be a fern motif. Hooray—some form of expression! Collin’s wife—Louisa, Jazz reminded herself—seemed to be lacking a personality, more of a clean-slate brain. Maybe that’s why Jazz couldn’t remember being this woman. If she was her. No, that wasn’t right; she wasn’t the woman who lived in this house. She wasn’t someone without a personality. Why, her name alone shouted that she had pizzazz!
The crystal clock on the nightstand echoed the time in her body—late. She longed to land facedown on the bed among the cream satin pillows stacked against the headboard. She pushed the door closed and turned. Then she saw it. A dresser stood to the right of the door, and over it hung a giant wall portrait. Of her. In a wedding dress, holding a bouquet of calla lilies tied with a forest-green satin ribbon.
Soft beige carpet muffled her landing as she sank to her knees. Dear God, who am I?
* * *
Collin watched the familiar stiffness of Louisa’s back as she climbed the stairs. He had noticed her walking away from him all too often this past month. Even if she thought she was someone else, Collin had no doubts she was his wife, and his heart ached at the chasm between them.
He searched for some excuse to follow her, then remembered the ibuprofen. She would need that. Rushing back into the kitchen, he found a bottle of extra-strength hiding in the cabinet behind the cartoon-character vitamins Louisa doled out every morning to the kids.
Collin doubled-timed up the staircase to their room, stopping abruptly in his tracks at the closed door. He gave the door a quick tap with his hand, almost hoping she wouldn’t answer so he’d have a reason to rush in, be her hero, and save her.
The door opened, but no more than the width of a cell phone. His wife peeked around the edge. “What?”
“Here.” He thrust the bottle at her. “You might need these. Now you won’t have to navigate the house in the dark to find them.”
“Thanks. I didn’t think about needing to take them later.” Her hand stretched beyond the cracked opening, grasped the bottle, then closed the door.
Resigned, he went back downstairs to what had become his bedroom—the family room. He yanked open the armoire doors and pulled out the pillow and blanket, tossing them onto the girly couch. Toile was what Louisa called the fabric. “Very chic,” she’d said. He had wanted brown leather, not this cream and brown stuff.
He scratched the back of his head and stretched. He knew he should review the stack of papers in his briefcase, but instead he scooped up the remote from the top of the glass coffee table. He used his thumb the way it was meant to be used, turning on the TV and cruising through the stations to search for something interesting. The channels flew by. He didn’t stop until a Japanese Western dubbed in English caught his attention. Realizing it was nothing but mindless entertainment, he relished the relaxation it would bring him.
Stripping off his shirt and suit pants, he draped them across a chair. In his boxers, he stretched out on the sofa, and his feet bumped the arm. Groaning in frustration, he twisted until his knees bent, hanging slightly over the edge. He prepared for another long night of trying to get comfortable. He dozed off and on, changing the channel as the night went by but never finding anything to watch except infomercials that attempted to sell him something he didn’t need.
“Collin. Collin.” A small hand clenched his shoulder, shaking him.
He sat up and rubbed his face with both hands. The television shot varied colors through the darkened room, creating a sci-fi vision behind his wife. “What, Louisa?” He blinked his eyes, trying to shake the sleep from them. He jolted, realizing he should have checked on her before now.
“My head hurts and so does my wrist, the one I need to open this.” She held the offending bottle out to him. “Can you get the lid off this?”
Collin swept the blanket out of
The crystal clock on the nightstand echoed the time in her body—late. She longed to land facedown on the bed among the cream satin pillows stacked against the headboard. She pushed the door closed and turned. Then she saw it. A dresser stood to the right of the door, and over it hung a giant wall portrait. Of her. In a wedding dress, holding a bouquet of calla lilies tied with a forest-green satin ribbon.
Soft beige carpet muffled her landing as she sank to her knees. Dear God, who am I?
* * *
Collin watched the familiar stiffness of Louisa’s back as she climbed the stairs. He had noticed her walking away from him all too often this past month. Even if she thought she was someone else, Collin had no doubts she was his wife, and his heart ached at the chasm between them.
He searched for some excuse to follow her, then remembered the ibuprofen. She would need that. Rushing back into the kitchen, he found a bottle of extra-strength hiding in the cabinet behind the cartoon-character vitamins Louisa doled out every morning to the kids.
Collin doubled-timed up the staircase to their room, stopping abruptly in his tracks at the closed door. He gave the door a quick tap with his hand, almost hoping she wouldn’t answer so he’d have a reason to rush in, be her hero, and save her.
The door opened, but no more than the width of a cell phone. His wife peeked around the edge. “What?”
“Here.” He thrust the bottle at her. “You might need these. Now you won’t have to navigate the house in the dark to find them.”
“Thanks. I didn’t think about needing to take them later.” Her hand stretched beyond the cracked opening, grasped the bottle, then closed the door.
Resigned, he went back downstairs to what had become his bedroom—the family room. He yanked open the armoire doors and pulled out the pillow and blanket, tossing them onto the girly couch. Toile was what Louisa called the fabric. “Very chic,” she’d said. He had wanted brown leather, not this cream and brown stuff.
He scratched the back of his head and stretched. He knew he should review the stack of papers in his briefcase, but instead he scooped up the remote from the top of the glass coffee table. He used his thumb the way it was meant to be used, turning on the TV and cruising through the stations to search for something interesting. The channels flew by. He didn’t stop until a Japanese Western dubbed in English caught his attention. Realizing it was nothing but mindless entertainment, he relished the relaxation it would bring him.
Stripping off his shirt and suit pants, he draped them across a chair. In his boxers, he stretched out on the sofa, and his feet bumped the arm. Groaning in frustration, he twisted until his knees bent, hanging slightly over the edge. He prepared for another long night of trying to get comfortable. He dozed off and on, changing the channel as the night went by but never finding anything to watch except infomercials that attempted to sell him something he didn’t need.
“Collin. Collin.” A small hand clenched his shoulder, shaking him.
He sat up and rubbed his face with both hands. The television shot varied colors through the darkened room, creating a sci-fi vision behind his wife. “What, Louisa?” He blinked his eyes, trying to shake the sleep from them. He jolted, realizing he should have checked on her before now.
“My head hurts and so does my wrist, the one I need to open this.” She held the offending bottle out to him. “Can you get the lid off this?”
Collin swept the blanket out of
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