along with the argument that followed. And what was his name? Caleb? Collin. The name shot into her brain. That’s good. Keep going. . . . Who are the others? She tapped her lip with her index finger and tried to recall. Mel, Misty—Madison! That was the daughter’s name, Madison. The other two names escaped her. And the dog? She had no idea, and right now she didn’t care. She slammed her head back into the pillow. Why was she here?
Jazz decided to maintain silence, hide out in the bedroom until the house was quiet, and then research the subject. There had to be something around this house with the names of the kids on it. Didn’t moms write names on coats? If she were a kitten, she would have purred with satisfaction at her brilliance. This would be easy. Match the name, the size of the coat, and the kid—that’s all she’d have to do. She lay back on the bed and prayed that no one would discover she was awake. As soon as they were gone, she planned to take a bath in that wonderful Jacuzzi tub she saw in the bathroom last night.
There were whispers at the door.
“It won’t hurt to peek.”
She sank her head back into the fluffy pillow, a pillow worthy of the most expensive hotel she’d stayed at one summer. Why had she been there? She pondered that question while she closed her eyes and feigned a deep sleep. Soon the soft sound of bare feet on the carpet alerted her of an invasion. She didn’t move. Maybe the intruders would go away if they thought she was sleeping. She tried to slow her breathing and willed her eyelids not to twitch. Although in a dream state they are supposed to twitch, aren’t they? She considered that thought for a moment, then let her eyes move a tiny bit. She was so involved in her acting skills she hadn’t realized one of them had come closer. She almost jumped when a soft, cool finger poked her cheek.
“It’s not Mom,” a very small voice said, close enough that she felt the breath of the breather.
“Is too. She looks like Mom.”
“If she’s Mom, why is she still sleeping instead of making us breakfast?”
Jazz forced her body to continue to lie as still as possible. No way would she climb out of this nice, soft bed and make oatmeal or whatever kids ate for breakfast these days. Maybe if she stayed motionless they would go away and their father would get their breakfast for them. Besides, didn’t he say last night he would take care of his kids this morning?
“Why doesn’t she move?”
Jazz fought the urge to open her eyes to see who was leaning over her.
“Maybe she’s dead,” said another.
“No, she’s not,” wailed a small voice. “She’s not dead! She’s Mom.”
Always a sucker for someone or something in pain, she couldn’t handle the hurt in that small voice. She opened her eyes.
A small boy scooted away from the bed and screamed. “She’s awake!”
The sound of Collin’s voice came from the hall. “Kids, are you in there with your mother?”
“Shh, maybe he won’t find us in here,” someone whispered.
Collin entered the room. “I told you kids to stay out of here. She’s not feeling good.”
His aftershave wafted through the room, reminding her of the deep woods in the fall. She couldn’t figure out where that memory came from since she didn’t remember ever being in the woods during the fall season. Maybe she traveled from Florida to Tennessee and hiked the Appalachian Trail? Didn’t matter; her nose liked the scent.
“Madison said she wasn’t our mom and we wanted to see. She is our mom, isn’t she, Dad?”
Collin cleared his throat. “Your mom hit her head last night, and she’s having memory problems.”
Jazz sat up in bed, wincing at the pain in her head. “I’m not dead, and I’m not your mom. You can call me Jazz.”
“Dad, Mom’s name is Louisa.” Joey looked at her like she was insane, then back at his dad for reassurance. “Right?”
“Yes, Joey, it is, but after the grill fell on her head, she woke
Jazz decided to maintain silence, hide out in the bedroom until the house was quiet, and then research the subject. There had to be something around this house with the names of the kids on it. Didn’t moms write names on coats? If she were a kitten, she would have purred with satisfaction at her brilliance. This would be easy. Match the name, the size of the coat, and the kid—that’s all she’d have to do. She lay back on the bed and prayed that no one would discover she was awake. As soon as they were gone, she planned to take a bath in that wonderful Jacuzzi tub she saw in the bathroom last night.
There were whispers at the door.
“It won’t hurt to peek.”
She sank her head back into the fluffy pillow, a pillow worthy of the most expensive hotel she’d stayed at one summer. Why had she been there? She pondered that question while she closed her eyes and feigned a deep sleep. Soon the soft sound of bare feet on the carpet alerted her of an invasion. She didn’t move. Maybe the intruders would go away if they thought she was sleeping. She tried to slow her breathing and willed her eyelids not to twitch. Although in a dream state they are supposed to twitch, aren’t they? She considered that thought for a moment, then let her eyes move a tiny bit. She was so involved in her acting skills she hadn’t realized one of them had come closer. She almost jumped when a soft, cool finger poked her cheek.
“It’s not Mom,” a very small voice said, close enough that she felt the breath of the breather.
“Is too. She looks like Mom.”
“If she’s Mom, why is she still sleeping instead of making us breakfast?”
Jazz forced her body to continue to lie as still as possible. No way would she climb out of this nice, soft bed and make oatmeal or whatever kids ate for breakfast these days. Maybe if she stayed motionless they would go away and their father would get their breakfast for them. Besides, didn’t he say last night he would take care of his kids this morning?
“Why doesn’t she move?”
Jazz fought the urge to open her eyes to see who was leaning over her.
“Maybe she’s dead,” said another.
“No, she’s not,” wailed a small voice. “She’s not dead! She’s Mom.”
Always a sucker for someone or something in pain, she couldn’t handle the hurt in that small voice. She opened her eyes.
A small boy scooted away from the bed and screamed. “She’s awake!”
The sound of Collin’s voice came from the hall. “Kids, are you in there with your mother?”
“Shh, maybe he won’t find us in here,” someone whispered.
Collin entered the room. “I told you kids to stay out of here. She’s not feeling good.”
His aftershave wafted through the room, reminding her of the deep woods in the fall. She couldn’t figure out where that memory came from since she didn’t remember ever being in the woods during the fall season. Maybe she traveled from Florida to Tennessee and hiked the Appalachian Trail? Didn’t matter; her nose liked the scent.
“Madison said she wasn’t our mom and we wanted to see. She is our mom, isn’t she, Dad?”
Collin cleared his throat. “Your mom hit her head last night, and she’s having memory problems.”
Jazz sat up in bed, wincing at the pain in her head. “I’m not dead, and I’m not your mom. You can call me Jazz.”
“Dad, Mom’s name is Louisa.” Joey looked at her like she was insane, then back at his dad for reassurance. “Right?”
“Yes, Joey, it is, but after the grill fell on her head, she woke
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