanced over at Louisa. Streetlights silhouetted her head, angled back against the headrest. Blonde bangs partially covered her face.
Beautiful.
He watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as another soft moan escaped her lips. Dreaming? About what? Even without the turn of events, he was clueless about his wife and her dreams these days.

When had the two of them drifted so far apart? He missed sleeping next to her, listening to her soft breathing, the scent of jasmine in her hair from her favorite shampoo. He missed the way she would snuggle next to him while she slept.

He sorely regretted the argument that had sent him to the couch to sleep. In his defense, he’d been tired when he yelled, saying she cared only about being a mother, not about being his wife. The crestfallen look on her face as she ran into their room, sailing a pillow and blanket into the hall before slamming the door and locking it, haunted him tonight. He had knocked and pleaded at the door, trying to apologize and only walking away when he heard the bathwater running. The next day, the flowers he sent didn’t melt the ice from her gaze.
Roses.
Lots of them, something like two dozen, with a sappy
I’m sorry
card. When he came home, they were stuffed in the trash can at the curb.

Get over it, Collin. She doesn’t even know she’s your wife anymore.
He suddenly sucked in a sharp breath as another thought followed, generating a ray of hope he hadn’t known he craved. Maybe it was a second chance, a gift from God to make his marriage work. If ever there was a time, this would certainly be it. And he knew he could do it . . . that is,
if
he wanted to.

* * *

Jazz peeked at the strange man through her eyelashes. He appeared motionless, his neck frozen stiff, his head facing straight. His face glowed from the dash lights as he stared at the road ahead. She turned away and looked out the window. She didn’t speak, instead choosing the comfort of silence against the backdrop of John Coltrane. The quiet suited her hurting head. And if she talked, she might find answers to questions forming in her mind, answers she didn’t really want to know.

Cole, Camden, Clare . . .
What was this man’s name again? The road signs glimmered in the streetlights outside her window, and none of them were familiar.
Just an adventure,
she tried to reassure herself.
Think of it as material for a future book.
Yeah, right. She didn’t write science fiction. But then again, according to tall, dark, and good-looking sitting next to her, she didn’t write romance, either. What a mess she had awakened to. Did this man—
Collin,
she reminded herself.
His name is Collin, and he thinks you’re his wife and probably expects you to sort socks and fold his underwear into perfect squares.
She snorted a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Collin asked, casting a glance her way. “Did you remember something?”

“No. It’s the situation. I don’t understand why you would take a stranger home with you.” She tugged on the lap belt, which clung tighter than the new designer jeans she’d found on sale last week.

“You’re not a stranger, but I will admit you’re acting strange.” With his brow furrowed, Collin paused as if in deep thought. “Louisa, do . . .”

“Jazz. Please call me by my name—not hers.” She released the seat belt. It sprang back and hit the door with a clunk.

“Put your seat belt on. It’s late, and I don’t need to be pulled over for a ticket tonight.”

“It’s too tight. I’m trying to fix it.” She pulled the belt hard and away from her, then reconnected it.

“Jazz, we—I have children, and they aren’t going to understand why you don’t know who they are.” His hand clenched the steering wheel, and she imagined if there were enough light, his knuckles would appear white.

“This is not my problem, Collin. I didn’t ask to go home with you. In fact, I demanded to be sent to my own house.” She squirmed in her seat. The belt inched tighter, squishing her lungs.

“You can’t even give me an address, Lou—Jazz.” Collin corrected himself at the last second. “How can I put you on a plane with a ticket for Someplace, Florida? Even if you weren’t my wife, I wouldn’t do it.”

Jazz stuck out her tongue at him and showered him with a raspberry.

“Well that’s a grown-up response,” Collin said. “Louisa would never do something so juvenile.”

“Guess that proves it. I’m not your wife.” She crossed her ankles and then uncrossed them, fighting the feeling of being trapped.

“Sorry. You’re married to me, unless Louisa has a twin sister I don’t know about.” An odd look passed over Collin’s face, leaving her with an uncomfortable feeling. It bothered her that she didn’t know how to interpret his facial clues.

“Do you think she does? Have a twin? It could happen.” And what a story that would be to write! If she had her notebook, she could jot it down. She didn’t see a piece of paper anywhere, not even a pen stuck in the sun visor.

“I’m sure she doesn’t. Besides, if she did, what are the odds she would be knocked out and you would be put in her hospital bed with the same kind of head injury? On the same day?”

“You’re a very logical person, aren’t you?”
And I bet you aren’t much fun at parties either,
she added for her own benefit.

“It helps in my career—allows me to connect the dots and find the best way to represent a client in his best interest.”

“Is it hard to keep track of so many details in a case?” Drat, she wished she had something to write on. She had a real-life lawyer just a few feet away and could ask him anything, but the way her head hurt, she knew she wouldn’t be able to recall his answers without notes.