Mind of Her Own (12 page)

“Let’s go see, Collin. You can talk to Tim while we walk home.” Jazz climbed down the tree behind Collin. She offered a silent plea that God would forgive her for ignoring this small child placed in her care, along with a prayer of thankfulness that Tim had been found unharmed.

Laurie, Tina, and Jill were huddled in the corner of the police station lobby. They looked out of place among the sullen teenagers who had already donned their bright-orange vests. A few of the teens strutted around the room as if they had been awarded high honors. Her friends’ faces were not as welcoming to Jazz as they had been the night they gathered at Laurie’s home. Jazz felt like she was walking through thick sand on her trip across the black-and-white tile floor. Cautiously she offered a small smile. “Hi, hope you all look good in orange.”

“Not my favorite color,” Laurie said without returning the smile.

The other two seemed to be studying the ceiling above Jazz’s head. Almost in unison, they turned their backs to her and began talking in hushed tones to Laurie. Behind her someone popped gum in rapid succession. Several teenagers laughed. Jazz suddenly understood what it meant to be at a party where no one knew your name or cared. She didn’t remember ever experiencing it before, and she didn’t like it. Her new friends seemed to edge closer to the teenagers. Were they distancing themselves from her in space and friendship? She didn’t think she could feel any more remorse at getting them in trouble.

The community service officer strode through the door. A hush settled over the lobby as the tall and muscular black woman with short, spiky blonde hair waited until everyone looked in her direction. “I’m Officer Georgia Warren. You may address me as Officer George. I am allowing you to do that because you aren’t incarcerated. That does not mean I am your buddy. You are here because you did something to our community. Today is about you making amends to that same community.

“All right, all of you, let’s get ready to go,” Officer George said as she made her way past the young man with the lip piercing and through a group of bunched-up teenagers. She stopped short in front of the huddled women, towering over them. “And, ladies, listen up. Everyone has their safety vests. Get yours on, now.” She turned and walked away toward the door.

Jazz let out her breath and glanced sideways at Laurie. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

Laurie looked down at the vest in her hands, then pulled it over her head without a word.

“Line up in single file.” Officer George waited until the last person took his place. “We will be boarding the prisoner van. It is just outside this door. You will not speak to anyone. You are serving your sentence—alone. You are not here on an
outing
with your friends.”

Tina poked Jazz in the back the minute Officer George went out the door. “Thanks a lot,” she hissed.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Jill whispered. “Why did we listen to you?”

“Louisa would never have caused us this much trouble,” Laurie said.

“And,” Tina said with a smirk, “she wouldn’t have lost her child either.”

Jazz straightened her back and bit her lip. She wanted to turn around and scream at them. She wanted to tell them she hadn’t lost Tim on purpose. She wanted to tell them she wished Louisa would come back because she didn’t need friends like the three of them.

But she didn’t. She stayed quiet, tears stinging her eyes and sadness twisting her heart. She didn’t say anything because they were right. Louisa would never have convinced them to do something so childish. She shuffled into the small white van and sat in an unoccupied row. She watched the shadows of her friends’ feet pass by as they found places far behind her.

The morning did not get any better. Officer George had meant it when she said no talking. She’d sent two teenagers back to the van moments after they arrived, giving them the good news that they would have to repeat their service the following weekend since they couldn’t follow the rules. After that, Jazz didn’t dare risk getting her friends or herself in more trouble by trying to apologize again.

Weary and hot by the end of the four-hour sentence, Jazz climbed into the van and looked for a place to sit. Not wanting to appear as alone as she felt, she parked herself in the first row next to a boy who wore pressed pants and a polo shirt. His appearance suggested he didn’t belong on this punishment any more than she and her friends did. She wanted to ask him what crime he’d committed against the community, but just then Officer George stepped into the van.

“Let me remind you people, you are still under my charge. There will be no talking until you have returned your orange vests.”

* * *

Hungry, Collin rushed up the stairs from the basement. He thought maybe they should go out for dinner since Jazz had suffered through community service. So far no one had called from the office to razz him. Perhaps he would come through this incident unscathed.

He expected to see Jazz playing a game with Tim and Joey. This past week, since Tim had given them a scare, Jazz had become more like a mom. He had come home early one night and found them all on the couch together. On the bookshelf, she’d discovered a book about the life of dinosaurs that was filled with detailed illustrations and a story line that interested even Madison.

Madison sat on the couch with the phone glued to her ear. Tim was at the coffee table busily drawing, making yet another book of his own. Joey lay on the floor watching Japanese cartoons.

“Joey, their mouths don’t move right.”

“Madison said it’s called anime.”

“I call it weird.” Collin tossed a pillow at him.

Joey knocked it to the floor before it hit him.

“Where’s Mom?” Collin surprised himself by giving Jazz that name. Even he had begun to think of her as the kids’ mom.

“She’s upstairs in her room,” Madison said, taking a break from her conversation.

“Thanks.” Collin started up the stairs, wondering just when their bedroom had become “her room.” Something he would be fixing soon.

Standing at the closed door, Collin raised his hand to knock. He paused, hearing what sounded like sobbing.
Now what?
Did he burst through the door and comfort his wife or knock and give her a chance to dry her tears? He rested his hand on the doorknob when another sob tore at his heart. No matter that she didn’t remember who she was; he knew who she was, he thought as he flung open the door.

“Jazz, honey, what’s wrong?” Collin rushed to the bed where she lay facedown, crying into the pillow.

“Nothing,” her muffled voice answered. “Go away, please.”

He sat down on the bed next to her. His hand floated above her back for a moment, and then, unable to resist offering comfort, he began to massage her shoulders. He ignored the way she stiffened under his touch—at least her crying quieted.

“Jazz, talk to me,” he said.

“They hate me.” She rolled over and stared at the ceiling.

Collin didn’t breathe for a moment. His hand was resting on her abdomen, and she didn’t push it away. It had been so long since his touch hadn’t been brushed away.
Not now,
his conscience reminded him. He removed his hand.

“Who hates you?”

“Louisa’s friends. They said mean things this morning.”

“Didn’t like community service, huh?” Collin debated whether or not to be a bad guy and point out why they wouldn’t have enjoyed it. Being listed in the local paper for the community to see might be on top of the list. Then again, she didn’t need any more misery from the looks of her. “Jazz, they didn’t have to TP the house. They made a choice.”

“I know, but they wouldn’t have if I hadn’t made it sound like so much fun.” Her lower lip trembled.

“You know they were just angry at themselves and took it out on you.”

“Yes, but you’re mad at me too.”

“I’m angry with them. They know you aren’t yourself. They should have been better friends and persuaded you that it wasn’t a good idea.” She still hadn’t looked him in the eyes. Good thing, too, or he knew he’d throw caution away and kiss her.

He took a deep breath. “I’m not mad anymore. You know that because I told you.”

Jazz sat up on the bed, almost touching him shoulder-to-shoulder. She leaned her head on his arm. “I’m homesick, Collin. I miss the ocean. I miss my friends. It’s all so crazy. I know it’s all in my imagination, but it seems so real. And it hurts so much knowing that. What if I never remember being Louisa?”

“Then you don’t. You have a place to live and a family that loves you.” He put his arm around her.

She snuggled closer. His heart pounded as she looked up at him with her bewitching blue eyes, sparkling from the tears.

“Thank you, Collin.”

He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself. “No, thank you,” he whispered and brushed his lips over hers.

For a second, Jazz didn’t resist him, filling him with hope.

“Stop.” She finally pushed him away and climbed off the bed. “I’m not her, Collin.” Her voice could have cooled a side of beef. “I’ll be fine now. Thanks for checking on me.”

Collin stood, hands at his sides, feeling like a seventh grader caught sneaking a kiss behind an open locker door. “Fine, yeah, we’ll all be fine someday.” He strode out of the room without a look back at the woman who used to be his wife.

Tim held out a daisy to Jazz. “Smell it! I picked it just for you.”

Jazz took the flower. Several petals were missing, and the stem was crushed where Tim had mauled it in a tight grip. She sniffed it. “Thank you. It’s very pretty, Tim.”

“Now you’re supposed to give me a kiss like you always do and call me ‘Tim Bear.’”

Jazz loved the way he took her memory loss as a mission, determined to break through the desolate void. But she had begun to think Louisa had disappeared forever.

His big brown eyes beckoned her to do as he asked. Eyes just like his father’s. She couldn’t refuse Tim’s innocent request. Bending over, she scooped him up in her arms. “Thank you, Tim Bear! And here’s your reward.” She kissed him on the cheek with a loud sucking sound, making him giggle. She put him back down.

“Did you remember?” Tim’s face held nothing but expectation.

“Not yet.” She held out a hand. “Let’s go read a book.”

With his favorite book, All about Trucks, in hand, Tim crawled up next to her on the couch. He snuggled under her arm. “Ready.”

Jazz flipped open the book and began to read. “‘This is a red truck. This truck can carry lots of things. This is a—’”

“Dump truck.” Tim wiggled in closer. “Turn the page!”

By the fifth page, Tim fell asleep. She closed the book and pushed it to the end of the couch. Maybe she could squeeze out from under him. If she did it just right, he might sleep for at least an hour.

An hour she could use to write.

But she didn’t move.

Somehow she knew this was a special moment, one that might never be repeated.

He made a small grunting noise and moved his hand to her lap. She traced his fingernails with her fingertip. So tiny. And so dirty. She frowned. Her heart suddenly lifted as she realized the dirt must have come from picking her the daisy from the flower bed.

Jazz leaned into the top of his head and inhaled the warm scent of boy. The silkiness of his hair grazed her cheek. She had done this many times before.

Before?

And then she knew. Tim and Joey belonged to her.

She didn’t move. Didn’t dare. She didn’t want to lose this precious memory ever again.

The minute Collin came home from work, Jazz told him she needed to talk. He’d finally found time to fit her into his busy schedule. She squirmed on the kitchen stool across from where he sat with a pen in his shirt pocket and a file folder full of briefs.

“So what’s the news?”

“I had a moment today,” she began.

“Jazz, I’m really busy here, so if all you had was a
moment
, can this wait?” He rubbed his hand across his chin.

He had dark circles under his eyes, and she knew he wasn’t trying to be unkind. Still, she considered not telling him. After all, he didn’t want to hear about her moment.

Tell him.

She didn’t even know whose voice was in her head anymore. “I remember Tim and Joey, but that’s all.”

“What do you mean, you remember the boys but not Madison or me?” Collin pulled the pen from his pocket and began clicking—open, shut, open, shut.

Jazz wanted to yank it from his hand and stick it in his—well, just stick it somewhere. How dare he act like she chose whom to remember and whom to forget? Although the way he was acting, she might easily choose to forget
him
.

“Well?” The incessant clicking continued.

“You are correct, O Royal Barrister. I don’t remember the two of you. I don’t know why. Instead of using that trial-lawyer tone with me, maybe you should concentrate on the positive. If I remember them, how long can it be before I remember you?” She hoped that would satisfy him.

He stuck the pen back into his pocket and slid his suit jacket off his shoulders. “I’m going upstairs to take a shower. I can’t believe you only remember two of us.”

Jazz waited until he turned his back and started up the stairs. Then, with great drama, she stuck out her tongue and made a face. Was it all lawyers or just him? He never had a fun moment as far as she could tell. Everything needed to be serious or checked off a list or preplanned. No way could she classify him as a free and easy, let’s-take-the-day-off-to-play kind of guy.
No wonder Louisa—no, not Louisa—me! I have to try and remember that. Anyway, it’s no wonder I’ve checked out of my normal existence and into this one. At least I can make life interesting. I can cut paper for hours and arrange pictures with stickers, eyelets, and handmade embellishments. Or faux-finish an old dresser with a can of spray paint to make it look like marble. Go ahead, Collin, be your old stuffy self. But get one thing straight: I will never return to Louisa’s mundane world.

* * *

Collin didn’t want to admit how much it had hurt not to be the first one Jazz remembered yesterday. He had left work early tonight thinking that maybe if he spent more time at home, her memory could return. The way he reasoned it out was that she spent more time with Tim and Joey than she did with Madison or him. Coming home early would be a surprise for the entire family. Since Jazz had arrived, family life had become more fun. Last week he’d found out he wasn’t home for the pancakes shaped like clowns and root-beer-float night. No wonder they didn’t miss him. All he did was work and tell them to be quiet so he could work some more.

He pulled into the garage, weary of other people’s problems as well as his own. He grasped the handle of his briefcase and slid it across the seat as he climbed out of the car. Then he opened the door to the kitchen and heard a roar of laughter. They were having fun without him—
again
. He roughly plopped his briefcase on the counter. No greetings of
“Hey, Dad, you’re home!”
wafted his way. They didn’t even realize he had come home.
But they weren’t expecting me this early.
He attempted to apply reasoning to their lack of interest in his arrival.

Over the top of the couch, he could see their heads bobbing with laughter. All three kids and Jazz were involved in an activity together. Curious, he stepped into the family room. Jazz had filled a blue wading pool with water. The kids were plinking pennies at yellow and pink rubber ducks, trying to get their own duck to reach the other side of the pool first. They had sandwiches on paper plates and a picnic basket filled with potato chips. Cleo stood on one side and lapped the water that splashed out of the pool. While he took in the scene before him, anger sneaked up and bit him.

“Do I need to hire a nanny to watch you
and
the children, Jazz? What were you thinking? Water on a wood floor? Do you know how much that floor cost? How many hours I had to bill to pay for it?”

Madison jumped to Jazz’s defense. “Daddy, we covered the floor with plastic and then put towels under the pool to protect the floor.”

He choked back a retort. “Oh. Good.”

No one invited him to join in the fun. They all knew he didn’t play. Work always needed to be done—never finished, just done. He’d made that clear long ago when he decided the allure of prestige and money could be his if he were chosen to be a partner.

He’d let the demands of paperwork and senior partners rule his life. But he didn’t like living that way anymore.

So what did he intend to do about it? He couldn’t give up his job. Or could he? What would they do for money? Where would they live? Without another word, he spun around and went back to the kitchen, unable to acknowledge the wake he’d left behind because of his own pain at being left out. He’d only desired to make Louisa happy, and now it seemed he’d never achieved that goal. And Jazz didn’t appear to need his big house either.

Suddenly a more worrisome question flashed in his mind. What if Louisa returned, and like money in a teenager’s hand, all the fun drained from their lives?

After making a sandwich for himself, Collin passed by the mini carnival in the family room and went to his workshop. He found his attraction to Jazz growing stronger as each day passed. At work the phone would interrupt him, and he’d find himself hoping it was Jazz. He’d walk by someone at the courthouse and smell her perfume. He’d find himself whirling around looking for Jazz, only to find another woman. Then he’d feel disappointment, realizing she hadn’t come to see him at work. Knowing she slept in his bed every night, but he didn’t, tortured him. He couldn’t continue to keep his relationship with her at the same level. Frustrated, he slammed the workshop door behind him and turned the key to lock it. Today he would discover the way to win back his wife—or to make Jazz love him.

He brushed aside the wood scraps hiding the forbidden box of journals. Without hesitation, he flipped the lid to the floor and pulled out a journal. He settled on the stool, propped the book on top of the workbench, and began to read.

Collin picked me up—late as usual for dinner tonight. Mom said I should give serious thought about my marriage to him. She thinks he would be late to his own wedding. I don’t think so, but I wish he could arrive when he says he would.

Collin didn’t know whether to be hurt, angry, or sad that he had disappointed Louisa. He flipped through the pages until he saw
Valentine’s Day
written in red ink and encircled with hearts. Feeling smug, he was sure this would be a pleasant read.

Collin took me to get ice cream tonight. I like him, but I wish he would be a little more exciting. Oh well, at least vanilla is predictable, and that’s what I need—safe and no surprises. I would have liked to be a little surprised, though, maybe a hot-air balloon ride over Forest Park.

Saddened that he had missed this side of Louisa, he almost trashed the idea of reading more. The pain of not satisfying her cut deep.
But she did marry me,
he thought.
That has to be a good entry.
He knew he had asked her in March that same year, but what was the date? In the middle, right before St. Patrick’s Day. He turned the pages until he found the entry for March 14.

Collin asked me to marry him. I said yes. I wish I felt like fireworks were going off overhead, or like running down the street ringing doorbells and shouting to everyone that Collin asked me to marry him. I don’t, though. I do know he’ll be a good father and husband. We have the same values. That’s more than most of my friends can say. Mom and Dad are happy, and I can give up school. I never wanted to be a legal secretary. I do love Collin, but inside I feel frozen. I dread the wedding night.

Shocked and sickened, Collin closed the cover of the journal. He couldn’t read any more. How had he missed this? Louisa had seemed so happy to get married. She spent hours poring over all kinds of wedding magazines and searching out just the right place for the reception. She had invited two hundred people to eat the five-tier cake.

And the wedding night—he thought that had gone well. It didn’t do much for his ego to think it might not have. Could that have been the beginning of the coldness between them? He didn’t think he had done anything wrong, but she cried for a long time that night. She had told him she was homesick. Had she lied to him?

His confidence shredded, he tossed the book aside. He sat for a moment, unsure of what to do with the raw feelings surfing through him. He stuffed the emotions far from his heart and picked up a piece of wood he had cut earlier for a picture frame. Getting a piece of sandpaper from the workbench, he began to apply it to the coarse wood, sliding the rough paper over the grain until it polished to a silk finish. He wished he knew a way to smooth out his marriage as easily.