Jack brings a large pie from Ruby’s Italian Pizzeria for dinner, and we sit at the table like a family. Jazz, her appetite not fully recovered, takes only a few bites of one slice. She yawns and lays her head on the table. She showered as soon as we got home from the hospital and is already in her pajamas.
“I’ll put her to bed while you clean up,” Jack says lifting the little girl into his arms.
He’s gone for a while, and by the time he returns, I’ve finished putting away the leftovers and loading the dishwasher.
“Jazz perked up when I tucked her in,” he says. “She begged me to read her a bedtime story. I ended up reading three.”
“Is she asleep now?”
“Oh yeah! Out cold.” He begins opening and closing cabinets. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”
“I would love one, but I don’t have any.”
Locating two wine glasses, he sets them on the counter and walks to the back door. “I brought a bottle with me, but I left it in the car. I didn’t want to upset Jazz. You know, because of her mother’s drinking problem and all.”
I smile at him. “Thank you for being sensitive to her feelings.”
Jack has been my rock this past week. I’ve grown accustomed to sharing everything with him. I told him about my conversation with Jazz regarding her mother’s whereabouts, and when he returns with the wine, while he’s opening the bottle and filling the glasses, I tell him about Opal having leukemia.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But Opal is a strong woman. If anyone can beat it, she can.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Jack and I take our wine into the living room and sit close together on the sofa. “It’s nice to be home,” I say, tucking my feet beneath me.
He places an arm on the cushion behind my head. “It’s good to have you alone. Can we go on our date soon?”
I smile over at him. “That depends. Do you know any responsible babysitters?”
He laughs. “A sitter for the sitter. I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head, but I’ll ask around.”
“Cecily might be willing to keep Jazz, if I can drag her away from Lyle long enough.”
He takes my wine glass from me and sets it on the coffee table beside his. “I can’t wait until our date to do this.” Cupping my head, he draws me close and kisses me, his lips soft and gentle against mine. My stomach tumbles and heat radiates through my body. Our lips part and tongues meet. He tastes like pizza and wine and something deliciously sweet that I identify as lust. I yearn to rip off his clothes and straddle him naked. But the mature me—the one evolving from the responsibilities of managing a multi-million-dollar renovation project and nursing a critically ill child—controls this impulse.
I jump to my feet and run a hand down my shorts, straightening them. “I’m sorry, Jack. I can’t risk having Jazz walk in on us.”
He stands to face me. “I understand about Jazz. And I respect that. But, did you not feel the attraction between us just now? Because I’m pretty sure the earth just moved.”
I laugh out loud. “Yes! I felt it.”
“Then why are you pushing me away when we have a chance at something special?”
I place my hand on his cheek. “I’m not pushing you away. This week . . . having you by my side during Jazz’s crisis . . . I want that kind of close relationship in my life. Someone I can count on. Someone I can grow with. But I’m the queen of screwing up relationships, Jack. I have the track record to prove it. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take things slow.”
Relief crosses his face. “I’m willing to take things slow as long as you promise to be honest with me. But I sense there’s something more. Something else holding you back.”
I cross the room to the bookshelves. My eyes roam my father’s collection of books and memorabilia. I’ve combed through everything once. What if I missed something? What if there’s an important clue here about my family?
I turn my back to the bookshelves. “You’re right. Something else is holding me back. I need to figure out who I am before I commit to a relationship.”
For the rest of the week, I work out of the cottage kitchen. When Cecily and Kathryn stop by with updates on their various projects, I make them sanitize their hands with Purell and wear surgical masks to avoid spreading germs. Jack brings dinner most nights, except on Wednesday when I cook my mother’s baked ziti recipe. At night, after he leaves and Jazz is in bed, with Billy on my earpods, I meticulously comb through the bookcases, looking for clues to my family history. When I find nothing, I quietly scour the bedroom so as not to wake a sleeping Jazz. Tucked inside a Bible in the bedside table drawer, I discover an unframed photograph of Hannah and Billy at a party. His arms are around her waist, and she’s gazing into his eyes, two young people very much in love at what appears to be a college band party. Hannah was twenty-four when she gave birth to me. I hug the photograph to my chest. Does this mean I’m a product of a long-lasting relationship and not a one-night stand? On the other hand, if they once meant something to each other, why prevent me from being a part of my father’s life? I return the photo, a reminder of my mother’s betrayal, to the drawer.
Earlier in the week, when I called the doctor’s office to schedule Jazz’s two-week follow-up, the nurse made the appointment and then advised me to let Jazz determine when to resume her normal activities. By Friday, she is feeling much better and hasn’t had a fever since leaving the hospital. When she begs to go for her first session with the reading tutor, I reluctantly agree.
Carrie Anderson lives in an adorable house two blocks from the inn. Considering her petite size and childlike manner, I sense she and Jazz are a good match and that Jazz will blossom under her tutelage.
Carrie leans down to speak to Jazz at eye level. “After we read awhile, if it’s okay with Stella, I’d like to take you to story time at the library and then to the pharmacy for lunch.”
The Hope Springs Pharmacy on Main Street has the original 1960s-era soda counter. I’ve heard plenty about it, but I’ve yet to eat there.
Jazz clasps her hands. “Can I please, Stella?”
I smile. “As long as you promise not to overdo it.”
Carrie winks at me. “I’ll keep an eye on her. Okay if I drop her back at the inn around one?”
“That would be great.”
I’m grateful to have the morning free, a first since Jazz got sick. I hurry back to the inn for my bicycle and ride all the way to the hospital to see Opal. It’s a warm day, and I’m sweating by the time I get there. After asking the elderly volunteer at the information desk for Opal’s room number, I stop by the lobby gift shop for flowers.
When I arrive at Opal’s room, a nurse informs me she’s too sick for visitors. I’ve spoken to Brian nearly every day this week, but he never mentioned her condition was so dire. I leave the flowers with the nurse and take the elevator down to the lobby.
Jack takes Jazz and me into the mountains for a picnic on Saturday, and on Sunday, we go fly-fishing. I struggle to get the hang of casting, but Jazz is a natural. She catches three trout to add to Jack’s two. I hook one but fail to reel it in.
“Can’t we stay a little longer?” Jazz begs when it’s time to go home.
I hip-bump her on the way to the car. “Not today, Jazzy. If we’re lucky, Jack will bring us fishing another day. After I’ve had a chance to practice casting.”
“I’ll set you up with a rig, so you can practice down at the lake,” Jack says to me, and to Jazz, “When we get back to the cottage, you can help me clean the fish.”
This brings the smile to Jazz’s face. Her feelings for him are nothing short of adoration.
The fish is seasoned perfectly, and I insist he give Cecily his recipe for our menu. We’re like a small family gathered around the pine table. Our threesome feels right, like we belong together, and I have to remind myself that Jazz is not my child. Nor is Jack my husband. It’s been a perfect weekend, and I’m sad to see it come to an end.
Late that night, I’m alone in the living room, listening to Billy’s music when I finally find my first clue—lyrics from a song written about Jasmine.
Jasmine, sweet as a summer blossom,
Wherever you go,
Whoever you’re with,
You’ll always be in my heart,
My Jasmine, my love.
I google the song title. According to Wikipedia, the song was released in 1991, twenty-three years before Jazz was born. I would guess Naomi is in her late thirties, definitely no older than forty. Which means Naomi would’ve been eleven at the time. Which means Naomi named her child after one of Billy’s past lovers. Why would she do that?
The clue doesn’t provide answers. It only creates more questions.
Twenty-Three
The two weeks leading to the Fourth of July pass in a frenzy of activity. When I take Jazz for her follow-up appointment, Dr. Flowers is pleased with her progress and cautiously optimistic there will be no permanent damage. Jazz goes for ballet lessons on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons and to her reading tutor on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. In her free time, I arrange playdates with her new friends from the day camp. Jack teaches me to parallel park, and when the time comes, I go for my driving test. I pass with flying colors. Being able to drive opens up a whole new world of opportunity for Jazz and me to explore. We visit Natural Bridge and feed the animals as we drive through the Virginia Safari Park. I go to the hospital every chance I get, but the nurses refuse to let me see Opal. When I question Brian about her restricted visitation, he says they are taking things one day at a time and promises I can see Opal soon. Katherine sends bouquets of fresh flowers to brighten her room, and I drop off magazines and books and plastic containers of Cecily’s edibles.
The inn begins to take shape. The decorators select paint colors and order miles of carpet, fabric, and wall coverings. Plumbers set fixtures in the guest bathrooms and the tile contractor lays marble and ceramic tile on walls, floors, and in the showers. Electricians update wiring, HVAC guys install all new heating and cooling systems, and large teams of sheet rockers put up drywall. Despite all this progress, Jack claims we’re running behind schedule. When he comes to the cottage for dinner at night, he’s visibly stressed, but he never complains.
Jack invites Jazz and me to go with him to a friend’s Fourth of July party. “There will be families with kids of all ages,” he says, his face bright with excitement. “Jazz will have a blast. Wait until you see this spread of land, Stella. Hands down, Jason has the best view overlooking Hope Springs. He hires professionals to shoot off fireworks from a vacant field he leases on the outskirts of town. The best fireworks you’ve ever seen.”
“Ha. Even better than New York?”
He laughs. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to New York on the Fourth of July.”
Jazz and I choose our outfits with care. I decide on a navy-and-white striped sundress, and for Jazz, we find a pair of blue shorts printed with white stars at Target. She wears them over her bathing suit with a white T-shirt and red ribbons in her braided pigtails. We accessorize our ensembles with red, white, and blue star necklaces ordered from Amazon.
We arrive at the party promptly at four, just as the games are about to begin. They have three-legged races, egg tosses, and a scavenger hunt. I meet too many of Jack’s friends to remember their names. They all beg for details of the renovations, and we’re more than happy to oblige. When the games end, the kids go swimming in the pool while the adults sip blueberry lemonade margaritas in lounge chairs nearby.
“Thanks for bringing me here, Jack. I’m having so much fun. Does this count as our first date?”
“No way,” he says, vehemently shaking his head. “Being surrounded by screaming kids is not what I had in mind for our first date.”
I cast him a sideways glance. “Oh really. What did you have in mind?”
“You and me alone together at my house. I’ll cook you a fabulous meal, and then I plan to seduce you. I’ve been a patient man, Stella. But that patience is running out.”
Jack and I rarely find time alone, but when we do, the flames burn hot.
“Ooh. An actual invitation to your house? I was beginning to think you live in a tent in the woods somewhere.”
“Ha ha. Aren’t you the funny one?” he says in a playful tone.
I stick my tongue out at him. “Seriously, though, Cecily volunteered to babysit. She even offered to spend the night if we want her to.”
“We definitely want her to.” He leans in close to me, planting little kisses on my neck. “I can hardly wait.”
I brush my lips against his cheek. “Me either.”
When a uniformed server rings a brass handbell, announcing dinner, kids make a mass exodus from the pool. Wrapping Jazz in a towel, we join the lines forming at the banquet tables. The food offerings include traditional cookout fare—hot dogs and hamburgers and grilled chicken breasts—but there are also some tasty salads with summer-fresh fruits and vegetables. We load up our plates and claim one of many picnic blankets spread out on the vast lawn.
Jazz is taking her first bite of her hot dog when a little girl about her age asks Jazz to join the small group of kids on a nearby blanket. She looks to me for permission and I say, “Of course, sweetheart. Go! Have fun!”
Taking her plate with her, Jazz runs off with the little girl, but she returns five minutes later, her golden eyes glistening with tears.
She snuggles up close to me, and I ask, “What’s wrong, Jazzy?”
“Do you know when my mommy’s coming home? Has the doctor fixed her yet?”
“No, honey, I’m sorry. I don’t know.” I lift Jazz onto my lap. “Are you missing her?”
“Sorta. But I like being with you more. It just that . . . well . . . I’m the only black kid here.”
Alarm bells sound in my head. Jazz doesn’t usually notice such things. “While that may be true, the rest of us are jealous your skin is prettier than ours.”
“You’re just saying that, Stella. Can we go home now? I don’t belong here.”
My eyes meet Jack’s over the top of her head. “Says who?”
“That boy over there.”
I follow her finger to a boy of about nine or ten with dark curly hair. He’s cutting up, making the other kids laugh by acting obnoxious.
“What does he know? Talking like a big shot makes him feel important, especially when he’s picking on kids who are different from him. Same thing used to happen to me all the time when I was a kid. Wanna know what I did?”
She nods her head. “What?”
“I ignored them. It drives mean kids crazy. And it makes them look like fools in front of their friends.”
She pushes off of me, so she can see my face. “Really?”
“Really. Wanna give it a shot? We’ll be right here if you need us.”
“I guess.” She butt-scoots to the edge of the blanket. With a quick swipe of the eyes and an uncertain glance back at us, she returns to her friends.
Jack and I watch as the scene at the neighboring blanket unfolds. When the mean kid starts to taunt Jazz again, she stares him down with chin high. After a while, the boy gives up and directs his attention on another poor kid.
Jack takes my hand, bringing it to his lips. “You’re really good with her.”
“Bullies are all the same. I encountered my share of them when I was growing up. Kids thought I was a freak, being raised by lesbian mothers before same-sex couples were a thing.”
“I imagine that was difficult for you,” he says, his face pinched in concern.
“It was lonely at times, but I learned to stand up for myself.”
I stretch my legs out in front of me, my sandaled feet crossed. As the sun dips below the mountains, the sky fades from orange to black. Stars come out, twinkling in a cloudless sky, and a gentle breeze delivers the scent of roses from a nearby garden. I yearn to freeze this moment in time. While I’m curious to learn more
about my family’s past, I fear that what I discover will ruin everything I’ve gained since coming to Hope Springs. I never thought I could be this happy. I’ve fallen head over heels for an incredible man and an awesome kid.
Uniformed servers light tiki torches, hand out sparklers, and cut a ginormous sheet cake decorated like the American flag. The crowd cheers when the first fireworks light up the sky with bursts of blues and reds and whites.
Jack fingers a lock of my hair. “You’re a million miles away. What’re you thinking?”
“About past Fourths of July.”
“And how did you typically spend them?”
“With my parents, watching fireworks from different venues around the city while celebrating my birthday.”
“Wait. What?” Jack sits up straight. “Are you saying today is your birthday?”
“Yep. I’m thirty years old today.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You are full of surprises, Stella Boor. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I just did.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Because I didn’t want you to feel obligated to get me a gift. Having the same birthday as our nation has its perks. The evening has been perfect.”
“Not quite.” Jack leaves the blanket and disappears into the dark, returning a minute later with a square piece of cake, a sparkler hissing in the middle. He drops to his knees, presenting the cake to me, and sings “Happy Birthday” loudly and embarrassingly off-key. The rest of the guests join in, and Jazz rushes over.
“I didn’t know today was your birthday,” she says, knocking me over as she crawls on top of me.
“I was hoping not to make it a big deal.” I cross my eyes at Jack. “But someone let the cat out of the bag.”
Snatching the sparkler, Jazz dances graceful ballet moves around our blanket while Jack and I share the cake.
Dream Big, Stella! Page 17
