Jessie glanced up at Mrs. Livingston. “That’s my daughter, Rita. She lives here with me,” the teacher explained as she opened the door. “There’s your mother waiting for you. Better run along.” Before she closed the door she said, “I’ll see you next week at the same time.”
“So, how’d it go?” asked her mom as Jessie buckled her seat belt.
“Great! I like her a lot and I already can play a scale and read some notes.”
Her mother started the car. “Good. I wondered if the look of the place might spoil it for you.”
“Good, good, good,” chanted Phillip from the back seat.
“Well it is pretty bad, except for her studio,” said Jessie. “And her daughter lives there and seems very odd.”
Her mother drove down the gravel drive and signaled to turn onto the country road. “Did she introduce her to you?”
“No. In fact she seemed in a hurry to get me out of there once I spotted the woman—Rita. That’s her daughter’s name.”
“You didn’t say anything, did you?” Her mother turned to Jessie. “I should have mentioned this before you went there.”
“Why? asked Jessie. “What’s the deal?”
“Rita Livingston has been in and out of hospitals all her adult life. I’m not quite sure what is wrong with her, but I know her parents spent all the money they had on her illness.” Her mother turned onto the paved street. “Now it’s just Mrs. Livingston, because her husband died a few years ago.”
“I suppose that’s why the farm is so run down,” said Jessie. “Well anyway, she seems very strange.”
“Seems strange, seems strange, seems strange.” It was Phillip again.
“Uh-oh, there he goes,” muttered her mother. “We’d better change the subject.”
Back at home, Jessie went straight to the piano, opened her brand new lesson book and concentrated on reading the instructions.
Phillip raced into the room and crawled under the bench. In a moment he was on his back with his legs raised beating a tattoo on the seat with his feet.
Jessie stopped reading and looked underneath. “Quit it, Phillip.”
He laughed and continued to kick.
Jessie stood, grabbed his arms and pulled him out. “Go find something else to do.”
He jumped up, climbed onto the piano bench and pounded the keys.
“Don’t do that!” shouted Jessie. She lifted him down and set him on his feet.
“MA MA!” he wailed and ran from the room.
Both her father and mother appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on?” asked her dad.
“He’s kicking the bench while I’m trying to practice.”
Phillip was now leaning against his mother, great tears rolling down his cheeks. “You leave Jessie alone. Do you understand?” She picked him up. “And, Jessie, I’ve told you before. You are not to yell at him.”
“We’ll have to figure out a practice time for you, Jess,” said her dad. “If you could wait, I’d like to sit in the room sometimes and listen if I get home early enough. Would that be okay with you?”
“Sure,” said Jessie.
“You know,” he said. “I’ve always loved the sound of a piano.”
“Daddy,” said Jessie. “Tina and I think we saw the hit-and-run car today—out by the old mill.”
“Are you sure?” Her dad sat down in a chair next to the piano.
“No, because it stirred up a huge dust cloud, it was going so fast. But I saw something red on the antenna.”
“We’ll have to expand the search out into the country. I’ll let the police know.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning her mom agreed to entertain Phillip while Jessie practiced her lesson. Then Jessie took him to the front porch swing. From this spot, she could see when Bryce and his dad brought Sunny home from the hospital.
“Sandbox?” Phillip got down from the swing.
“Oh, wait a minute,” Jessie said. She pulled him back up beside her. “Shall I tell you a story?”
He nodded.
“Once upon a…where are you going, Phillip. Let’s stay and swing.” He was ruining her plan.
“Sandbox, sandbox, sandbox,” he chattered as he headed for the steps.
Jessie followed him around to the side yard and helped him into the sandbox. Together they made sand cakes. A big black sedan came into view, driving up Willow Lane. Her heart skipped a beat. There they are! They’re home. I’ll fix something to eat and take it over, she thought. “Phillip, do you want to make cookies?”
He jumped up. “Okay.”
In the kitchen, Jessie set out the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. It was the one recipe she knew. She turned on the oven and greased a baking sheet. With Phillip on a stool, she washed his hands at the sink and put on his red apron. Jessie wore the white one. When the batter was stirred, she opened a bag of chocolate chips and let Phillip pour them into the bowl.
“I love chocolate chip cookies. Do you love them too, Phillip?”
He nodded and licked his lips.
Jessie smiled. Today she would see Bryce and meet Sunny and, just maybe, find out more about the hit-and-run. She kissed her brother on the top of his head.
Her mother entered the kitchen. “Doing some baking?’
“We’re making cookies to take to Bryce’s little sister.” Jessie set spoonfuls of cookie dough onto the greased sheet. “I just saw them drive up.”
“Not today, Jessie. It’s too soon. They need time to get settled,” said her mother.
“But, Mom…” Jessie moaned. Her plan was ruined.
“No, Jess.” Her mother checked the oven setting. “Tonight I’ll call Lawrence and ask when would be a convenient time for you to stop by for a short visit.”
“Short?” Jessie wished her mother didn’t always interfere with her plans.
“The child has been in an accident. She needs rest, not a lot of company,” said her mom. “Bake the cookies and we’ll have them with milk on the front porch.” She untied Phillip’s apron and lifted him down off the stool. “How’s that sound, Phillip? Your fresh-baked cookies and milk.”
Phillip smiled up at his mother. “Okay.”
Her mother reached into the refrigerator, took out a pitcher of milk and set it on a tray with three plastic glasses. “We’ll be on the porch when you’re ready.”
Jessie slid a pan of cookies into the oven and set the timer. Oh well, at least we’ll be able to watch from the porch and see what’s going on across the street.
After dinner, her mother spoke to Bryce’s father and arranged for Jessie and Phillip to stop by the next morning at ten o’clock. Mrs. Hanson assured Dr. Peterson that the children would stay only a half-hour.
Jessie called Tina and told her about her piano lesson and about the planned visit to the Petersons.
“Boy, that sounds a lot more interesting than what I’ve been doing lately,” sighed Tina. “My mom seems to think I’m the live-in maid. ‘Tina, get the phone. Tina, empty the dryer and fold the clothes. Tina, answer the door.’ No payday either.”
“That does sound bad,” said Jessie. “I’d invite you to go to Bryce’s tomorrow, but my mom’s objecting to even my going.” She twirled the phone cord between her fingers. “I thought we were supposed to visit the sick.”
“Oh, right, Jessie,” laughed Tina. “Be honest. You wouldn’t suddenly be ‘Little Miss Cookie Baker’ or ‘Miss Home Visitor’ if a certain cute guy didn’t live there. Of course there’s also a new mystery to solve.”
Jessie laughed out loud. “You know me too well.”
“I’d do anything to get out of here. Can we go to a movie or something?” Tina sounded desperate.
“Let me think about it,” said Jessie. “I have to go. Daddy’s giving me a dirty look for tying up the phone.”
* * *
In the morning, Jessie dressed Phillip in a white tee shirt and blue shorts and combed his hair with a side part like Bryce’s. “You’r
e pretty cute. Can you be good if I take you to see Bryce and Sunny?” Phillip was especially fond of Bryce who sometimes carried the child on his shoulders.
“Sunny, Sunny, Sunny,” he chanted.
Jessie signed a get-well card she took from her mom’s stationery drawer. She wrote, “Welcome, Sunny” on the envelope.
“Here we go. Bye, Mom,” she called. Jessie picked up the plate of cookies covered with foil and topped with a pink bow, took Phillip’s hand and headed out the door. “Remember, be a good boy for me, Phillip.”
“Okay,” he whispered.
At the carriage house behind the museum, Jessie rang the doorbell. The building had been entirely renovated before the Peterson family moved in. On the outside, it looked like a gingerbread house. White stucco and a steep red tile roof with windows divided into small panes that sparkled in the sun. Flowers filled the beds and window boxes and huge trees shaded the thick lawn. A winding brick path led to a patio on the side of the house furnished with a garden table and chairs and a green canvas umbrella.
Bryce opened the door. “Hey, Jessie. Hi, Phillip,” he said. “Welcome! Do I smell cookies?”
Phillip ran to Bryce. “Cookies,” he whispered. “Cooked cookies.”
Bryce laughed, took Phillip’s hand and guided him through the doorway. “You can come too, Jessie.”
Jessie felt weak. She kept a tight hold on the plate and took a deep breath. As usual, she couldn’t think of a thing to say when she saw Bryce.
Inside, Bryce led the way to the living room. Light streamed in from the windows, all cranked open to let in the morning breeze. In the middle of the room, seated in a wheelchair with her leg propped up, was eight-year-old Sunny Peterson. Her hair shone like gold under the sun’s rays.
Jessie went to her and said, “Hi, Sunny. I’m Jessie and this is Phillip. We live across the street. It’s good to see you home.” She handed her the plate of cookies. Phillip, suddenly shy, peeked out from behind Jessie and eyed Sunny.
“Want a cookie?” he whispered. Everyone laughed.
“Would you like one too, Phillip?” Sunny asked.
Phillip edged toward the wheelchair. “Okay,” he whispered.
Sunny unwrapped the plate and held it out to Phillip. He reached for one and took a bite. “Mmmm,” he said.
“Say ‘thank you,’ Phillip,” said Jessie.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Bryce said to Jessie, “What’s with the whispering?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I think that’s his idea of ‘being good.’ I kind of like it.”
Phillip’s sweetness helped everyone relax and for the next few minutes he entertained them with his chatter. “Big dog?” he said and looked at Bryce. He was asking about Bryce’s Old English Sheepdog.
“Farley’s visiting a farm until Sunny gets back on her feet. We’re afraid he’ll knock her over when she begins to use crutches.”
“Me too.” Farley had knocked Phillip down the first time they met.
They all laughed.
A clock chimed the half-hour and Jessie stood up. “We have to go. I hope you get better soon, Sunny. Come on, Phillip.”
Sunny looked disappointed. “Do you have to leave? We were having fun.”
“Oh, we’d love to stay, but my mom’s watching the clock so we don’t tire you out,” Jessie said.
“Will you come tomorrow? Will you come, Phillip? He’s the cutest thing,” Sunny said. “Tell your mother how he made us laugh.”
Jessie sneaked a glance at Bryce. He was smiling. She felt light-headed. “We’ll be back. That’s for sure.”
“Thank you for the cookies,” Bryce and Sunny said together.
When the door closed behind them, Jessie took Phillip’s hand and led him down the brick walkway. “You’re such a little winner, Phillip,” whispered Jessie. “You got us invited back. Now maybe we can get to the bottom of the hit-and-run.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Where’s Daddy?” It was six o’clock and they were sitting down to dinner.
Jessie’s mother settled Phillip into his booster seat and scooted him up to the table. “He stopped at the Petersons’ on his way home to talk to Sunny about the accident.” She put a spoonful of mashed potatoes on Phillip’s plate then passed them to Jessie.
“I wish I could’ve gone,” Jessie said. “I’d love to hear what she has to say.”
“You couldn’t have. Your dad needed to talk to the family and Dr. Adams alone.” Her mom cut up some meatloaf and slid it onto Phillip’s plate. He tried to corral the pieces with his new little fork.
Her father suddenly appeared at the dining room entrance. “Hi. Why’s everyone so quiet?” He sat down at his usual place and began helping himself to the food.
“Hi, Daddy,” said Jessie and Phillip in unison.
“So, what did Sunny tell you?” asked Jessie. “I hope she can say who was driving the car. It’s been two weeks since the accident.”
Her dad spread his napkin on his lap and took a sip of water. “Actually, she has no memory of the accident. Dr. Adams says it happens sometimes with a head injury. It’s called amnesia.” He cut up his meatloaf and took a bite.
Just what I was afraid of. “Is it forever?”
“It could be. Or it could be temporary. Jim calls it ‘retrograde amnesia.’ That’s when the patient can’t remember the seconds leading up to the accident.” He began to eat his salad.
“Can they fix it?” Jessie held her breath, waiting for the answer.
He drank some water. “Depends on how bad the concussion was. We’ll just have to find the driver some other way.”
Her mother helped Phillip down from the chair and said, “Jessie, leave your dad alone and let him eat his dinner. If you’re finished, you can watch Phillip.”
“But, Mom…”
“No, Jessie. Go.”
While she kept an eye on Phillip playing with his cars in the living room, Jessie dialed Tina’s house on the hall phone. Tina answered.
“Oh, I’m so glad I got you,” whispered Jessie.
“Who else would answer the phone? I told you I’m the unpaid help around here,” said Tina. “Anyway, why are you whispering?”
“Can you meet me?”
“You mean actually leave this house? I can try.”
“I’ll see you in twenty minutes on your corner. Ride your bike.” Jessie hung up and joined Phillip in the living room.
Later the two girls rode down Willow Lane to the park, ran to the swings and glided in slow motion side-by-side.
“What’s going on?” asked Tina.
“Have you heard? Did your dad tell you about Sunny?”
“Oh, please. They tell me nothing. They just order me around.”
“What do you know about amnesia?”
“You mentioned that the other day. That’s when you can’t remember stuff.”
“Well, Sunny has amnesia,” said Jessie.
“How will they find the guy who hit her?” Tina pumped her swing higher.
Jessie matched her speed to Tina’s. “That’s just it. I’ve been thinking. I have a plan.”
“Uh-oh,” Tina said. “Okay, I’ll bite. What are you cooking up and am I involved?”
“Maybe you can be in on it if you can leave your household chores for awhile,” Jessie laughed. “Do you think you can get your dad to tell you if there’s anything someone can do to get a person’s memory back?”
“I suppose I could make an appointment at his office,” laughed Tina. “I guess you don’t want him to know who’s asking.”
“No! My folks would give me trouble—big time—if they found out.” Jessie slowed her swing to a stop and jumped off. “Come on. Let’s walk.
They started down the park path while Jessie explained her plan. “You know I’m going over to see Sunny almost every day now. I take Phillip there after breakfast. She’s never mentioned the accident. Now I know why.” They sat on a stone bench by the fountain.
“Not bad duty,” said Tina. “Is Bryce usually there?”
“Sometimes. He’s rehearsing for a performance at the school—with Cami of course. There’s a housekeeper watching Sunny. She seems nice enough.”
“So, what’s your plan?” asked Tina.
“I’m going to research amnesia at the library. I’d better look it up myself and not ask Miss Tyler for help, since she’s a friend of Dr. Peterson.” They came to the bikes and Jessie pushed up her kickstand. “If there’s a way to jog Sunny’s memory, I’m going to try it.” She flipped her braid back. “What do you think?”
“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.
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