“Damn it, Naomi,” Stella says to herself and then to Presley, “I’m at Jack’s. I can be there in ten minutes. Can you stay with her until I get there?”
“Of course. Jazz and I will wait right here.”
Presley drops her phone back into her bag and hugs Jazz tight. “I had a bad day too. Wanna talk about it?”
“No!” Jazz buries her head in Presley’s chest. “I just want Stella.”
Presley kisses her hair. “I know, sweet girl. She’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Rocking the child gently, she hums the tune that is never far from her mind these days. Presley is not the only one in need of someone to show her the way.
Stella arrives looking disheveled, sweatshirt on inside out, and short curls springing out from her head. It appears as though Presley interrupted Stella’s Saturday afternoon alone time with Jack. Good for her!
Stella takes Jazz from Presley. “Thank you, Presley. How did you find her?”
“I was in the storage closet going through boxes of Christmas decorations. I was getting ready to leave when I heard crying.”
“Wanna go to my cottage?” Stella asks Jazz who nods, her face planted in Stella’s neck.
The threesome rides together in the elevator to the first floor. Stella thanks Presley again when they part in reception. She retrieves her belongings from her office and leaves the inn.
Her heart breaks for Jazz as she walks back to her apartment. No telling what Naomi did to that sweet child to make her run away. Presley got mad at Renee . . . at her mother plenty of times, but her mother never made her angry enough to run away. Renee was a good mother, critical at times but supportive in Presley’s many endeavors. While Renee was not an affectionate person, Presley never doubted her mother’s love for her. Presley never felt unsafe in their home.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Presley. You have a good thing going in Hope Springs. Your job is challenging and rewarding. Your teammates are your family—Cecily and Stella and Katherine. You don’t need a new mother, and you don’t need a boyfriend. You only need you.
When she reaches Main Street, Presley places a call to Rita. “I told Lucy. She was definitely not overjoyed.”
Rita sighs into the phone. “Uh-oh. Tell me what happened.”
Presley gives her a blow-by-blow account of Lucy’s reaction.
“I’m not surprised. Lucy can be a wild card.”
Presley’s mouth falls open. “Now you tell me.”
“Don’t worry about it, Presley. This is typical behavior for Lucy. She flies off the handle but usually calms down quickly. Give her some time. Do you want me to talk to her?”
“Only if she comes to you first,” Presley says, and ends the call.
She usually calms down quickly. Except when a woman claims to be her biological daughter. Presley should never have listened to Rita. She blindsided Lucy. She doesn’t blame Lucy for reacting the way she did. Lucy confided in Presley about the child she put up for adoption. And now Presley is claiming to be that child. Of course, Lucy is suspicious. And Presley doesn’t blame her. Lucy undoubtedly thinks Presley is a delusional girl looking to replace the mother she lost.
29
Stella
Jazz skips alongside me on the way to the cottage, her reason for running away seemingly forgotten. Are all kids this resilient? Or has all the trauma she’s experienced in her short life made her an expert at shrugging things off? “Have you eaten dinner yet?” I ask.
Jazz stops suddenly in the middle of the road. “I haven’t eaten since lunch and I’m starving.”
Alarm bells go off inside my head. This active little girl eats at least two healthy snacks in between meals when she’s with me. “Shall we have Cecily make us a pizza?”
“Yes!” Jazz bounces on her toes. “I love pizza.”
I smile down at her. Jazz and I had our first fight over pizza on the night before she came down with bacterial meningitis. She insisted she hated pizza, and I was adamant that all kids love pizza. She went to bed without dinner that night. The next day, she landed in the hospital for a week. The poor kid was getting sick, and I never realized it. Was that only five months ago? It feels like a lifetime.
Grabbing her hand, we run the rest of the way to the cottage. Jazz jumps up and down on the sofa like a trampoline while I turn on the gas logs. “Can I spend the night, Stella?” After one last jump, she lands on her bottom. Pressing her hands together, she begs, “Puh-lease!”
“We’ll see.” I need to know why she ran away before I decide how to handle the situation.
Remaining by the fire, I call Cecily to place our order. “One Margherita pizza coming up,” Cecily says. “I’ll have one of my waitstaff run it over to the cottage when it’s ready.”
“You sound chipper. Pre-wedding bliss?”
“I’m on top of the world,” Cecily says. “I’m getting married in six weeks and business is booming. We’re booked solid tonight with a waiting list.”
“That’s awesome! I’d offer to come get the pizza, but I have Jazz with me.”
“I didn’t know you had Jazz tonight. In that case, I’ll bring the pizza myself, so I can give her a hug.”
I hang up with Cecily and turn to Jazz, my expression now serious. “We need to talk, kiddo. I have to call your mommy and tell her where you are. I’m sure she’s worried about you. You’re only six years old. Do you understand how dangerous it was for you to run away from home?” I cringe when I think of what could’ve happened to her. Naomi’s rental house is only a few blocks from the inn, but Jazz could’ve been hit by a car or kidnapped.
Jazz folds her arms over her chest in a huff. “I’m six and a half.”
I laugh. “I stand corrected. But still, you must promise me never to run away again.” Moving to the sofa, I sit down beside her. “What’s this about, anyway?”
“I got in a fight with Mommy. My dance school is performing The Nutcracker for our Christmas program this year. My teacher asked me to dance the role of Clara in the first act, but Mommy says I can’t do it. She says ballet is stupid, and I have to quit.”
My heart pounds in my ears. This has been a point of contention between Naomi and me since the beginning. At my insistence, Naomi had agreed to let Jazz continue to take ballet lessons. “Does your mommy know you left the house?”
Jazz shakes her head. “She sent me to my room. She thinks I’m still there. Her boyfriend is over. I snuck out when they were kissing on the sofa.” Jazz pretends to stick her finger down her throat as though gagging herself.
My face remains impassive, even though my insides are stewing. “Okay, doodlebug. I’m going to turn on Frozen and go outside to call your mom.”
I tickle Jazz for a minute before leaving the couch. After starting the movie, I put my coat back on and slip outside. My first call to Naomi goes to voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, I try again. Naomi answers on the fourth ring. “What do you want, Stella?”
“Jazz is with me at the cottage. She ran away from home. You don’t even know she’s gone, do you?”
“What’re you talking about? She’s in her room.” I hear footsteps on hardwood floors followed by the sound of a door creaking open. “That little brat. She was here when I checked on her fifteen minutes ago.”
Brat? Who calls their child a brat? “You’re lying, Naomi. You didn’t check on her fifteen minutes ago. Jazz has been at the cottage with me for at least that long. Before that, she was hiding in the wine cellar at the main building.”
When I see Cecily cutting across the lawn with our pizza, I point at my phone and motion her inside.
For once, Naomi doesn’t argue. She knows she’s at fault. “I’ll come and get her.”
“You can come get her after church tomorrow. Jazz is spending the night with me. Enjoy your date.”
I end the call as Cecily emerges from inside the cottage. “What’s going on?
I drop the phone into my coat pocket. “Naomi’s giving me a hard ti
me.”
Cecily rolls her eyes. “Naomi gives everyone a hard time, Stella. I have the upmost respect for you, except when it comes to Naomi. You really need to do something about her. Soon. Before something really bad happens,” she says and heads back toward the main building.
Her warning sends a shiver down my spine. She’s right. Enough is enough. I need to find a way to take Naomi down. To get Jazz away from her and get Naomi out of their lives for good.
Sucking in a breath of frigid air, I go back inside, locking the door behind me.
Despite the circumstances, I enjoy my evening with my baby sister. When she begs to watch Frozen 2, I grant my permission as long as she promises not to give me any lip when I wake her early for church tomorrow.
“You mean this?” She fingers her lip, trying to be funny. “Why would I do that, anyway? I like going to church with you. Can we walk?”
“If it’s not too cold,” I say, hugging her tiny body close to mine.
Jazz keeps an extra set of everything at my cottage. I love seeing her small clothes hanging next to mine in the closet. After helping her brush her teeth and put on her nightgown, I read to her from the stack of children’s books beside the bed. I wait until I’m certain she’s asleep before turning out the light and leaving the room.
I brew a cup of lavender tea, and wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, I call Jack. When I tell him why Jazz ran away, he reiterates what Cecily said earlier. “You’ve given Naomi ample opportunity to prove herself. She won’t change, Stella. She’s rotten to the core. When are you going to do something about her?”
“As soon as I figure out a plan.”
“I know you’re worried, baby. Do you want me to come over?”
“Thanks, but no. I already feel guilty enough for being in your bed when I should have been here for Jazz.”
“Don’t you dare go there, Stella. Our time together this afternoon was the first in weeks.”
He’s right. I’d promised we’d spend more time together after the party, and today was the first opportunity I found. “I enjoyed our time together, by the way.” I nestle under the blanket, thinking back on our few brief hours of bliss.
“Me too. Are you feeling better about us, about our future together?”
Torn is what I feel. Being alone with Jack today reminded me of how good we are together. But Jazz running away is evidence of my unsettled life.
“Can I do it again to be sure?” I ask in a teasing tone.
“Yeah, baby! Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”
“I will make time for you.”
“Is Jazz spending the night?”
“Yes. I told Naomi to pick her up after church. Do you think I should buy Jazz a cell phone?”
“Is she old enough to know how to charge it?”
“Kids these days are smarter than we are about electronics. I’ve been thinking about getting her a basic phone, like a flip phone without all the bells and whistles, to use in case of emergencies.”
“After what happened tonight, I think that’s an excellent idea.”
I haven’t officially joined a church in Hope Springs. Most Sundays I attend chapel at Jefferson College, but when Jazz accompanies me, we go to Hope Springs Episcopal, a small stone church on Main Street. Although she’s disappointed when I insist on driving to church, Jazz talks through breakfast and in the car about which of her friends will be at Sunday school today.
Grabbing a coffee from the fellowship hall, I sit in on a Bible study with a group of my peers. An hour later, I’m waiting outside of the classroom when Jazz emerges from Sunday school. When I lead her toward the parking lot, she says, “Aren’t we going to church?”
“Not today, kiddo.” I feel guilty for making her miss. To the best of my knowledge, Naomi never takes her to church. “We need to run an errand before your mommy picks you up.”
We drive out to the cell phone store on the outskirts of town. When I tell her why we’re here, she drags me over to the display of iPhones. “Can I have a smart phone? Pretty please.”
“Not hardly, kiddo. This phone is only for you to use in an emergency. I hope it never happens again, but if you ever feel like running away, call me and I’ll come get you. You’re not allowed to leave your house alone until you’re twenty years old. Understood?”
Jazz gives me an exaggerated eye roll. “Twenty? Give me a break.”
I rub my knuckles on top of her head. “You give me a break.”
The salesclerk shows us our options, and I choose the simplest of the two. She’s patient in explaining to Jazz not only how to charge the phone but the importance of keeping it charged.
Thirty minutes later, we’re on our way back to the inn. “Let’s keep this between us, okay, kiddo? I’m not sure how your mommy will feel about you having a phone.”
“I won’t tell her. Promise.” Jazz stuffs the phone in her coat pocket.
“I don’t like doing anything behind your mom’s back, but I want you to be able to reach me if you need me.”
“K. I get it. Can we go for brunch, now?
“Sure! Why not?” I haven’t heard from Naomi. Why race back to the inn on her account? “Where do you want to go?”
Jazz has several favorite restaurants on Main Street, but she surprises me when she says, “Jameson’s.”
“Jameson’s is fine with me, but are you sure you don’t want to eat at Lucky’s or Town Tavern?”
“Nope. I wanna go to Jameson’s. Cecily’s making me chocolate chip Mickey Mouse pancakes.”
“Oh, I see. You and Cecily schemed this brunch.”
Jazz gives me a sheepish grin. “Maybe.”
I park my car at the cottage, and we walk over to the veranda. Betsy, the hostess, greets us with a smile and seats us at my favorite table alongside the railing. She hands me a menu and places several sheets of plain paper and a basket of crayons in front of Jazz.
Bruce, one of my favorite waiters, arrives with a carafe of coffee, filling my cup to the brim. He bows to Jazz, and in a formal voice says, “And what can I get for you, miss?”
Jazz giggles. “Orange juice, please.”
The sky is clear and the sun bright. The air is chilly, but the space heaters provide plenty of warmth. We beat the church crowd, but within a few minutes, the veranda and the dining room buzz with activity. While Jazz colors, I stare out across the grounds to the mountains, thinking about how much my life has changed in the past six months.
Cecily appears table side with order pad in hand. She winks at Jazz. “Are you still going with the Mickey Mouse pancakes, kid?”
Jazz smiles and gives her a thumbs-up.
Cecily turns her attention to me. “What about you, boss?”
I study the menu. Even though I know the offerings by heart, I have trouble deciding between my favorites. “I’ll have the arugula and goat cheese egg-white omelet, please.”
She jots down our order. “Anything else?”
“That’s all. Looks like a full house for brunch.”
“As I told you last night, business is booming. We sold out for both seatings for Thanksgiving Day. I’ve been working on the menu.”
Stella nods at the empty chair beside Jazz. “Can you sit for a minute? I have an idea I want to run by you.”
“Sure!” Cecily slides into the seat. “What’s up?”
“What do you think about having a mock Thanksgiving dinner sometime before the big day? I’d like to invite the other team members plus some family and a few friends as a way of showing my appreciation for all the hard work and support these past few months.”
“In other words, you want to have a Friendsgiving!” Cecily’s face is bright. “I love the idea. It would give me a chance to have a trial run on a few new dishes. When were you thinking of having it?”
“What about next Sunday? Since the restaurant is closed on Sunday nights.”
“Perfect,” Cecily says. “Can we get together one morning this week to go over the menu?”
&n
bsp; “Text me some times, and let’s get it on the calendar.”
“Will do.” Cecily rises from the table. “I’m off to fix chocolate chip pancakes.”
Jazz looks up from coloring and smiles. As she watches Cecily walk away, she asks, “Am I invited to the Friendsgiving?”
“Of course. Do you want to design the invitation?”
Jazz’s golden eyes grow big. “Really?”
“Sure! You’ve got paper and crayons right here.”
While we wait for our food, I show Jazz how to draw a turkey by outlining her hand. She colors the palm area brown and fills in the finger feathers in red, yellow, green, and orange.
“Here.” She slides the paper over to me. “Is this good?”
Lifting the paper, I study the turkey. “It’s excellent. I’ll type in the wording at the top, scan it, and email it out to all our invitees.”
Our food arrives, and we discuss the upcoming holidays while we eat. Her face lights up when she talks about dancing the role of Clara in the Christmas performance. “Will you talk to Mommy about letting me be in the performance?”
“I’ll do my best, kiddo.” Although I have a sneaking suspicion this situation is more about Naomi trying to undermine me than her not wanting Jazz to dance ballet.
After brunch, when we find Naomi waiting for us in front of the cottage, I say to Jazz, “Run inside for a minute while I talk to your mom.”
When Jazz starts up the steps to the porch, Naomi grabs onto her coat hood. “Get in the car, Jasmine. I have to be somewhere.”
As she stomps off toward the silver sedan, Jazz sticks her tongue out at her mother’s back.
I press my lips thin to stifle a smile. I wait for the car door to slam before I say to Naomi, “She has her heart set on dancing in the Christmas performance.”
“So that’s what this is all about.”
“Yes, Naomi. You’re well aware of how much ballet means to her. Continuing with her lessons is a condition of our agreement.”
Naomi’s glare pins me against the side of my cottage. “You can shove our agreement where the sun don’t shine, Stella. I haven’t had a drink since early July, and I’m attending AA meetings regularly. As of today, my period of probation is officially over. If I don’t want my daughter to take ballet, she’s not going to take ballet.”
Show Me the Way Page 20
