Mind of Her Own (9 page)

“Let’s do it all at once, and then we’ll get done faster,” Jill suggested. “I’m really scared now. What if we get caught?”

“She’s a friend, right? We get her to laugh and tell her we’ll be back in the morning to clean up the mess.” Jazz began to creep toward the house. She stopped as high-pitched giggles came from behind her. She looked back at Jill and Laurie huddled on the sidewalk, encircled by the glow of a streetlight. They covered their mouths with their hands. “Remember, no noise! Just throw as high as you can to the top of the tree.”

“Sorry,” they said in unison.

Standing in the front yard, the women aimed the rolls of toilet paper at the top of the oak tree and tossed. The rolls spiraled out of their hands. Ribbons of tissue cascaded, draping over branches and causing them to bob.

Unable to contain their nervousness, they broke out in loud giggles. “Stop, we’re going to get caught,” Laurie said through a snort.

“Listen! There’s a car coming up the street. Back to the van!” Jazz squealed, breaking out in a run.

Bright lights engulfed the yard before she could get to the sidewalk. The women stood still like deer caught in the beam of a spotlight.

“Hold it right there, ladies,” an authoritative male voice called from beyond the light.

Adrenaline raced through Jazz. Collin wouldn’t like this turn of events. Maybe she could talk her way out of this. She at least had to try. “We’re sorry, Officer. We were just pulling a prank on a friend because I’ve lost my memory, and my friends are helping me get it back; only this friend didn’t show up for the sleepover tonight. We promise we’re planning to come back in the morning to clean up everything.”

“Up against the car, lady.” The officer shone his light over Jazz and moved closer.

“But you don’t understand—this was my idea. Can you let everyone else go home?” she pleaded with the armed man. Fear built a highway through her back—this man was not Officer Friendly.

“No. I’m taking all of you in. Now, up against the car.”

Jazz put her shaking hands on top of the car like she’d seen criminals do in the TV series
Cops
. Her friends followed her lead, and one by one, hands hit the police cruiser.

* * *

Tension mounted in Collin’s jaw. He was thankful she had been brought to the local station and not the municipal court, where he was well-known. His eye twitched, and he felt a ping in his forehead, then wondered if he could lose his memory like his wife. His life would be so much simpler if he could. How should he play this? he wondered. Hardened lawyer or desperate husband? How did his wife end up getting arrested? Not his wife, he reminded himself—Jazz. Louisa would never be in a police station unless she was on a Scouts field trip.

He checked the watch on his wrist. Jazz had called him almost an hour ago. Since she had managed to get all her friends arrested, finding a babysitter proved to be a challenge as the other husbands had to collect their own wives. He had left Madison in charge, fully aware he could be in trouble with the law himself if anyone reported him. A law he thought should be changed. Two more years and they could leave Madison with the boys, free and clear.

He approached the khaki-clad clerk behind the glass window. “You have my wife, Louisa Copeland?”

The clerk looked at him blankly.

Collin released a heavy sigh. “Jazz Sweet?”

The clerk nodded. “Her we have. Take a seat in the lobby, and I’ll send the arresting officer out to talk to you.”

In the lobby, Collin paced and then sat on one of the fern-green plastic chairs. Black-and-white posters of missing children covered one wall. The parents’ heartache had to tower over them every second as they wondered where their children were and if they were alive. How would he feel if it were his kids? His shoulders tensed. It was unimaginable. He stood and paced the room a few more times. He heard someone laugh behind the door where his wife was being held. He could hear the channel 2 sound bites now:
“Local lawyer’s wife behind bars.”
The minutes slowed. Waiting with a client had never felt like this. He’d never noticed how loud innocuous sounds could be if your nerves were in the process of unraveling—the jangle of coins in the vending machine or the sloshing of coffee as it poured from the machine into the cup. He sat back down, and his heels bounced.

“Mr. Copeland?” An officer stood in the open doorway.

Collin jumped from his chair. “Yes?”

“Come on back.” The officer turned and walked down the hallway without looking to see if Collin followed.

Collin upped his stride to catch him. “Are charges being pressed?”

“By the city. There is a nuisance law. We usually have teenagers breaking this law around prom time. I think this might be a first, though—four moms on a girls’ night out. Glad it’s not my wife.” The officer stopped in front of a closed door. “She’s in here. She wouldn’t sign anything until you came, said you were a lawyer?”

“I am. I’m also her husband; she just doesn’t remember that.”

The officer turned to face him. “She mentioned that. Didn’t quite believe her, though she made a valiant effort to convince me.”

“Unfortunately it’s true, and living like this can make your head ache.”

“Let’s get this done, then. Sounds like you’ve had a rough time.” The officer ushered him into the small room.

Jazz sat before him, her hair askew and mascara smeared under her eyes. He wondered if she had been crying, then canceled the thought as she rubbed her eyes with her hand.

“Collin! What took you so long? Everyone else already left.”

Jazz gazed at him like he had climbed a stone tower to rescue her from a dragon. He stood a little taller. He couldn’t help but feel good about that dewy damsel-in-distress look. But he wasn’t about to let her know that.

He cleared his throat, readying it for his in-court voice. “I’m here now. So what made you TP Nancy’s house?”

“We were . . . I don’t know . . .” She lowered her eyes to the table in front of her. Using her fingernail, she traced a name etched by someone who had been here before her.

“Bored?”

“Not exactly—more like we were acting like teenagers at a pajama party.” Jazz flashed him a grin, seemingly pleased with her rebuttal.

The officer handed him a stack of papers. “It’s good she enjoyed the experience, but I don’t think she’ll be laughing when she’s picking up bottles, cans, and unmentionables.”

“Trash?” Jazz seem puzzled.

“Yes, ma’am. You and your friends have landed yourselves a community service sentence: four hours on a Saturday morning picking up trash along the interstate. Better pray for a nice, cool, sunny day.”

Collin breathed a sigh of relief. “So we don’t have to go to court for this one?”

“No. We found with teenagers that having them work for the city is a greater punishment than fines.”

“But I’m not a teenager! Can’t we just pay a fine?” Jazz pleaded.

“Nope. You broke the law, and you have to pay the penalty.”

“Collin?”

Collin knew he could force the issue, take this to court, and maybe even win, but he was tired. Jazz could just take her punishment. “I hope you look good in bright orange.” He turned away from her angst-filled face and looked over the papers. “Sign these,” he said as he pushed them at her, “so we can get out of here. I still have a few hours of work to do.”

He refused to acknowledge the tears welling in her eyes.

Standing inside the massive bedroom closet, Jazz surveyed her choices. Another day of wearing someone else’s clothes. True, the clothes did fit, but they were so boring they made her yawn. There were no rainbow colors in this wardrobe, only navy, cream, and an occasional brown. Didn’t Louisa have one adventuresome bone in her body?

It was a cool day, and Jazz longed for a red sweater, or something with fun trim that would shoot sparkles of color across a room, or a collar of feathers that floated around her neck.

“What are you doing?” Madison padded into the closet.

“Trying to find something fun to wear.” Jazz held a cream satin shirt to her chest—fun fabric, but still didn’t come close to her style. This blouse was too dressy. She hung it back on the rod.

“Like what?”

“Anything with color or even stripes would be nice.” She shoved a hanger holding a navy-blue T-shirt to the side. “Boring.” Jazz sighed one more time and pulled a plain white T-shirt from the closet along with a navy skirt.

“Mom says one should always stick to buying the classics.” Madison stroked the dress next to her as if appreciating the value of the designer.

Jazz stared at Madison for a moment. “You’re the only one who doesn’t think I’m her. I find that refreshing.”

“You look like her, except . . . you smile more,” Madison said, “and you look at people when you talk to them.”

“I don’t think I’ll be smiling today.” With a hand on Madison’s back, she edged her from the closet and into the room. “Your dad is pretty mad at me, or he was last night.” She pulled the shirt over her head, then stepped into the skirt, shimmied it up her legs, and zipped it. “What do you mean I look at people?” she said, realizing Madison had offered her a clue about Louisa’s personality.

Madison flopped across the unmade bed. “I don’t know. It’s just different. Mom talked to lots of people, but she was always doing something else at the same time, like picking up Tim or looking for him or something. You just stop what you’re doing and talk.”

“I should be spending more time watching out for Tim. That’s probably a mom thing I’m supposed to know how to do.” Jazz shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe someday I’ll figure out how to multitask.”

“Maybe,” Madison agreed. “So what happened, anyway?”

“Apparently there’s a Nosy Nelly across the street. She called the police.”

Madison’s eyes widened. “What’s it like to be arrested?”

“Scary. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“What did Dad say?” Madison’s voice sounded a bit fearful.

Jazz sank down on the bed next to Madison. “He said I broke the law and had to pay the penalty. His mouth didn’t even move, just stayed in a straight line.”

“That means he’s really mad. You probably shouldn’t get too close to him today. That’s what I do when he’s mad. I stay far, far away from him,” Madison said. “Sometimes it helps if you clean your room.”

“That might be hard for me to do. I can’t hide in the bedroom all day.” She rooted through the dresser for a scarf or a belt to brighten her outfit. “And I’m not cleaning anything.”

“We could go shopping,” Madison said. “Then you could get some clothes you like.”

“Do you know how to get to the mall?” Jazz slammed the drawer shut with her hip. Her heart pounded at the thrill of the hunt for new clothes. Clothes that shouted “Jazz.”

“We could ask Laurie to go with us. But let’s leave Tim and Joey home with Dad,” Madison said as she tugged the hem of her nightgown over her feet.

“I think that’s a great idea. We’ll have ourselves a girls’ day out.” Jazz slid her feet into a pair of sandals. Remembering how angry Laurie was last night when the police put them in the car, she said, “I think it would be better to go to the mall by ourselves.”

“If it’s girls’ day out, we won’t get arrested, will we?” Madison asked.

“Not planning on it. I don’t think your father will bail me out twice in one weekend. Go get dressed and meet me downstairs.” She shooed Madison out of the room and tromped down the stairs to the kitchen. She found Collin sitting at the counter, drinking his coffee and flipping through the sports page. “Good morning, Counselor.”

“Is it? At least you didn’t make the newspaper.” Collin picked up his cup, then set it back down. “Do you know how embarrassing this will be for me at the firm? It might hurt my chance of becoming partner.”

“Just remind them I’m not really your wife and you can’t control my behavior,” Jazz said.

“I don’t think they’ll believe me.” He flipped another page.

“Madison and I are going to do some shopping today.” She wished he would at least look at her.
Or maybe it’s better he doesn’t.
His rough morning beard begged her to reach over and pat his face. What would it be like to kiss a man with a scratchy face? Would it leave marks on her skin? She felt the heat in her cheeks and was thankful Collin wasn’t looking at her.
I’ve got to get a grip on reality. He is not my husband—he belongs to Louisa.
She grabbed a glass from the cabinet and shoved it under the filtered-water dispenser on the front of the fridge.

“What about Tim and Joey?” he asked.

Jazz took a sip of the ice-cold water and felt more in control of her feelings. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You can watch them. Do some boy stuff, like practice casting with one of those fishing rods you have stored in the garage, or how about kicking the soccer ball around in the park?”

He peered at her over the top of the paper. “I don’t take care of the kids on the weekend. Louisa always watches them so I can have some free time.” He looked at her sheepishly. “She insists.”

“No wonder she took a vacation from you, Collin.” Her words held a touch of anger, and it surprised her. “Please, could you give me directions to the nearest retail-therapy center?” She attempted to soften her attitude with a gentle tone.

“What are you going to use for money?”

Jazz smiled her sweetest smile. “Louisa’s credit card.”

“Don’t spend a lot on clothes. There’s too many in the closet now,” Collin said.

Jazz shook off his warning. What did he know about clothes and how many a woman needed, anyway? “I’ll pay you back as soon—”

“—as you remember where you live. I know,” Collin grumbled as he found a paper by the telephone and wrote out the directions to the mall. “Like that will ever happen.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just don’t be gone all day.”

“I’m sure you and the boys will be fine.”

“But can you handle Madison?”

“Why couldn’t I?” Jazz turned and stared at him. “I can’t imagine how hard it could be to shop with her.”

“She doesn’t need anything,” Collin said.

“Need has nothing to do with shopping, dear.” Jazz cocked her head and threw him a grin as she scooped up her pass to retail heaven. “Madison, let’s rock,” she hollered up the stairs.

Madison came barreling down. She had parted her hair in several directions and then braided a small piece, which she’d clipped into a loop on the side.

At least Louisa’s daughter had some personality. “Nice hair,” Jazz said, realizing her own blonde locks lacked excitement. Apparently Louisa liked wearing her hair in a classic style to match her classic clothes.

“Thanks.” Madison’s mouth formed a perfect perky smile. “I think it’s awesome.”

“It is.” Jazz paused in the open door to the garage. “Let’s take the convertible.” She scooped Collin’s key ring off the rack, leaving Louisa’s in place.

“Dad’s car?” Madison spoke in a whisper.

“Yeah.” Jazz loved the excitement on Madison’s face.

“But we never get to go in Dad’s car. He doesn’t let us.” Madison looked back at the kitchen with a worried expression.

“Suit yourself, but I’m going in that car. We need to leave the van in case your dad has to take the boys somewhere.” Jazz opened the driver’s door of the sports car and slid behind the wheel. “Coming?”

Madison’s blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. “Oh yeah. This is so cool! Wait until Hannah finds out.”

Jazz stuck the key in the ignition, and the engine jumped to life with the low rumble of a tiger. “It is. It’s better than cool.” She shifted the car into gear and backed out of the garage.

* * *

Inside the dressing room, Jazz pulled a bright red and orange knit dress over her head. She patted her hair into place. Then, not liking the look, she tousled it. She admired the fit from all angles. Definitely a great dress. She’d take it and the others she’d brought in with her. She couldn’t wait to begin wearing these clothes. The short T-shirt made her belly look flat. All she needed was a tan and maybe a diamond in her navel. No more cream and navy for her. She sighed in happiness. She felt like herself again. Had it only been a week that she’d been living Louisa’s life?

She gathered the clothes and left the dressing room to search for Madison. She found her at the jewelry rack. “Find anything?”

“Yeah, can I get my belly button pierced?” Madison looked at her expectantly.

“Um.” What was she supposed to say to that? Hadn’t she been considering doing that very thing in the dressing room? But she wasn’t twelve, and Madison was. “Do your friends have pierced belly buttons?”

“No. I want to be the first.” She held one ring in each hand, alternating them over her T-shirt where her belly button was.

“What would your dad say?” Jazz felt her foot begin to tap—a nervous habit she now recognized as a sign that she was in over her head. Or maybe it was a message from Louisa, letting her know this was unacceptable.

“Dad wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t even notice. We don’t have to tell him, do we?” Madison pleaded with wide eyes.

“So if we don’t tell him, it means he wouldn’t like it, right?”

“Probably not.” Madison frowned and slapped the belly button rings back on the wire hanger. The wall of jewelry trembled with her disappointment. “I knew you wouldn’t let me do it. You act like you’re all cool and stuff, but you’re just like my mom.”

“Whoa. Where did that come from?”

“Well, you weren’t going to let me, were you?”

“No, but I think we can find something else to make you happy if we try.” Jazz wondered just what would be appropriate for a preteen and yet acceptable to parents.

“Like what?”

“Give me some ideas, Madison. This is all foreign territory for me.” Maybe she should try distraction. She’d researched that parenting tip for one of her books, but she couldn’t remember if it worked or not. “I don’t suppose you want to go to the bookstore?”

“No way.” Madison stuck her lip into the pout position Jazz had become familiar with.

“Music?”

“A new iPod?” Madison jutted her chin a few inches higher as if to say she would bargain, but it wouldn’t be cheap.

“What’s wrong with yours?”

“It’s not the newest one. And I want a purple one.”

“We can look at them, but no promise that we’ll get one.” At least they had moved away from permanent alteration of Madison’s body.

“But if I have it, I’ll be the coolest kid at the party.”

“Party?”

“I didn’t ask Dad yet. I thought you could ask him for me.”

“Are there going to be boys there?” Now where had that come from? She didn’t think she had a parental bone in her body, but that was a parent thought if she’d ever had one. It must have been a leftover from her childhood.

Madison headed for a circle rack of hooded shirts. She gathered a hem in her hand. Her attitude screamed,
Act casual and the parent won’t figure it out.
“Just a few boys. Only the cool ones are invited.”

The cool ones? That sounded like trouble to Jazz. The phrase “He’s such a bad boy but so desirable” came to her. Had she written that? “Whose house is it at?”

“Hannah’s. Her parents will be there. She’s going to be thirteen, and they said she could have a DJ. I just have to go, Jazz! You can call Hannah’s mom if you want to.” Madison’s attitude of
It doesn’t matter to me
melted into desperation. “I just have to be there!”

“When is this party?”

“In a few weeks because Hannah was born around Halloween.”

“So it’s a Halloween party? I don’t . . .” Jazz hesitated. The idea of the mischief-making that went along with Halloween made her nervous about telling Madison she could go. She remembered the TP incident all too well. Even worse, she didn’t know how Louisa felt. So for now, she didn’t think a Halloween party would be a great idea.

“No, it’s not! It’s not going to be a costume thing or anything.”

“I’ll call Hannah’s mom, and then we’ll talk to your dad.” Jazz hoped this was the right way to handle it. “Let’s find something to wear to the party that doesn’t put plugs in your ears. You do want to talk to people, right?”

“Yeah. I won’t be able to hear anything unless I leave out one of the earbuds. Thanks!” Madison surprised Jazz with a quick impromptu hug.

“You’re welcome, but we’re going to the bookstore afterward.”
I’m going to look for a book on adolescent behavior. There must be some kind of manual for raising teenagers.
She’d seen ones for pregnant women; surely there would be a useful one on what to do once the kids arrived. She could count it as a research book because once Louisa returned, Jazz knew she had a great story to write.
And if she doesn’t return?
That thought kept nudging her more than she liked. Why couldn’t she remember? Why didn’t she want to? And why did it seem so important that she did?

* * *

Tim and Joey squatted on the kitchen chairs, arguing over the ketchup bottle. Collin had taken them for burgers and fries, but instead of eating at the fast food establishment, he had thought they could eat at home. Since it took them forever to eat French fries, he figured he’d have a few minutes of peace. The phone had rung the minute they walked in the door, though, and he’d just tossed the bags on the table for the two of them to have at it.

His mother-in-law repeated her question. “Do you think I should come and stay with you until she gets better?”

“I don’t know, Beth. Let me talk to her about it when she gets home.” He snapped his fingers, and when the boys looked his way, he glared at them and pointed at the ketchup bottle. They sat down in their chairs. Quite pleased with his ability to calm the sibling battle, Collin returned to the conversation. “I’ve been giving her things to smell, but so far no memories, good or bad, have sprung into her mind.”