Dream Big, Stella!

by Ashley Farley

  I’m disappointed to see the evening come to an end. It’s past ten o’clock when we thank our hosts and load Jazz into Jack’s pickup truck. On the way back to town, she chatters on about the new friends she made. She’s keyed up from the excitement of the party. Getting her to bed will be a challenge.

  At the inn, when we round the corner from the main building, I notice a black sedan parked behind Billy’s Jeep. “Are you expecting someone?” Jack asks.

  I shake my head. “I have no idea who that could be. Especially at this hour.” But as we draw closer, I see a figure sitting on the bench on the front porch. I would recognize the elegant slope of her neck anywhere. “That’s my mother.”

  Jack jerks his head toward me. “Which one?”

  “Hannah. My birth mother. The one with all the answers.”

  He parks in front of the cottage, and I slide out of the truck.

  Hannah gets to her feet. She looks movie-star glamorous in white high-waisted jeans and a blue-and-white cropped top with puffy sleeves. She’s still wearing her brimmed hat even though the sun set hours ago.

  “Darling, it’s so good to see you.” She holds out her arms to embrace me, but when I don’t move toward her, she lets them drop to her sides.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “I came to wish you a happy birthday.”

  I snort. “You could’ve texted or called.”

  Jack goes to the porch to introduce himself while I help Jazz out of her car seat. When I set her on the ground, she darts up the steps to my mother. “I’m Jazz. Who are you?”

  “I’m Hannah. Stella’s mother.” Mom leans over to get a good look at the child. “I understand you’ve been sick, Jazz. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  “I’m all better,” Jazz says. “We went to a party tonight. They had tons of fireworks.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Mom says.

  I unlock the cottage and the four of us file inside.

  Mom circles the room. “Lester Stokes, the caretaker back then, lived here when I was coming along.” She pauses in front of Billy’s framed collection of ticket stubs, poking a finger at the glass. “I went to that concert with him—Billy Joel in Philadelphia in 1984.” She points again and again. “And Bruce Springsteen in 1985 and ZZ Top in 1987.” She moves on to Led Zeppelin’s bomber jacket. “I remember when Billy bought this. He wanted to wear it, if you can believe that. I told him the point was to preserve it.”

  This insider’s knowledge of my father’s life is what I’ve been desperate for since I arrived in Hope Springs. But, instead of being fascinated, I’m irritated. If only she’d told me about my father years ago, I could’ve heard all the stories from him.

  “It’s late, Mom. I need to get Jazz to bed. Where are you staying?”

  “Good question. I wasn’t aware the inn was under construction.” She sits down on the sofa, giving the cushion a firm pat. “This will do.”

  The cottage is small enough with Jazz and me living here. I don’t need my mother sucking up oxygen. I’m glad I took the time to clean Naomi’s suite after she left. “You can stay in the carriage house.”

  Jack rests a hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t I help Jazz into her pajamas while you take your mom over there now?”

  “That would be great. Thank you.” I turn to Jazz, wagging my finger at her. “Brush your teeth. I’ll be back to tuck you in.”

  I open the front door, motioning my mother outside. With an exasperated sigh, she slowly gets to her feet. As she walks past me, I hold out my hand. “Give me your keys. I’ll drive over.”

  She drops the keys in my hand. “When did you learn to drive?”

  “I got my license last week.” On the way over to the carriage house, I ask, “How long are you planning to stay?”

  “As long as it takes to sort out a few things.”

  “You’ll have to fend for yourself. Between Jazz and the renovations, I don’t have time to entertain you.”

  “Forgive me for intruding on your life, Stella. I finally worked up the nerve to come down here, and this is the thanks I get? Don’t you want to know about your father and me?”

  I grip the steering wheel. “Why does everything have to be on your terms? You should’ve told me about Billy a long time ago. Of course I want to know about my father. But I’m too tired to face ghosts tonight. And I don’t want to spoil a perfectly good birthday.”

  “I understand,” she says. “Can we go for brunch tomorrow?”

  “We’ll see.”

  At the carriage house, I remove two large suitcases from the trunk and drag them up the stairs to her suite. One is undoubtedly full of art supplies, which means she’s planning to stay indefinitely.

  I unlock the door and hand her the key to her room. “I’ll lock the downstairs door behind me. We had to fire the old groundskeeper. And we’ve had some trouble with Bernard lurking around. Although we haven’t seen him in weeks, we still need to be careful.”

  She shakes her head as though in disbelief. “Bernard was here when I was a kid. He gave me the creeps, even back then.”

  Twenty-Four

  I let Jazz sleep late on Sunday morning. I’m sitting on the back porch drinking coffee, mentally rehearsing what I’ll say to my mother, when Jack comes around the corner from the side of the house.

  “I was checking on a few things in the inn and thought I’d stop by,” he says.

  I eye the disposable coffee cup in his hand. “Can I offer you a refill?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already had my caffeine limit.” He gestures at the empty rocker beside me. “May I? I don’t want to intrude on your quiet time.”

  “Please! I’m grateful for the interruption. I was just thinking about the conversation I need to have with my mother.”

  “About that . . . several of the families you met last night are going tubing on the river. Why don’t I take Jazz with me so you can have some time alone with Hannah?”

  I give him my best sulky pout. “I’d rather go tubing with you guys.”

  “And we’d love to have you. I just thought . . .”

  “No, you’re right. I should talk to her in private.” I sip my coffee. “This anger I feel toward my mom really scares me, Jack.”

  “Anger is a complicated emotion. For the longest time, I was angry at God for taking my wife from me. If you let it, anger will eat away at your soul. You’re better off if you can find a way to forgive her.”

  “But how do I do that?”

  “By keeping an open mind. I’m sure she has a legitimate reason for not telling you about your father. Try to understand why she made those choices. If you feel yourself getting angry, it’s better to walk away than say something you’ll later regret.”

  On the sidewalk off in the distance, a figure comes into view. Mom is race-walking in running shorts and a tank top. “Speak of the devil.”

  Hannah waves when she sees us. “Yoo-hoo! I’m just out for my morning exercise. What time’s brunch?”

  I look at Jack. “When are you all going tubing?”

  “Around eleven,” he says.

  “Let’s meet here at eleven,” I call out to her. “We’ll walk to town, so wear comfortable shoes.”

  She gives me a thumbs-up and continues on the sidewalk toward the main building.

  “This will give me a chance to go to the grocery store beforehand. I need to stock up for this week. I’m thinking I’ll cook steaks on the grill tonight. If Mom and I are still speaking, I’ll invite her to dinner. I’d love for you to join us.”

  “I’ll bring some wine,” he says, pushing himself out of the chair. “See you at eleven.”

  Thrilled at the prospect of going tubing, Jazz, coated in sunscreen and dressed in her bathing suit and cover-up, is waiting for Jack on the front porch when he arrives at eleven.

  As I kiss them both goodbye, I warn him not to take his eyes off her and for her to listen to everything he says.

  “Don’t worry,” Jack
says. “She’s in good hands.”

  “Stella’s a worry fart,” Jazz says with a snicker.

  Hand on hip, I feign indignation. “First of all, the term is worry wart. And secondly, fart is an unladylike word for a prima ballerina.”

  “Sorry,” she says with a wicked grin.

  As I watch them drive off, I wonder if, when the time comes, I’ll worry about my own children as much as I worry about Jazz. The notion of having Jack’s children brings a smile to my face.

  Mom arrives wearing a flowy floral-print sundress, Birkenstocks, and her sunhat. Without exchanging greetings, we start off toward town. At the front of the main building, she pauses to look through the front door window. “I’d love to see what they’ve done so far.”

  I’m not in the mood to give her a tour. “Maybe later,” I say.

  “You’re hangry. We need to get you some food.” When she tries to loop arms, I jerk mine away.

  I’m not hangry. I’m angry. And I know I’m being rude, but I can’t help myself.

  “Tell me about Jack. He seems like a nice guy, although maybe a little old for you. Are you two in a relationship?”

  “I’m not talking to you about Jack.”

  “Sorry.” Her hands fly up. “Touchy subject.”

  “It’s not a touchy subject, Mom. I’m just not going to discuss my boyfriend with you.”

  We walk the rest of the way down the drive in silence.

  When we hit Main Street, she talks about what’s changed and what hasn’t since she was last in town. She pauses in front of the children’s clothing shop. “This used to be a women’s boutique. I shopped here all the time. They had the cutest things.” Continuing down to the Pizzeria, she says, “This place is run down. Is the pizza still good?”

  I shrug. “It’s fine.”

  When she enters the pharmacy to have a look around, I remain on the sidewalk. Emerging, she says, “Nothing’s changed here. Back in the day, they made an awesome root beer float.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. I haven’t eaten there yet.”

  We cross the street to the coffee shop. “This used to be the corner market. We came here every morning for the newspaper.”

  “Who’s we, Mom? Your parents? I know you don’t have any siblings. At least that’s what you’ve always told me. Then again, you’re a proven liar. Do you have any brothers and sisters?” I don’t give her a chance to respond. “You know what, I’m not really hungry. Let’s just get some coffee.” I burst through the door of Caffeine on the Corner, leaving her to follow me inside.

  I had in mind to take her to Elmo’s, the only decent restaurant in town, but I’m not in the mood to sit across the table from her, pretending to be nice.

  We order our drinks at the counter—caffe mocha for me and black coffee for her—but neither of us ask for food.

  Mom waits until we’re seated at a table by the window before asking, “Why are you being so hostile, Stella? I intentionally postponed coming to Virginia to give you a chance to calm down.”

  “Calm down? I’m not a child. I’m not sulking because you won’t let me have an ice cream cone before dinner. You told me my father was some random guy who donated his sperm for money, when he was actually this supercool, talented man. I mean, seriously, Mom. My father was Billy Jameson, lead singer for the Wild Hollers. You introduced me to their music. Other kids were listening to ABC singalongs and I was developing a fondness for classic rock music.”

  “It’s complicated, Stella.”

  “It can’t be that complicated, Hannah.”

  She opens her mouth to speak and closes it again. When she looks away, staring out the window, her eyes are wet with unshed tears. “I spent my summers here when I was growing up. My family rented one of the cottages. Have you seen Cottage Row? It’s mostly hidden by trees now.”

  “Jack showed me the cottages,” I say.

  “Billy was the best friend I ever had.” Her lips part in a smile as she slips into the past. “Every year for three months, we were inseparable. We shared all our secrets, hopes, and dreams. Our summers were magical. There was always something to do on the farm, outdoor activities and festivities at the inn. We were both devastated when I returned to Richmond in August. When it came time for us to go to college, Billy and I applied to the same schools, so we could be together all the time. We were in our third year at UVA when he confessed that he was in love with me, that he’d always been in love with me. By that time, his band, the original members of the Wild Hollers, had begun to build a reputation for themselves, playing fraternity parties and sorority formals.”

  I settle back in my chair, thinking about the photograph I found in the nightstand. Sipping my coffee, I try to imagine their life together.

  “Something changed in our relationship when Billy and I became lovers. We weren’t good together as a couple. He was needy. And I wasn’t ready to be tied down. At least not to him. That’s around the time I started experimenting with my sexuality. But you know all about that.”

  “Right.” My mothers have always spoken openly about their lesbian relationship. I’ve had my share of questions over the years, which they’ve been more than willing to answer.

  “Me being gay was the one secret I couldn’t bring myself to tell Billy. I knew he still loved me, and I didn’t want to hurt him. But I also suspected he wouldn’t understand.” Mom blows on her coffee before taking a tentative sip. “Anyway, we grew apart after graduation when I went to New York for art school and he began touring with the band. And then Billy’s brother died. Do you know about Ethan?”

  I glare at her. “Only because I read about his plane crash in the newspaper.” I’ve been doing what Jack suggested—trying to keep an open mind about the choices she made. But she’s yet to give me a legitimate reason as to why she never told me about my father. “That’s also how I found out about my paternal grandfather, Ethan Senior, and my grandmother, Janis. From the newspaper. Not from you.”

  “Ouch. I guess I deserve that.”

  “I’m just getting started. But go on. You finish first.”

  She sets down her mug. “I was distraught over Ethan’s death. I’d grown up with him. Despite the two-years difference in our age, I considered him a friend. I flew down for his funeral. Billy was such a mess, I couldn’t bring myself to leave him. I ended up staying for a week. We did our fair share of drinking. Which was not a good idea considering how emotionally fragile we were. My last night here was the hardest. We were both especially down, uncertain of our futures and clinging to the past. We turned to one another for comfort. One thing led to another, and—”

  “You slept together. And I was conceived. This is worse than a cheap novel.”

  Mom leans across the table. Her voice is low and angry. “Watch your mouth, Stella. I’m sitting here pouring my heart out to you. The least you could do is try to understand.”

  “Oh, I’m trying, Mom. But so far, I’m not understanding. I totally get the part where you got knocked up by your old boyfriend. I’m guessing you were already in a relationship with Marnie at the time, and you decided to raise the baby together. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” she says. “If you’ll let me finish, I’ll explain.”

  I plant my elbows on the table. “Fine. Go ahead.”

  “When Billy found out I was pregnant, he begged me to marry him and move to Hope Springs. I finally confessed that I was gay, and when I told him I wanted to raise the baby with my partner, he sued me for custody.”

  My jaw hits the table. “What?”

  “We had a nasty court battle that dragged on for a couple of years. My attorney was worried. This was before same-sex marriages were legal, and he thought Billy had a chance of winning.” Mom pauses to catch her breath and slurp some coffee. “Did you read in the newspapers about Billy’s parents dying close together so soon after Ethan’s death?”

  “Ethan Senior in 1992 and Janis in 1994,” I say.

  She cocks an eyebrow. “I’m im
pressed. You have done your homework. As you might imagine, losing his entire family within a matter of four years was hard on Billy. About a month after his mom died, he dropped the custody suit. He requested visitation and offered to pay child support, but I couldn’t let him be a part of your life.”

  “Why not? I don’t understand.”

  “Because I knew he’d fall in love with you. And I couldn’t risk another custody suit.”

  As much as I hate to admit it, this makes sense. “What about your family? I’ve asked you so many times about my grandparents, my aunts and uncles and cousins. If I even have any. Why did you keep them from me? Or me from them? They may not even know I’m alive.”

  “They know you’re alive. But that story is more difficult to explain. I don’t even understand it myself, honestly.” She stares down at her hands, folded on the table. “I take it you’ve met Opal?”

  “Yes, of course. What does she have to do with anything?”

  She pauses long enough for me to connect the dots. “Are you saying that Opal is—”

  “Your grandmother.”

  Folding my arms over my stomach, I lean into the table. “How is that possible? Brian is her son. You told me you don’t have any siblings.”

  A lone tear spills over her left eyelid and trickles down her cheek.

  “Another lie?”

  She nods, biting on her lower lip to stop it from quivering.

  “But your last name is Boor? Did you make that up too?”

  She shakes her head. “Dewey Boor, my biological father, died from cancer when I was just an infant. My mother . . . Opal . . . married Robert Powers when Brian and I were still very young. Robert adopted us, but Boor is the name on my birth certificate.”

  This is way too much information for me to grasp at once, and I stand abruptly. “The custody suit was a legitimate reason to keep me from my father. But you robbed me of the chance to know my grandmother. I’m not sure I can ever forgive you for that.” I start toward the door but turn back around. “By the way, in case you’re interested, Opal has leukemia.”