Mind of Her Own (6 page)

“Like what? We have three kids—sometimes that can be dramatic.”

Dr. Allen shook his head. “Nice evasion, Counselor, but I said
trauma
, not
drama
. Retrograde amnesia can be triggered by a bump on the head or a seizure. We’ve determined that Louisa didn’t have a seizure. The grill is heavy and could be the reason for the amnesia. Retrograde amnesia can cause a loss of memory from the time of a specific event. Is it possible your wife had something happen to her as a child that she hasn’t told you about?”

“No, no. I don’t recall anything that she’d want to forget.”

“There is more you need to be aware of: it is likely she’ll have problems remembering things from now on as well, although that shouldn’t last long. We have seen in some cases like this that patients don’t remember their past, so they fill in the details of what they think happened in their past, believing those details to be correct. They aren’t trying to lie, understand, but they may offer an exaggerated version of some truth.” He paused for a breath, steepling his hands again and resting them on the desk. “She’ll likely have frequent headaches that will get worse as she gets closer to remembering.”

Collin leaned back into the chair. “Does she know all of this?”

“I’ve explained it to her, but I’m not sure she’ll remember it.” Dr. Allen closed the folder.

“Is there anything good about this? Is there something I can do to move the process along?”

“Time will tell. You could try nudging her memory—sometimes a place or a smell will bring back the memory. It is usually a smell associated with the previous trauma that the patient doesn’t want to recall.”

“How am I going to accomplish that?” Collin would do anything to get his life back on track. He straightened his tie as if that would reinforce the need for normalcy.

“Talk to her mom and see if she remembers anything that might have happened to Louisa as a child—but to forewarn you, many parents are clueless about traumatic episodes, or they refuse to acknowledge them.” Dr. Allen leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps you could start by re-creating how you first met, your first date, that sort of thing? I hope your memory is better than mine. My wife tells me she is the only one who recalls everything about our dating years.”

“I’m not sure I can remember everything.” Collin reached for the BlackBerry in his coat pocket. He typed in
Repeat dates.
What had they done together? They went for ice cream and to the movies, but he wasn’t sure which ones. “How detailed do you think I need to be?”

“As close as you can get.” Dr. Allen offered a consolation-prize smile. “Give her things to smell, pleasant and unpleasant as well.”

“And that will work?” He keyed in
Smells, good and bad.
“Are you thinking like oranges and chocolate?”

“I don’t know what might trigger a memory, but don’t leave out negative smells like diesel fuel or cleaning supplies.”

“Can’t she do this herself?” He mentally started lining up those tiny candles with strong scents on the kitchen counter for Louisa to smell.

“There hasn’t been a lot of success with that because the patient is able to prepare and push the memory back. If they come across the smell unexpectedly, it seems to have a more powerful effect.”

Collin’s finger tapped in
Use surprise attack.
“Got it. I can’t plop her in front of a banquet of smells and think she’ll snap out of this.”

Louisa brushed through the doorway. “You aren’t talking about me, are you?”

Collin stood. “No. Not really.” He scooted over one chair, leaving her the one nearest the door.

“So what’s the verdict? Am I ever going to remember my address or phone number in Florida?” Louisa said as she sat down.

The doctor nodded at her. “In time you’ll remember things. For now, though, I think it best you continue as you are.”

“As Collin’s wife?”

“You are Collin’s wife. Like I told you in the exam room, I delivered Tim, and Collin was there.”

“So I’m to live as a fata morgana?” She sank back into the chair with a sigh.

“A what?” Collin asked. He tapped his foot, afraid of what her explanation would be.

“Fata morgana. It means ‘mirage.’ I’ll be living as your wife, but it won’t be real to me until I regain my memory of being Louisa.” The words seemed to float with ease from her lips.

“Exactly. Not the words I would have chosen, but it works nonetheless,” said Dr. Allen as he pushed his chair back from the desk. “Do you have any questions?”

“Are you sure there isn’t a magic drug I can take or some kind of exercise, like standing on my head, to make my memory come alive?” Louisa asked. “It’s just so hard to understand that I’m someone else when I feel like I am who I’m supposed to be, yet you keep insisting I’m Louisa.” She clasped her hands around her head. “And I have children.”

Collin reached over and took her hand. “Louisa, look at me.”

She turned to him. Her eyes begged for some kind of reassurance.

“You’ll remember and I’ll help you.”

“How can you? You don’t know anything about me.”

Collin pressed the toaster button down. He shoved up the cuff of his white shirt and checked the time on his watch. He would be late, no doubt about it. He couldn’t afford to come in past eight again tomorrow. Today Cranston would give him the famous stern stare; he just knew it. Maybe an e-mail would even be waiting in his in-box from the big guy himself, expressing concern—not for Collin and his family, of course, but for the firm. Everyone who received a “boss-gram” knew they were being watched and graded on their performance. Coming to the office early was something you knew you had to do in this law office. If you wanted to make partner, being late wasn’t acceptable.

Not even when you had a sick wife at home. That was just it, though; he wasn’t sure he had a wife. She looked like his wife, but she sure didn’t act like it. He toyed with the thought that she might be pretending to not remember. He didn’t think Louisa would jeopardize his career like that, but then again, she was angry with him for spending too much time at work. She had hinted more than once that he could afford to send her to the Chase Park Plaza with her friends for a girls’ slumber party. He had checked the cost, but two hundred dollars a person was more than he wanted to spend. She would want to take along three of her friends. He made good money, but not that good.

“Daddy?” Tim pulled on his pants leg. “Can I have cookies for breakfast today?”

“No.”

“Mom lets me.”

“She does not. I’m not here for breakfast, but I know she doesn’t let you have cookies.” He was tired of these kids lying to him. Yesterday Joey had trotted into the room wearing his soccer uniform. He informed Collin that Louisa always let him wear it to school. And Madison had come to breakfast sporting metallic purple eyelids. He shuddered. His little girl was growing up, and he wasn’t ready for that. He wondered where she had found the grape-colored sparkle stuff anyway. She had protested all the way upstairs to the bathroom, yelling that all the girls wore it and it wasn’t fair that she had to remove it.

“Yeah, stop trying to fool Dad, Tim,” Joey said. “Mom makes us pancakes or French toast in the morning.”

“We only get cereal once a week,” Madison chimed in.

He turned and stared at the three of them, unsure of who was telling him the truth now. He knew Louisa prided herself on taking care of the kids, but a real breakfast four mornings a week? Louisa had better find herself fast because he couldn’t do this every day.

“Consider this your lucky week because you’re going to get cereal more than once. That’s all I can do in the time I have.” The toast popped up. Collin pinched it between his fingers and dropped it on the plate, where it sent blackened crumbs into the air before settling in place.

“Eww. I’m not eating that.” Madison plopped into her chair at the table and reached for the box of cereal Collin had placed there earlier. “We need the sugar bowl, Dad.”

“You don’t need any. There’s tons of sugar in that stuff.”

“But it doesn’t taste good without it,” Madison whined and then batted her eyes at her dad. “Please?”

Collin reached into the cabinet and pulled out the sugar bowl because arguing was what he did for a living, not as a hobby. He put the bowl and a spoon on the table. “Only a little.” He watched in horror as Joey grabbed the spoon and put three scoops on top of the sugared flakes. “Hey!”

“Sorry, Dad, it’s the best way to eat it.”

Collin grabbed the cereal bowl from his older son and dumped the contents into the garbage disposal. “Change in the agenda. Now who wants scrambled eggs?”

“I want waffles.” Tim bounded from his chair and opened the bottom cabinet where the pans were kept.

“I’m fixing eggs and that’s it. If you don’t want to eat them, you can eat the cereal without the extra sugar. Now I need a show of hands—who wants the eggs?”

Joey raised his hand. “I want two.”

Madison scowled at him. “I’d rather eat cereal.”

Tears streamed down Tim’s face. “I want Mommy to make my breakfast.” He slammed the cabinet door and scurried to the couch. He buried himself under the blanket Collin had left there.

Collin cracked the eggs and managed to keep the shells on the outside of the bowl. He grabbed the milk and poured. Lumps plopped into the bowl on top of the yolks.

Louisa walked into the kitchen and gasped at the chaos. “Is it like this every morning?”

Collin whipped a carton of milk from the counter. “Smell this.” He held it under her nose, hoping the odor would change her back into his wife.

“That’s disgusting!” She backed away from the sour smell in the plastic bottle.

“Doesn’t pour very well when it’s lumpy either. So yes, Louisa, breakfast is chaotic this morning.”

“Not her, still not her, and if that’s how you greet her in the morning, no wonder she checked out.” She opened a box of marshmallow cereal and began eating from the carton. The occupants of the kitchen stilled. “What? I’m not allowed to eat breakfast?”

“Not from the box, not ever,” Madison informed her. “It isn’t healthy. What if you had just petted Cleo and then stuck your hand full of germs into the box we all eat from?”

“But I didn’t just pet the beast. So everything is germ-free, okay?” Louisa reached for one of the bowls stacked on the counter. “If it will make everyone more comfortable, I will conform to your standards of food preparation.” She drained the rest of the box into the bowl. “Can I still use my fingers since there isn’t any milk, or must I use a spoon?”

Collin turned off the burner. “It doesn’t matter to me what you use. I’m just glad you’re here and ready to take over breakfast duty. Madison and Joey, we’re leaving for school in ten minutes, so eat fast.”

Joey and Madison scooted from the table and ran for their rooms.

“Breakfast . . .” Louisa tried to speak.

“That’s what I said. I have to be at work on time, and while you’re here, this is your new job. Cleo needs to go to the vet this week, and I talked to Laurie; she’s bringing the two older kids home from school this week. Next week you have to take over getting them there and back.”

“But, Collin, I don’t know how to do this.”

“It’s not hard; any woman could do this job. If you need help, call Laurie. She said she’d help you figure things out this week.” He reached for the coat he’d placed on the back of a chair. Slipping his arms in the sleeves, he yelled for Madison and Joey. “Car is leaving in three minutes. Grab those book bags and an apple—at least they aren’t spoiled.”

Slinging his laptop messenger bag over his shoulder, Collin swiped an apple for himself. “Have a great day.” And then he left for the garage.

* * *

Jazz stood in the kitchen, feeling dazed. Tim sat at the counter, marshmallow cereal heaped in small mountains around the outside of his bowl. Drawers and cabinets were open everywhere. She walked across to the fridge and pushed the door shut.

“It was quite chaotic this morning, wasn’t it, Tim?”

“Huh?” Tim looked at her with wide eyes. He picked up a green tree and popped it into his mouth.

“Either you don’t know what
chaotic
means or nothing seems out of the ordinary for you.” Jazz grimaced at the mess before her. “What does Mommy do after Joey and Madison leave for school, Tim?”

“Cleans up stuff.”

That much was apparent to her. Collin should really get a nanny. How was one mom supposed to take care of all of this every weekday? At least the weekend would be here soon, and Collin could take over. “After everything is put back, then what does she do?”

“Plays with me. We watch
Charlie Town
.”

“Is that your friend from next door, Laurie’s son?” Jazz felt a headache starting. She didn’t think she could watch another kid today. What she wanted to do was find a pad of paper to write on. She had a great idea for a new story.

“No!
Charlie Town
is a cartoon. It comes on TV after exercise time.”

Swift relief swept through her. Tim could be parked in front of the huge screen, and she could write all morning. “Wait, exercise? Do I take you on walks or something?”

Tim snorted, sending half-chewed cereal across the counter. “You exercise to the lady on TV. You know, she tells you to point, point, flex. I have to stay in my room or play on the couch. That’s the rule.”

“Do we do this every day?”

“Except when I’m at Discovery Preschool.” His foot bounced with a steady rhythm against the base of the cabinet.

“Do I exercise every day, or do I take a day off when you’re at school?” Jazz collected the empty bowls from the table and plunked them into the dishwasher.

“Every day because you don’t want a fat fanny.”

Jazz processed the thought of a routine where she lay on the floor, flexing her toes. She self-consciously felt her behind. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”

“How come you don’t remember anything?”

“Because I hit my head on something.” And I don’t even remember doing that.

“Are you ever going to remember?”

“I hope so, but until then you can help me when I forget, okay?”

“Okay.” Tim went back to eating his cereal.

Jazz closed three open cereal boxes and stuck them back in the pantry. She poured the chunky milk into the sink and ran the garbage disposal, trying not to heave at the sour smell. Then she closed the drawers and cabinets. By then Tim had finished his breakfast.

“Put your bowl in the dishwasher, and the spoon, too.”

“Mom does that.”

“Not anymore. You’re big enough to do it yourself.” Jazz shook her head. How did Louisa have time to do anything if she picked up after everyone else all day?

“Tomorrow is pancake day,” he said before sliding off the kitchen stool. “Do you remember how to make them?”

“Not a problem.” Jazz made a mental note to check the freezer. She knew how to open a package and toss food into the microwave as well as any mom. Or maybe she’d sleep in one more morning and let Collin handle the early shift.

Tim, taking his new job seriously, tugged on Jazz’s hand. “It’s time to pick out my clothes for today.”

Together they climbed the stairs. Tim informed Jazz of all the chores she had to do that day. Today was Thursday, and Louisa did laundry and went to the grocery store. Could they have lasagna for dinner? Tim wondered. The now-familiar rush of panic began to rise in her chest. Laundry for five, dinner for five, groceries for five. She couldn’t possibly do this alone. She sank to the steps. “Tim, where’s the phone book? I’m going to get us some help.”

Flipping through the yellow pages, she found what she needed. Emergency House-Cleaning Service, available 24-7.

* * *

Collin watched to make sure Joey made it into school before pulling out of the car lane. He hoped Madison got through the door too. The second the car stopped, she had dissolved into a group of girls who looked just like her. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Even with this morning’s fiasco at breakfast, he wouldn’t be noticeably late.

In the rearview mirror, he caught his own gaze. “How do single parents do this?” He shook his head. Now he could add talking to himself to the strange things in his life. But who else could he talk to since his wife had disappeared? A bus passed by with an advertisement for health care written in Spanish. “Mexico,” he muttered. That was one story he could check out.

Using the speakerphone, he dialed his mother-in-law and filled her in on Louisa’s state of mind, or rather, lack thereof.

“She doesn’t remember being married to you or having the children?” Beth Harris asked, her voice rising with shock.

“That’s about right. She thinks she is a writer and lives in Florida.”

“How odd! What does the doctor say?”

“He thinks her memory will return in time. He did ask if there was a trauma of any kind when she was a child. Was there?” He kept the car at the twenty-miles-an-hour school-zone limit, anxious to pass the sign that allowed him to move along faster.

“No, nothing out of the ordinary. Her grandparents died and we lost a few pets. Her father has only been gone two years.”

“Yeah, she thought you were both dead.” He flipped on his blinker and slid into the next lane.

Beth gasped. “Both of us?”

“She was happy to know you were still around. But she said something bizarre the first night.” The light in front of him turned yellow, and he slowed his car to a stop.

“Can this get any stranger?”

“You have no idea. She said her parents were missionaries and you all lived in Mexico for a while. Do you know where that came from?”

“Mexico. Her father and I went there for a few weeks on a business trip, but Louisa didn’t go.”

“That must be one of those things the doctor mentioned. He said she would remember parts and add her own details to them. She swallowed her pills without water because she’d learned how in Mexico where the water was scarce.”

“She stayed with her father’s cousin, Phil Jefferson. I ran into him on my cruise last month. We’ve been seeing each other. I can ask him—maybe he’ll remember something.”

“It’s good that you’re dating, Beth, and I’m glad it’s someone you already know.”

“It does make it easier.”

The light turned green, and traffic surged ahead. “If you think of anything else, give me a call at the office. I need to focus on the drive now.”

“I will of course call if I think of anything, but right now I can’t imagine what could have caused such a trauma in Louisa’s life.” Beth then assured him she would call Louisa right away.

* * *

The living room, vacant of toys, looked like a peaceful resting place with the backdrop of the lake through the windowed wall. The honey-colored wood floors gleamed. The two-story stone fireplace begged to be lit. The cream-on-brown striped chairs beckoned her to rest and read a book. Jazz almost sighed with pleasure—everything was just as neat as it had been when she’d arrived from the hospital.

“Can you come twice a week?” she asked Joy, the woman who had worked magic on the house.

Joy peeled a yellow rubber glove off her hand. She snapped the fingers back into place before placing it into her blue plastic bucket. “Sure, we can come as often as you want to pay us.”