“It might work,” Tina said. “It can’t hurt. I
should
say, it better not. Cause if it hurts Sunny, we’re in very big trouble.”
CHAPTER TEN
Saturday was piano lesson day. Jessie was prepared and even had practiced more than a half-hour each time. In the car she said, “Mom, don’t you wonder why Mrs. Livingston lives in that dump? It just doesn’t fit.”
Her mother looked at her. “I learned a little bit more about her, but you have to promise not to repeat it.”
Jessie nodded in agreement.
“It used to be a beautiful working farm. Mrs. Livingston’s husband, Max, ran the place and also raised horses.” Her mother turned onto the country road.
“So, what happened?” asked Jessie.
“They had one child, Rita, the woman you saw. She played piano and was pretty good, I guess.” Her mother slowed down for some ducks crossing the road. “Rita and Lawrence Peterson went to high school together.”
“Oh, did she
like
Dr. Peterson? Rita, I mean?”
This was getting pretty interesting
.
“I think so,” said her mother. “But he went to college back East and ended up marrying Bryce’s mother.” They turned into the Livingston farm.
“What’s that got to do with the place falling apart?”
“You have to go in, Jessie.” Her mom handed Jessie her music books.
“What’s
wrong
with Rita?” asked Jessie.
“I think she’s an alcoholic. She had her driver’s license taken away after she got caught driving and drinking.” She turned off the ignition. “Then Max died and Rita is unable to help or hold down a job, so the farm’s gone to ruin. That’s the story. Please keep it to yourself.”
Jessie opened the passenger door. “Does Mrs. Livingston drive—like to the store for groceries?”
“Good question,” said her mother. “She must have some way to get around, but I haven’t seen a car or truck on the place.”
“Maybe they keep a car in the barn.” She closed the car door and ran to the farmhouse.
Mrs. Livingston heaped praise on Jessie for the work she had done at the piano that week. “You have made fine progress. I am impressed.” She went to her shelves and drew out a thin book with a shiny black cover. “I think you are ready to play a real melody.” She opened the book and played a simple but lovely tune. Jessie could hardly wait to learn it.
They were deep into the lesson when Mrs. Livingston laid a finger across Jessie’s hand to still the music. She raised her head in a listening position.
Jessie glanced at her watch. “Is that a car? It’s too soon for my mom to be back.”
The teacher stood and rushed from the studio. Jessie heard the front door open and Mrs. Livingston shout, “Rita, Rita, come back.” When the woman returned to the studio, her steps were slow and her shoulders drooped.
“Is everything all right?” Jessie asked. She was pretty sure what had happened. Rita had taken off in some vehicle she wasn’t supposed to be driving.
“Yes, yes,” said the teacher. She sank into her chair by the piano. “I think we will stop now and you can go over your assignment while you are here.” She stood and pressed open the book to the correct page. “That way, if you have any questions, I’ll be able to answer them.”
While Jessie read over the lesson plan, she could see the teacher standing by the big window gazing at the endless field of grass.
When the hour was up, Mrs. Livingston opened the door to let Jessie out. “Your mother isn’t here yet. Do you want to wait outside?”
“Sure,” said Jessie. The door closed behind her. I wonder if Rita came back, she thought. This is my chance to look around. While Jessie took a little tour of the barnyard, she tried to appear casual, in case Mrs. Livingston or Rita was watching. First she showed great interest in the discarded equipment, checking the claws on the hand plow, looking underneath the rusted-out tractor and stepping back to study the machines from a different angle. Next, she climbed onto the rickety corral rail, hoping it wouldn’t collapse under her weight. After that, she strolled to the old barn where she stood at a distance and viewed it as if she intended to make a drawing of it or something. The big double doors of the barn hung crookedly from ancient hinges. When she moved closer to run her hand along the wood, she took a peek through a wide crack in the boards. All she could see was a pile of junk. The hasp on the door was undone. She reached out to open it when she heard a car drive into the yard. Uh-oh, she thought. She turned. It was her mom.
“Come on, Jessie. We have to hurry.”
As Jessie snapped her seat belt, she said, “Where’s Phillip?”
“He’s with the sitter. After I take you home, I’m going to Dad’s office.” She turned the car onto the country road. “Don’t try to distract me with talk of Phillip. What were you up to just now?”
“Well, in the middle of my lesson, we heard a car start up and Mrs. Livingston got pretty upset,” said Jessie. “So I was just going to peek in the barn and see if there was a car inside.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” said her mother. “But you have to stop snooping around other people’s property.” She turned onto the paved street. “Let the police handle this. Understand?”
“But, Mom…”
“No ‘buts.’ That’s final,” ordered her mother.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
That night, after dinner, Jessie practiced her lesson while her dad sat nearby reading the paper. She stopped playing and turned to him. “How’s the hit-and-run deal going?” She smoothed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.
“I told the police that you thought you saw the car in the country. But they haven’t turned up anything,” He folded the paper and laid it on the coffee table. “It’s as if it disappeared into thin air.”
“Tina told me that a lot of farmers keep cars in their barns and hardly ever use them. Maybe it’s one of those ‘barn cars,’” said Jessie.
“It could very well be, but if it’s not visible, the police have no right to go onto someone’s property and search.”
“Yeah. That’s what Mom said.”
He stood up, put his hand on Jessie’s shoulder and looked down at her. “Why would she say that to you? Were you some place you shouldn’t be?”
“Kind of. Today after my music lesson, I was peeking into my piano teacher’s barn and Mom caught me.”
“See anything?”
“Only boxes piled up. I think Mrs. Livingston’s daughter had just driven off. Anyway, Mrs. Livingston ran to the door and shouted her name when we heard the car start up.”
“Listen to your mother, Jess. The authorities will figure it out.” He patted her arm. “Thanks for waiting to practice until I got home. It’s coming along very well!”
* * *
The next day was Sunday, over a week since Sunny was hit. After church, Jessie rode her bike to Tina’s. Her friend answered the door with a baby in her arms.
“You seem to be liking baby-land,” said Jessie. “Which one is this? May I hold her?” She took the baby.
“That’s Pam. Yeah, they’re getting to me—now that they’re smiling and not howling all the time.” Right on cue, the tiny infant smiled a big crooked smile at Jessie.
“Ohh,” said Jessie. “You are adorable, little Pam.”
“See what I mean?” said Tina. “I think I’m sunk.”
Jessie rocked the baby back and forth and said, “Did you find out anything from your dad about amnesia?”
“I finally pinned him down this morning at breakfast.” Tina led Jessie into the living room. Two bassinets sat in the center of the room. The other twin was asleep in one of them. “Why don’t you put Pam in her bed and we’ll go into the den.”
Gently, Jessie lowered the child into her bassinet. The baby grinned up at her and made a little purring sound. “Oh, honestly, she is the sweetest thing.” Jessie was reluctant to leave. “Where is everyone? Are you alone with them?”
“Hardly. My mom’s in the kitchen. She can hear them from there.” Tina covered Pam with a soft pink blanket.
In the den, Tina told Jessie what she’d learned from her dad. “He says that with ‘retrograde amnesia’—that’s what Sunny has—the person can’t remember what happened right before the accident. When she starts to remember, it’s called ‘confabulation.’ He thinks Sunny’s memory will come back slowly.”
“What a
word
!” said Jessie.
“He says that sometimes if you reproduce an odor or sound that the person experienced just before the accident, it will jog the memory.” Tina repositioned the clips that held back her hair. “That’s about it.”
“This is pretty interesting,” Jessie said. “I’ll have to think about what happened at the museum—just before the accident.”
On her way out, Jessie stopped at each bassinet and admired the twins. “I don’t remember Phillip ever being that little.”
Jessie spent Sunday evening in her room, lying on her bed. She tried to remember exactly what had gone on in the museum tearoom and on the lawn just before the car hit Sunny. A book lay across her stomach in case her mom or dad looked in and asked what she was doing. She needed time to concentrate.
She reviewed the sounds and smells. In the tearoom people were chatting, silverware and dishes were clinking, and Dr. Peterson was tapping a glass for attention. And as far as scent, there were fresh-baked scones and cakes. Outside on the lawn, children were laughing, the beach ball was thumping back and forth, there was the smell of newly cut grass and of the lilac bushes in full bloom. What was missing? She was getting sleepy and out of ideas.
All night, Jessie tossed and turned, dreaming disturbing dreams. In one, she searched for something in a long room and didn’t know what it was and couldn’t find it.
In the morning, she discovered her sheets twisted around her legs. She was freeing herself when Phillip appeared at the foot of her brass bed.
“Hi,” he said.
She was in no mood for him. “I’m tired, Phillip. Go find Mom.”
“Go to Sunny house?”
“That’s not a bad idea. Let me eat and practice my lesson and we’ll go see Sunny.”
He nodded, ran from the room and shouted to his mother, “See Sunny house!”
All clean in a fresh blue playsuit that matched his eyes and his curly hair damp from combing, Phillip took Jessie’s hand and walked up the brick path to the Peterson cottage.
“Can you ring the bell?” Jessie asked.
He stood on tiptoes in his little brown sandals and managed to reach the doorbell. When he stretched, Jessie realized how tall he was growing.
Bryce answered the door and said in a whisper, “Your timing is perfect. She’s too quiet today. I think wearing the brace is starting to really bug her.” He led the way.
As they drew closer to the living room, the sound of lovely piano music reached them. Jessie stopped to listen and held Phillip back. “Is that Sunny playing?”
Bryce nodded. “She’s good, isn’t she?” They waited until the music stopped and then entered the room. Sunny sat on the piano bench, her right leg propped up on a footstool.
Jessie walked to the piano, a small grand in the corner by a window. “I wish
I
could play like that. It was beautiful!”
Sunny swiveled on the seat and faced Jessie. “Thank you. Bryce told me you’re taking lessons so maybe we could play a duet sometime.” She glanced at Bryce pushing her wheelchair to the piano.
“Oh, I just started.” Jessie said. “I’ve only had a couple of lessons.” She flipped back her braid. “But, I’m practicing every day. What were you playing?”
“It’s a piece by Mozart. Right now I can only play Mozart or Bach because those early composers didn’t have pedals on their pianos when they wrote music.” Sunny shook her head and her bright curls danced in the sunlight coming through the windowpanes. “I can’t use the pedal because of my leg.”
“But you will pretty soon,” said Bryce. “In the meantime you can give these pieces a lot of practice.”
“What about going outside?” asked Jessie. “Could we push the wheelchair to the patio on the lawn?”
“Sure,” said Bryce. “You push, Jessie, and I’ll open the doors and give Phillip a ride on my shoulders.”
Phillip clapped his hands and said, “Okay.”
Slowly they made their way through the house and then outside onto the winding path to the patio. Bryce arranged the wrought iron chairs at the table and raised the green umbrella. In the corner, a fountain bubbled in the morning shade.
When Bryce took Phillip back inside to find something for them to drink and Jessie was alone with Sunny, she figured this was her chance to quiz the girl.
“Do you remember hurting your leg?” Jessie moved a chair aside to make room for the wheelchair and pushed Sunny to the table.
“They ask me that—Dad and Bryce—but I don’t remember anything.”
Jessie glanced toward the house. There wasn’t much time. She could hear Bryce and Phillip coming back. “What’s the last thing you remember that day at the museum?”
Bryce and Phillip came around the corner with a pitcher of lemonade and a plate.
“Here’s something to cool us down,” said Bryce.
“And cookies too!” said Phillip
Drats!
I missed my chance
.