Dream Big, Stella!

by Ashley Farley

  I hand him back the photographs. “Charming. But I’m not sure what any of this has to do with me.”

  “The Inn at Hope Springs Farm, including seventy acres of grounds and various outbuildings, now belongs to you. It’s your responsibility to manage it.”

  “I’m a city girl. What would I know about managing a seventy-acre farm in the mountains of Virginia?”

  “Based on your interest in hospitality, I would think you’d consider this a golden opportunity.”

  Unfortunately, this golden opportunity comes with a price tag I’m not willing to pay. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not leaving New York.”

  Powers closes the photographs in the file and tucks the file in his messenger bag. “Take some time to think about it before giving me your final answer. Coincidentally, I stopped by The Sydney on my way here. They told me that, as of today, you’re no longer employed there.” His eyes travel around the room, taking in my collection of cast-off furniture and the rolling garment rack that serves as my closet. “Looks to me like there’s not much keeping you here.”

  He has a point. “If this farm now belongs to me, can I sell it?”

  Powers’s face tightens. “I was just getting to that. There is one major stipulation of the will.”

  “Of course. The catch. I knew this was too good to be real.” I fall back against the cushions.

  He chuckles. “In your case, it’s not a catch but a provision. You’re prohibited from selling the property for three years.”

  “What if I refuse your offer?”

  “I’m not making you an offer, Stella. This is your inheritance. Billy let things slide during his illness. He left things in a state of disrepair. If you don’t give the property the attention it deserves, the inn will close for business. What is worth twenty million dollars today may only be worth five in three years.”

  My eyes grow wide. “Did you say twenty million dollars?”

  Powers shifts his body toward me. “That is bare minimum at today’s market price. The property is on the outskirts of town. The opportunities for development are limitless.”

  I study the attorney, looking for a twitch or a smirk, a sign that he is lying. But I only find sincerity in his face. “Why didn’t Billy contact me while he was still alive?”

  “He was a very sick man. He didn’t want to burden you with his illness.”

  “Why did you come all the way to New York to tell me this? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just to call?”

  “Billy left strict instructions for me to deliver the news in person.”

  My father sounds like a control freak. “I have to give this some thought, Mr. Powers. I can’t make such a split-second decision without talking to . . . without thinking it over.”

  Who would I talk to about this? Certainly not my mothers, the women who kept my father from me all my life. Or my boyfriend, who isn’t really my boyfriend. Rachel is the only person in the world I trust. And she’s in a serious relationship, soon to get engaged and be lost to me forever. I’m all alone in my so-called wonderful life in New York.

  “I understand. But don’t take too long. In terms of the condition of the farm, time is of the essence.” Powers stands to go. “Who knows, Stella. You might find you like living in the mountains. The fresh air and beautiful scenery. And, if it interests you, you’ll have the opportunity to learn more about your ancestry.”

  Two

  I send Rachel an urgent text, asking her to meet me at our favorite coffee spot as soon as possible. She responds that she’ll be there in an hour. I wait at a table by the window, sipping a caffe mocha I can’t afford and learning as much as I can from googling on my phone about Hope Springs, Virginia.

  Two hours pass, and I’m about to give up on Rachel when she arrives, breathless and irritated.

  “This better be good, Stella.” Rachel has changed—and not for the better—since she started working for her reality show and dating Bert, a total snob with family money and a high-pressured finance job.

  “It’s better than good. I inherited twenty million dollars today.”

  She flicks her dark hair over one shoulder. “Are you kidding me right now? I dropped everything and came rushing over here—”

  “Look at me, Rach,” I say, pointing at my face. Does it look like I’m making this up?”

  She glares at me. We’re lifelong friends. She knows when I’m lying and when I’m telling the truth. “Wait. You’re serious. What’s the catch?”

  “I have to move to Virginia.”

  “Damn, girlfriend!” She calls out to Ron, the barista, to bring her a double shot of espresso and drops down to the chair across from me. “Start talking.”

  Rachel listens with wide eyes and slack jaw as I tell her about my biological father and the will and the stipulation that I can’t sell the inn for three years.

  When I’m finished, she says, “So the sperm donor has a name and a face, after all.”

  “It appears so. The attorney showed me a picture of him. Except for my eyes, I look just like him.”

  “Are you going to tell Hannah and Marnie?” My parents have always insisted my friends call them by their first names.

  “Eventually. I have so many questions for them, but I’m too furious to talk to them right now. They kept my father from me. How will I ever forgive them for that?”

  “Don’t you wanna know if Hannah did the dirty with your father?”

  “Geez, Rachel, do you have to be so crude?” I say, but I laugh, because heck yes, I want to know if Hannah and Billy were romantically involved. “The very idea of Hannah having sex with a man blows my mind. She’s just so . . .”

  “Gay. Hannah is totally gay. Are you gonna take the offer?”

  “It’s not an offer. It’s my inheritance,” I say, repeating Brian’s words from earlier. “I have a responsibility to look after the property. Besides, there’s nothing keeping me here.”

  “What about Vince?”

  I hang my head. “I mean nothing to Vince. I’m merely his late-night booty call.”

  “You have me.”

  Looking away from her, I stare out the window. Snow continues to fall, and with a plunge in temperatures during the past hour, it has started to stick on the awnings of buildings across the street. “When’s the last time we spent any time together? You’re too busy with your career and Bert. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for you. But your full life is a reminder of how empty mine is. I got fired from my job today.”

  “Ugh! Stella. Again?”

  “Unfortunately.” I tell Rachel about the key mix-up. “I suspected I’d entered the wrong room number, but I gave the keys to the bellman anyway. I’m not stupid. But I keep doing these stupid things. I keep pushing the envelope. Maybe, deep down inside, I was hoping I’d get fired, because I hated that job.” I stare down at my folded hands. “When I was a teenager, old enough to go out on my own, I used to sit on a park bench across from the Ritz, watching the well-dressed men and women coming and going. I wanted to be a part of that world, and since I could never afford to stay in luxury hotels like the Ritz, working in one seemed like my next best option. But now that I’ve earned my degree, I’m not sure that’s what I want. I enjoy meeting the customers. The nice ones, anyway. Most of them aren’t. Most of them are stressed out, or in a hurry, or have their faces glued to their phones.”

  “You’re always talking about being a concierge,” Rachel says. “You’d be perfect in that role. Why not apply for those types of jobs?”

  “Hotels rarely hire for concierge positions from the outside. They usually promote from within.” My tears are close to the surface. “I don’t know how to describe it. I just suddenly feel like something is missing from my life.”

  “You need a man. Vince isn’t the one. You need someone you can count on. A serious relationship. Someone you can build a future with.”

  “How can I make a man happy when I can’t even make myself happy?”

  Rachel tosses her
hands in the air. “Then go to Virginia. Maybe you’ll find whatever you’re looking for there.”

  I remember what Brian said. You’ll have the opportunity to learn more about your ancestry. “I admit I’m curious about my biological father, the man who gave me half my DNA. I want to know more about him. His life. His illness. His home in Virginia.”

  Rachel’s lips part in a smile. “You’ve already made your decision.”

  I slide back in my chair, arms crossed over chest. “No, I haven’t.”

  She points a black-lacquered nail at my face. “You totally have. I know you, Stella Boor. You’re wasting time arguing with yourself. What have you got to lose? You can always move back if you hate Virginia. If this property is really worth twenty million dollars, how can you not go?” She picks her phone off the table. “What’s the name of this inn?”

  “The Inn at Hope Springs Farm. It’s in Hope Springs, Virginia.”

  Rachel looks up from her phone. “Kinda hokey, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely. But maybe hokey is what I need.” When Rachel returns her attention to the phone, I say, “The website needs updating. According to the attorney, the place is a wreck. But the town looks adorable. Total population, just under seven thousand. And there’s a small private college there, Jefferson College, liberal arts with around three thousand students.”

  “Never heard of it,” Rachel says, thumbs on screen.

  Neither have I, truthfully. I’m grasping at straws. The town doesn’t even have a Starbucks.

  She tosses her phone back on the table. “It doesn’t look like twenty million dollars’ worth to me. But I’m not a realtor. Who am I to make that judgment?” She plants her elbows on the table. “I say go for it, Stella. Think of the bright side. You have nothing of value to take with you. You won’t even need to rent a moving truck.”

  While her words cut deep, she’s right. “I have my wardrobe.” Clothes are the one splurge I allow myself on the rare occurrence when I have extra money. I know where to get bargain knockoffs, and I never pay full retail for anything.

  “Box up your clothes and ship them to Virginia.” She gets up and pulls me to my feet, engulfing me in a hug. “I have a good feeling about this, Stella. I’ll even throw you a great big going away party.”

  I’ll be long gone before she’ll get around to planning a party. I inhale the fresh scent of her ocean breeze body cream, committing the fragrance to memory. “We’ll FaceTime, right?”

  “Every day,” she whispers in my neck. We’ve been best friends since second grade, and now we’re going our separate ways. At least temporarily. Maybe permanently.

  “Promise you’ll come for a visit?”

  “I promise. Who knows? Maybe Bert and I will spend our honeymoon at your hokey inn.”

  I hold her at arm’s length. “Are you . . .”

  “Not yet, but we’re looking at rings.”

  I raise my hand for a high five. “That’s awesome, Rachel. I’m so excited for you.”

  Arms looped, we exit the coffee shop together, and then head in opposite directions. I don’t look back. I’m as light as a feather as I float down the sidewalk. Acting on impulse is nothing new for me, and this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. My inner voice is telling me to go for it. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m hopeful about the future. As I walk the short distance to my neighborhood, I check the Amtrak schedule on my phone. The next train from Penn Station to Roanoke, Virginia, departs at 12:35 tomorrow afternoon. I click add to cart and purchase a one-way ticket in coach.

  I stop at the corner market on my block. I’ve known the owner, Mr. Webster, all of my life. When I tell him I’m moving to Virginia, he wishes me well and retrieves a stack of broken-down boxes from his stockroom. I use my rent money to buy a roll of packing tape, a large container of cat litter, and enough cans of cat food to fill a brown paper bag. I’ll give my landlord the requisite thirty-days’ notice to terminate my lease and use my security deposit to cover my last month’s rent. I don’t expect much pushback from my landlord. He’ll be thrilled to rent my apartment at today’s market rate.

  Outside the market, I’m waiting for the pedestrian light to change when I spot Vince in the window of our favorite happy hour hangout on the opposite corner. Although our relationship is mostly about late-night sex, Vince has taken me out on a few real dates. He even treated me to a nice Italian dinner once. I’d planned to text him later, to invite him over for a quickie and tell him about my move. But since he’s here, I’ll buy him a farewell drink instead.

  The light signals for me to cross, and laden with boxes and cat supplies, I walk slowly to the other side. As I draw nearer to the bar and look through the window, I see that Vince is not alone. He’s with a beautiful blonde, who looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place her.

  Surprisingly, I’m not upset. I wasn’t in love with Vince or anything like that. The sex wasn’t even that great. But I’m disappointed. This is just one more measure of my failed life.

  I’m covered in sweat by the time I climb three flights of stairs to my apartment. I put fresh litter in the litter box and coax the cat down from the top of the refrigerator. I take the cat, the litter box, and the bag of canned food to the apartment across the hall. Cindy’s mother works nights as a waitress in a diner, and I’m banking on the babysitter being here.

  Cindy answers the door and her eyes light up a million watts when she sees Cat in my arms.

  “Hi, cutie pie. Is your mommy home?”

  Chin dropping to her chest, she shakes her head.

  I kneel down in front of her. “So, kiddo, I have to leave town suddenly, and I was wondering if you’d like to keep Cat. As your own.”

  She bobs her head up and down.

  “The thing is, I’m not sure if your mommy will agree to let you keep him.”

  The babysitter appears behind Cindy. I’ve met her countless times when she brings Cindy for visits, but she doesn’t speak much English, and I don’t know her name. “We keep Cat,” the sitter says. “I buy litter and food myself.”

  Over the top of Cindy’s head, I mouth, “Thank you!”

  Unexpected tears fill my eyes when I give Cindy a goodbye kiss on her cheek. I can’t explain the soft spot I have in my heart for children. I got fired from my first hotel job for showing a rich kid how to shoot street craps in the posh lobby. Maybe it’s because I was so lonely as a child. I always wished for a sibling to keep me company while my parents were out with their artsy friends. Maybe a child is what’s missing from my life. But I don’t want to raise a kid alone. Who knows? Maybe I’ll find love down in Virginia.

  Three

  When I text Brian to let him know I’m coming to Virginia, I offer to Uber from the train station in Roanoke, but he insists on sending a car to pick me up. My train arrives an hour late, and at nearly eleven o’clock at night, there are few people in the station. I’m relieved to see my driver, bearing a placard with my name, waiting for me by the exit. He’s an older gentleman. In his seventies, if I had to guess. Pleasant but quiet. Which is fine by me. I’m not in the mood to talk. During the hour-long drive to Hope Springs, I stare out the window into the black night, pondering the drastic detour my life has taken in the past thirty-six hours.

  As my train was departing Penn Station earlier, I sent Hannah and Marnie a group text. I’m on my way to Virginia to manage the inn my father left me in his will. Thanks to you, I’ll never have the chance to know him.

  In response, my parents blew up my phone with texts and calls until I finally block their numbers. I will deal with them when I’m ready.

  When we pass the city limit sign for Hope Springs, I press my face against the glass, but it’s too dark to see much of anything. We make our way up a long driveway, and the inn appears in front of us, much larger and more charming in person than in the picture Brian showed me. The combination of stone facades and wide verandas is so cozy and inviting.

  Parking under
the portico, the driver helps me with my one suitcase. I shipped the rest of my wardrobe in boxes, which are scheduled to arrive on Monday. I wait for the driver to speed away before entering the building. There’s no one in sight, not a guest service agent or a single hotel guest. A wide entryway leads to a reception area. An envelope bearing my name in chicken scratch is waiting for me on the marble-topped desk. Inside the envelope is a key attached to an oval-shaped brass key ring, etched with the number 310.

  The lobby branches off in opposite directions from the reception area, but I’m too exhausted to explore tonight. I drag my suitcase down the hallway to my right to a bank of elevators. The elevator cart smells of stale cigar smoke, and I brace myself against the wall as it jerks and rattles me to the third floor. Stained wallpaper and filthy carpet greet me when the doors part. My mothers are old movie buffs. The 80s horror film The Shining comes to mind and goose pimples crawl across my skin as I hurry down the dimly lit hallway toward my corner room. I imagine eyes watching me as I fumble with the key. Brian neglected to tell me the inn was haunted.

  Locking the door behind me, I lean against it until my breathing steadies. What have I gotten myself into?

  But I’m pleased to see that my room is actually a suite with bedroom and sitting area. While spacious, the bathroom is nothing special—tub, toilet and counter. The fabrics are worn, and the carpet soiled, but the building itself has nice bones. The Inn at Hope Springs Farm needs a face-lift and an exorcism. And I’m not sure I’m the right person to oversee either.

  I have trouble falling asleep, and when I finally drift off, I dream of phantoms chasing me down dark tunnels. Surprisingly, I wake feeling refreshed. Regardless of whether or not I stay in Hope Springs, the view from my hotel room at dawn is worth the trip to Virginia. The sun turns the sky pink, then purple, and finally yellow as it rises above the mountain range. The landscape is washed in the bright green of new spring foliage. A red brick sidewalk stretches down to a large lake at the foot of the mountains. Buildings of various sizes with the same wooden stone architecture as the inn are situated on either side of the sidewalk.