Dream Big, Stella!

by Ashley Farley

  Katherine drops by on Monday afternoon to show me her landscape blueprint. I meet her in the ICU waiting room down the hall so as not to disturb Jazz. We’re the only ones in the waiting room, and we spread the plans out on the coffee table in front of us. After we study the plans, we talk for a few minutes about budget and schedule.

  “Great work,” I say finally. “I applaud your innovative use of Virginia’s native plants. I realize a lot of the planting will have to wait until fall but go ahead and put whatever you can in motion now.”

  A beaming Katherine rolls up her plans, returning them to a cardboard tube for safe storage. “How are you holding up, Stella?”

  “I’m okay. Exhausted, but nervous energy is keeping me going. I’ll feel better once the police locate Jazz’s parents.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  I walk her to the elevator. “There’s not much anyone can do for now. Prayers are appreciated.”

  Katherine gives me a warm smile. “That goes without saying.”

  On Tuesday morning, Cecily brings blueberry muffins still warm from the oven. “I’m on my way to the library. Can I pick up some books for you and Jazz?”

  “That would be great! I’ve memorized the ones we currently have,” I say and give her the tote bag of Jazz’s books to return to the library.

  Jack comes every day at dinnertime, bringing takeout for both of us from one of the restaurants on Main Street. He stays most nights until past nine o’clock. We sit on the same side of the bed, talking in hushed tones, not only about the renovations but about our past lives. I tell him the bazaar circumstances of how I came to be in Hope Springs, including my we conspiracy suspicions, and he speaks openly about his wife’s death.

  It takes the police until Wednesday to locate Naomi and Derrick. Brian comes to the hospital to deliver the news. I meet him in the lounge, and he leads me over to the bank of windows. “Naomi is at an alcohol rehabilitation facility in Arizona. She left her car in a monthly rental parking lot instead of one of the lots at the Roanoke airport. Which is why it took the police so long to track her down.”

  “Wow,” I say. “She obviously didn’t want to be found. Why Arizona?”

  “Apparently, this particular program is regarded as one of the top in the country. I spoke with the head administrator at length. According to him, Naomi is beginning to show improvement, and he feels the news of her daughter’s illness might impede her progress.”

  “Forgive me for sounding callous, but I don’t really care about Naomi’s progress.”

  Brian smiles. “Between you and me, I don’t either.”

  This rare show of emotion makes me warm to Brian a little more. “What about Jazz’s father?”

  “He’s fly-fishing in Montana.”

  My chin drops to my chest, and I stare at him from under furrowed eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” Brian repeats. “According to his coworkers, Derrick is hiding from his wife. He made them promise not to divulge his whereabouts to anyone. They finally broke under pressure from the police.”

  “So, all this time they knew where he was?”

  Brian’s face is grim. “Afraid so.”

  “Please tell me Derrick is on a plane headed back to Virginia.”

  He slowly shakes his head. “I asked the police not to tell him about Jazz’s illness just yet. You’ll find this difficult to understand, Stella. But you have to trust my decision. I’ve known Naomi a long time. There are things about her past I’m not yet ready to reveal to you. If I thought for a minute that Derrick could provide value to this situation, I would personally pay for a private plane to bring him home. For the time being, Jazz is much better off in your hands.”

  I collapse against the window. “And when does that time change, Brian?”

  “I say we give it twenty-four more hours. If Jazz doesn’t turn the corner, then we’ll send for Naomi.”

  “Sounds like you’re worried too, that Jazz doesn’t appear to be getting any better. All she does is sleep. The big-city girl in me thinks we should move her to a major hospital.”

  “And the small-town boy in me doesn’t disagree. But Jennette Flowers is an old friend. She promised to let me know if and when we get to that point.”

  I push off the window. “If she’s not better in twenty-four more hours, we’re moving her.”

  I’m halfway across the waiting room when I remember to ask him about Opal. I retraced my steps. “By the way, have you seen Opal? Do you know how she’s feeling?”

  His lips grow thin. “Definitely not a hundred percent. She can’t seem to beat this virus.”

  “Has she seen her doctor yet?”

  “Nope. She’s a stubborn one.”

  I shake my head. “The last thing we need is for her to end up in the hospital.”

  When I return to Jazz’s room, I recline the lounge chair and close my eyes. Even though I haven’t slept much since Saturday night, I force myself to rest periodically. For Jazz’s sake, I’m trying to take care of myself.

  My mind replays my conversation with Brian. He’s definitely holding out on me. Something is fishy about the situation with Derrick. He’s Jazz’s father. How could he not add value to this situation? Unless he’s a total deadbeat. Or he’s not her father. Even so, he’s still her stepfather.

  This situation with Naomi and Derrick is screwed up. Despite what I said to Brian about Naomi, I’m all for her getting the help she needs. But she didn’t just fly out to Arizona on a whim. She took the time to plan her trip. She should’ve taken the time to make certain her daughter would be properly looked after while she was gone. At the bare minimum, she should’ve left a set of instructions. Name and contact information for Jazz’s doctors. What to do if she gets sick? Who to call in an emergency? While she had no way of knowing her daughter would become ill, isn’t it a parent’s responsibility to always be prepared for the unexpected? I know my parents were when I was a kid.

  What makes some people better parents than others? While taking care of Jazz for two weeks doesn’t make me a mother, it has given me a healthy dosage of parenting. I’ve thought a lot about my mothers over the past few days, and I’ve been tempted to call them no fewer than a hundred times. Every kid finds fault in their parents at some point in their lives. My parents were excellent providers. But they let their friends and careers take priority over me. I’m glad they lead fulfilled lives. They’ve been good role models in that regard. But them lying to me about my father being a sperm donor is wrong. So what if I blocked their numbers. Hannah knows where to find me. If she wanted to make things right between us, she would’ve come to Virginia weeks ago. Once I get Jazz well, I’m going to find out the truth about her relationship with my father. Once I get Jazz well, I’m going to find out the truth about a lot of things.

  On Wednesday evening, I’ve just finished giving Jazz a sponge bath and changing her hospital gown, when Jack arrives with two cheeseburger platters from Lucky’s Diner. He sets the Styrofoam containers on the desk and goes to stand beside the bed. “Any change?” he asks, his face full of compassion as he stares down at the patient.

  “None. And I’m getting frustrated.” I tell Jack what I learned from Brian about Naomi and Derrick.

  “That is seriously messed up.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say. “I’ve been sitting here for most of the afternoon wondering how some people don’t deserve to be parents.”

  In our respective chairs—Jack always lets me have the comfortable one—we talk for a while about what his crew accomplished today at the inn.

  I find him easy to talk to, and before I can stop myself, the words escape my mouth. “I’m glad we’re friends again.”

  He casts a sideways glance at me. “I never thought otherwise.”

  I shrug. “We started out on the right path, but I feel like I disappointed you when I came home drunk from happy hour with Katherine and Cecily.”

  His face goes dark. “I don’t
judge people, Stella.”

  “I didn’t mean that. Exactly.” I pick at a loose thread on the fabricated hole in my jeans. “I’m hypersensitive to what people around here think of me. Because of my age and my sudden appearance in Hope Springs. Because I’m Billy Jameson’s daughter. Everyone who knew him, loved him. There’s no way I can measure up.”

  Jack’s face softens. “You measure up just fine, Stella. Billy would’ve been proud of the way you’re handling the renovations with such confidence and determination.”

  “Anyway, my point is, I’m glad things are no longer awkward between us.”

  “I prefer to think of our relationship as complicated.” He angles his body toward me. “The truth is, Stella, when we first met, I was feeling more for you than friendship, and it freaked me out. I ran away with my tail between my legs.” His gaze shifts to Jazz. “Times like these remind us of how fragile life is. I’ve been reflecting a lot on my life this week, thinking about where I’ve come from and where I’m headed. Until now, I’ve been afraid to love again, but Jazz’s illness, and seeing you taking such excellent care of her, has made me realize that any life worth living is full of risks. Look at the risk you took in leaving behind your life in New York and moving to a small mountain town where you know no one.”

  I snicker. “That’s probably not the best comparison. I didn’t have much going for me in New York to leave behind.”

  He smiles. “I don’t believe that.”

  “It’s true,” I mumble.

  “There’s something between us, Stella. I feel it, and I think you feel it as well. Once we get Jazz through this, I’m going to ask you out on a date. Will you say yes?”

  I like the sound of we. It’s nice to have a partner in her recovery. Yes is on the tip of my tongue when one of the monitors on the wall behind Jazz’s bed buzzes. Another one starts rapidly beeping. Alarms go off and nurses swarm the room, asking us to leave.

  I’m already on my feet, but I remain glued to the floor.

  “Come on, Stella. We’re in the way.” Taking me by the hand, Jack drags me out of the room and down the hall. I’m relieved to find the waiting room empty.

  “I’m so scared, Jack. What if we lose her?” I turn to him, and he embraces me. His body against mine feels right. I’m safe in his arms. How I wish he had the power to heal Jazz.

  He whispers into my hair, “She’s a tough kid, Stella. She’s gonna pull through.”

  I press my face to his chest, praying to God not to take her. Long minutes pass—I don’t know how many—before I finally pull away. “We need to call Brian. Will you do it? I’m afraid I might cry.”

  “Of course.” Jack’s call is brief, and when he hangs up, he says, “Brian is on the way.”

  We walk together to the window and watch the sun begin its descent below the mountains. “It’s going to be a long night,” I say, and even though I don’t want him to leave me, I add, “You should go home.”

  “No way. The only place I’m going is to the cafeteria for some coffee. Would you like some?”

  “Yes! Please.”

  Jack leaves me alone with my thoughts, but I can’t bear to think about what might be happening to Jazz. I need to talk to someone. I need my mom.

  I unblock Hannah’s number. Marnie is the maternal one, the parent I always go to when I’m sick or sad or in trouble. But Hannah is the closest to this situation. She’s the one I need at this moment in time. But when she answers on the third ring, I hear laughter and loud talking in the background.

  “Mom?”

  “Oh, Stella, it’s wonderful to hear your voice,” she says as though I’m a long-lost friend, not her daughter.

  “You’re at a party. We’ll talk some other time.” Like never.

  “No! Wait! Let me step outside.”

  The laughter fades, replaced by busy street noises. I’m stunned at the revelation that I don’t miss New York one bit.

  “What’s going on?” Hannah asks. She knows I didn’t call to chat.

  “There’s this kid. She’s six years old, a talented little ballerina. And . . . well . . . I’ve fallen in love with her. And she’s sick, and I’m scared she might die.” No longer able to hold back the tears, I sob, “Her mother is in rehab. She left Jazz in my care.”

  “The child’s name is Jazz?” I hear curiosity in Hannah’s voice, but there’s another emotion as well.

  “Yes,” I say, sniffling.

  “Is it short for Jasmine?” she asks, and this time with a note of suspicion in her tone.

  “What else would it be short for? But enough about her name. She has bacterial meningitis.”

  “That’s very serious,” Hannah says, as though I don’t already know this. “Is she in the hospital?”

  This conversation is going nowhere. “Of course, she’s in the hospital. I just told you she might die.”

  “In Hope Springs?”

  I stop crying. “You know where I am, Mom. I’m sorry. I made a mistake in calling you.” I hang up on her. I don’t block her number again, but she doesn’t call back.

  I mean nothing to my parents. All I’ve ever been to them is a showpiece for their friends.

  Jack returns with three coffees and Brian on his heels.

  “We should call Naomi,” I say to Brian. “She deserves to know.”

  “Naomi deserves nothing.” His face is set in an angry scowl, but when he sees my shock at his response, he softens. “Let’s find out what’s going on with Jazz, and then we’ll decide whether to notify Naomi. What can she do from Arizona anyway?”

  Long hours pass with no word from the doctors and nurses inside the intensive care unit. The three of us take turns pacing the floor. We bite fingernails and stare at our phones. Jack returns to the cafeteria twice for more coffee, and we make countless trips to the restrooms. Around eleven o’clock, an exasperated Brian bursts into the ICU, demanding answers. Dr. Flowers sends him away, but at least we know Jazz is still alive.

  Finally, at almost one in the morning, Flowers emerges through the double doors. None of us gets up to greet her. We’re all too paralyzed with fear to move. I can’t read her expression. I want to believe that’s relief I see on her face.

  She sits down heavily in the chair opposite us. “It was touch and go for a while, but she’s finally stable, and we’re giving her a new antibiotic.”

  I spring to my feet. “I’m done with this situation, Dr. Flowers. We’re moving her to Richmond.”

  Flowers stands to face me. “I understand your frustration, Stella. But this medicine appears to be working. Jazz is awake. She’s asking for you.”

  Twenty-Two

  Jazz’s health improves with each passing day. Although she continues to run a fever and tire easily. While she doesn’t appear to have any permanent damage, the doctors warn she’s not yet out of the woods.

  Keeping Jazz entertained is a challenge. She plays games and watches movies on her new iPad and works the activity books—puzzles as well as hidden picture ones—I buy for her in the lobby gift shop. Cecily visits with more library books and a picnic basket of baked goodies, and Katherine brings a lovely bouquet of flowers she cut from her own yard. Jack continues with his nightly visits, but now he arrives with dinner for three. On Saturday, he sits with Jazz while I go home to do our laundry.

  On Sunday morning, when Jazz asks if her mother knows she’s sick, I have my answer prepared. “No, sweetheart. Mr. Brian and I decided not to tell her. Your mommy is sick too, but in a different way.”

  She furrows her little brow. “What do you mean? Does she have many-gi-tus, too?”

  “Not meningitis,” I say, pronouncing every syllable. “You know how your mommy sometimes drinks the gold stuff in the tall bottle that smells bad?”

  Her upper lip curls. “Wine. She gets drunk a lot.”

  “That’s because something, deep down inside of her, is making her unhappy. And the doctors are helping her figure out what that is so she’ll feel better.”


  “I know what it is. She misses Billy.”

  Oh really? That kind of grief for someone who’s only a friend? “Jazz, do you know how long your parents have been married?”

  She holds her hands out, palms up, as if to say she doesn’t have a clue.

  “Of course you don’t,” I say, mussing her hair. She’s a six-year-old kid. I’ll need to pose my questions to a more reliable source.

  By the time Dr. Flowers releases Jazz midday on Monday, we are both eager to go home. An orderly pushes Jazz’s wheelchair to the main entrance where they wait while I go to the parking lot for Billy’s Jeep. I’ve been tempting fate by driving without a license. I have two weeks to go until my sixty days is up. I’ve yet to learn how to parallel park, and my driving coach is still under the weather.

  I’m unlocking the Jeep when I spot Brian hurrying across the lot. I call his name. Slowing his pace, he makes a detour toward me.

  “Jazz is finally being released. We’re on our way home. I’ll tell her you stopped by. Maybe you can visit at the cottage.”

  He rakes his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. “I’m thrilled for both of you. But I’m not here to see Jazz. I came with Opal. I finally convinced her to see her doctor late last week. He ran some tests. It appears as though she may have leukemia.”

  I deflate, as though I’ve been punched in the gut, and I collapse against the Jeep. “Poor Opal. I’m so sorry, Brian. How’s she handling the news?”

  “It hasn’t sunk in yet. She just found out this morning. I brought her in for more tests.”

  “Please tell her I’m thinking about her, and I’ll be in to see her in a couple of days, as soon as I get Jazz settled.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Brian says. “I’m sure she’d appreciate a text.”

  I give Brian’s arm a squeeze. “Hang in there.”

  I drive around to the main entrance and help the orderly load Jazz into the Jeep. On the way back to the farm, I think about Opal. How scary for her to be facing such a serious medical crisis at her age. At least she has her wonderful son to take care of her. I’ve grown to love Opal. Her quirkiness brings joy to my life. I would hate to lose her when we’re becoming friends.