Behind Naomi, I notice my mom and Brian standing three feet apart in the foyer. They’re not talking, and their eyes are bouncing around the room, as though looking for an escape. I’ve never seen my mother so vulnerable. I was wrong to suspect her of taking Jazz.
I whisper to Jazz, “Sweetheart, will you go to Jack for a minute while I talk to my mother?”
Nodding, she holds her tiny arms out to Jack.
As I approach my mom, Brian steps away to give us privacy. “Did you get rebooked on a flight for tomorrow?”
“A very early flight, departing at 5:20 a.m. Needless to say, you won’t see me again.”
“I hate for us to part on bad terms, Mom. The things I said earlier were uncalled for, and I’m sorry.”
She smiles. “You were right. It is time for me to go home. I need to get back to Marnie. She grounds me. I don’t do well when I’m away from her for too long.”
I think about reliable Marnie, how she’s always the one keeping everyone in line. “Maybe you can both come down for the grand reopening. Hopefully, Opal will be feeling better by then, and you can spend some time together.”
“That’s a nice idea.” Mom opens her arms, and I step into them. Her floral fragrance is familiar, reminding me of the times she comforted me through scraped knees, bad test grades, and friend problems. No matter where I live, she’ll always be my mother.
She pulls away. “This is a special place, Stella. I have no doubt but what you’ll be happy here.” Tears well in her eyes as she gestures for Brian to join us. “Take care of my girl. Thank you for giving her the opportunity to know her family. I was wrong in keeping her from you.”
Brian gives her a half hug. “What say we try to forget the past and focus on the future?”
“I would like that very much.” When she can no longer hold back the tears, she excuses herself and dashes up the stairs.
Brian removes a flash drive from his pocket and hands it to me. “Billy asked me to give you this. I probably should’ve given it to you weeks ago. I tried my best to do right by you, Stella.”
Standing on my tiptoes, I kiss his cheek. “I know, Uncle Brian. And I appreciate it.”
“Billy worked hard on this video. He even ordered a fancy camera to tape it.”
I smile. “I was wondering about that camera.”
He hands me an adapter. “You’ll need this in order to watch it on your computer. You’ll undoubtedly have questions. Call me anytime day or night.”
Brian claps Jack on the back and kisses the top of Jazz’s head, but he doesn’t speak to Naomi on his way out.
“We should get this kiddo to bed,” I say to Jack, and to Naomi, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
At the cottage, Jack offers to spend the night on the sofa, but I want to be alone when I watch my father’s video. Jazz is too exhausted to notice the tangled sheets. Jack straightens the bedcovers while I help Jazz, the limp rag doll, out of her dress and into one of my T-shirts.
When I walk Jack to the door, he says, “I’ll come back if you discover you don’t want to be alone.”
“We’ll be fine.” I give him a peck on the lips. “Thanks for everything, Jack. Having you to lean on means so much.”
As soon as he’s gone, I brew a cup of chamomile tea, change into my pajamas, and climb into bed with my laptop and earpods. I insert the flash drive into the computer. There’s only one file and I click on it. The man whose face fills the screen has aged twenty years from the photos I’ve seen of him around the farm. Based on the time stamp in the upper right corner, Billy recorded this video only six months ago, when he was nearing the end of his life. He’s gaunt and pale, his hair completely gray. But the golden-brown eyes are the same as Jazz’s. He starts off by saying how much he regrets not having the chance to know me. Then his eyes cloud over as he disappears into the past. For ten minutes, maybe longer, he relives the days of his youth on the farm with Hannah.
“Your mother was a spectacular being—the face of an angel with the soul of a temptress. I’ve never loved anyone like I loved Hannah.
“For you to fully understand why I brought you here, Stella, I need to tell you about Naomi. Ours was a relationship of convenience. At least on my part. Naomi wanted more from me than I was willing to give. I insisted we keep our affair secret. I wasn’t prepared to make that kind of commitment to her. But Naomi, as you may have discovered by now, has a mind of her own. She tried to trap me into marrying her by getting pregnant. When I refused, she quit her job and married the first guy who came along. She did everything in her power to make me jealous, including naming her daughter after the woman I talk about in my sleep. I’ve never told Naomi about Hannah or you. But I will before I die.”
Billy pauses to take a sip of water. I recognize the glass from my kitchen.
“Six months after Jazz was born, Naomi came to see me, begging for her job back. She admitted things weren’t going well in her marriage. How could I say no, when the arrangement gave me the opportunity to know my daughter?
“I’m grateful to Naomi for nursing me during my illness. But she is not mentally stable. Nor are her intentions honorable.
“I apologize for rambling. I easily lose my train of thought these days.
“I’ve used private investigators to keep tabs on you all these years, Stella. You’re the best of Hannah and me. You’re intelligent and independent. Your gusto for life and enthusiasm for the hospitality industry makes you the ideal person to run the inn. As for Jazz, I trust you’ve fallen in love with her by now. It’s easy to do. I have faith that you’ll take care of your baby sister in the event something happens to Naomi. Or in case Jazz needs you.”
After the video ends, I sit in the dark for nearly an hour, wondering again how my life might’ve been different if I’d had the chance to know my father.
I email the file to Jack with a message for him to please watch it, and I fall asleep wondering what Billy thought might happen to Naomi.
I wake on Monday morning with golden eyes staring at me from inches away.
“Are we really sisters?” Jazz asks.
I hug her close to me. “Apparently so. What do you think about that?” I don’t bother with the details. She’s too young to understand about us being only half sisters. And, as far as I know, she believes Derrick is her biological father.
“I think it’s way cool! Can I go to my dance lesson today?” She’s temporarily forgotten about last night’s incident. Ballet is far more important than Bernard. But I fully anticipate the aftereffects of the kidnapping to be dramatic.
“Sure! If you want to.” I toss back the covers. “But we need to get moving. We’ll have to get your clothes from the carriage house.”
“Do I have to see my mommy?” Jazz asks, sliding off the bed to her feet.
“We can’t get your ballet shoes and leotard without seeing her. You can’t hide from her, Jazz. She’s your mommy.”
“She’s a bad mommy. I want you to be my mommy.”
Hunching my shoulders, I hold my hands out by my sides, palms up. “How can I be your mommy when I’m your sister?”
Her chin quivers and eyes fill with tears. I kneel down in front of her. “Do you trust me, Jazzy?”
I’m relieved when she answers yes without hesitation. I would fully expect this kid to have trust issues.
“Then you’re gonna have to trust me to make things right.”
“But how?”
I touch the tip of my finger to the end of her nose. “I haven’t figured that part out yet. But I’ll come up with something.”
My mind is as clear as the cloudless sky outside my window. My father entrusted his daughter to me. And I won’t let him down.
We eat bowls of yogurt with fresh berries and granola for breakfast before heading over to the carriage house. Naomi is surprised to see us. “Jazz needs her ballet clothes,” I say. “She has a lesson this morning.”
Naomi stiffens. “I didn’t authorize any lessons.”
&n
bsp; Jazz gives her mother a dirty look as she grabs the handle of her suitcase, which is parked in the same spot beside the door where she left it yesterday.
“I’m paying for the lessons, Naomi. You authorized me to make these decisions when you left Jazz in my care.” I take the suitcase from Jazz, and we hurry down the stairs.
My weekly staff meeting is already underway in the lounge. I poke my head in the room to make certain there are no crises that need my attention. Jack is at the head of the table, looking fresh and ever so handsome in a white polo shirt and jeans.
He gives me a thumbs-up. “We’ve got everything covered.”
I text Brian on the way to the car. I have some questions. I’m on the way to the ballet studio. Can you meet me there? I forward the studio’s address to him.
Through an observation window, I’m watching Jazz perform a stunning pirouette when he arrives fifteen minutes later. “Wow,” he says when he sees Jazz dance. “She’s really good.”
I smile. “Her instructor thinks she has real talent. Can you believe Naomi is against her taking lessons?”
“I’m afraid to ask. Why?”
“Because she wants Jazz to study biology, so she can become a doctor.” I angle my body away from the window toward my uncle. “I’m exploring my options, Brian. Do I have grounds to sue for custody?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation, as though he’s already given this considerable thought. “And based on Naomi’s recent behavior, you might win. Is that what you want?”
“I want Jazz to feel safe and loved. She feels neither with Naomi. But a custody suit ruined this family once. I don’t want that to happen again.”
He rests a hand on my shoulder. “Whatever you decide, Stella, you have my full support.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.” We’re both quiet for a minute while we watch Jazz. “I assume Billy provided for her in his will.”
“Yes, but not in the same way as he provided for you. Billy left a trust designated for Jazz’s care. She will be well taken care of for the rest of her life.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say. “By the way, how’s Opal today?”
“Much better, thanks to you. She was in her backyard watering plants when I stopped by a few minutes ago.”
I let out a little whoop. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. I’ll try to get by to see her tomorrow.”
Twenty-Nine
Jack hits it off with Dean and Lyle, and after a companionable day on the river, he invites our small group over for a cookout. Jazz wears shorts, but I slip on a flowery sundress, a touch of femininity to soften my stark hairstyle.
Jack is waiting on his small front porch when we arrive. He’s told me a little about the arts and crafts-style house he bought and renovated after his wife’s death, but his descriptions didn’t do it justice.
I hand him the log of goat cheese and box of crackers I picked up at the Local Market on the way over. “I love your home. You didn’t tell me it was so big.”
He blushes. “Because it’s way more than I need. But it was a good investment. If I ever decide to sell, I stand to make a huge profit.”
I kiss his cheek. “This is your dream home. Why would you ever want to sell it?”
“Because the house has so many idiosyncrasies—slanted floors and bowed walls. Not everyone will find that appealing.”
I take that everyone to mean me. “Maybe not, but I imagine most people find those features charming.”
He gives us the tour of the downstairs—a small foyer with a dining room to the left and living room to the right leading to a renovated kitchen with a family room addition on the back. The decor is handsome without being overly masculine with walls painted a rich khaki color.
“There aren’t many arts and crafts homes in Hope Springs,” he explains. “I’ve always particularly admired this one. The elderly lady who lived here before really let the place go. About two months after Jenna died, the woman’s family moved her to a nursing home and put the house on the market. I snatched it up, even though it needed a ton of work. The project was a welcome distraction during those dark days. I’ve done all the work myself.”
“You’re kidding? All of it?”
“Every last bit. I built the kitchen cabinets and updated the electrical and plumbing. A couple of my guys helped with some of the more labor-intensive projects. But mostly, it was all me.”
“I’m seriously impressed, Jack. The house really showcases your expertise as a builder.”
He beams. “I’m glad you approve.”
The other two couples arrive at the same time, their arms laden with food and drink. Katherine hands Jack a bouquet of zinnias and a bag of fresh tomatoes, purchases from the farmers market, and Cecily offers a tray of mini cheesecakes for dessert.
Our easy camaraderie from earlier continues throughout the evening. Jazz dances around the bluestone patio while the guys cook burgers on the grill and the girls set seven places at the rectangular umbrellaed table. During dinner, Jazz is visibly bored with grown-up talk, and when she falls asleep in my lap soon after she’s finished eating, Jack carries her upstairs to his guest bedroom.
Our guests linger until nearly ten o’clock. After we say goodnight to the foursome at the door, Jack dims the lights and turns on soft jazz music. Taking me in his arms, we dance in small circles in the center of the living room.
“Your G.I. Jane hairstyle is really turning me on. I could hardly take my eyes off of you all night.”
My cheeks warm. “I may have noticed.”
“I’m not sure I can make it until our date next weekend.”
I nestle my face in his neck. “Tell me about our date. Do you have anything special planned?”
He lets out a groan. “Do you need to ask? We’re going to have sex.”
I laugh. “That’s it? Just sex?”
“Not just, Stella. Sex will be the highlight. We’ll have it more than once in multiple positions.”
I nibble at his ear. “What will we do for food?”
“Food is not high up on the agenda. But, if you insist on eating, we’ll order a pizza. Or I’ll make you an omelet.” He glances toward the stairs. “Jazz is sound asleep. How about we have a quickie now?”
I draw away to look at him. “A quickie? We’ve waited this long, and you want to ruin it by having a quickie?”
“Damn straight,” he says with a maniacal grin.
“No!” I slap his chest. “We are not having a quickie. Besides, Jazz could wake up any minute. She’s in a strange place and she might be scared. I want to hear her if she calls me.”
As if on cue, Jazz’s faint voice drifts down from above. “See. I told you.”
“I’m consumed by lust.” He follows me to the stairs. “In the best interest of my health, I may have to refrain from seeing you until our date.”
Over my shoulder, as I climb the stairs, I toss back at him, “We work together, remember?”
“Right. In that case you better get used to this,” he says, and grabs a handful of my butt.
I let out a squeal and dart to the top of the stairs.
Down the hall in the guest bedroom, Jazz is sitting up in bed with tears streaming down her face. “Oh, honey.” I rush over to her, taking her in my arms. “What’s wrong?”
She sniffles. “I’m scared. When I woke up, I didn’t know where I was. I thought you’d left me.”
“No, sweetheart. I would never leave you. Are you ready to go home?”
She nods, chewing on her lower lip.
When Jack tries to pick her up, Jazz reaches for me instead, clinging to me like a baby koala on the way out to the car. After buckling her into her car seat, Jack kisses me goodnight, which ends up being more than a peck on the lips. When I feel eyes on us from the car, I reluctantly push him away.
On the way home, Jazz asks, “Are you and Jack getting married?
“I don’t know, Jazzy. Maybe one day. But we only just met. We’re still
getting to know each other. Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering what would happen to me if you do.” In a hopeful voice, she adds, “You could adopt me and be my new mommy and daddy.”
“You already have a mommy and daddy,” I say to her reflection in the rearview mirror.
“But what if they never come back?”
“They’ll come back,” I say with more conviction than I feel.
Derrick has yet to reach out to me, even though he was due back from his fishing trip weeks ago. And I’ve heard nothing from Naomi in the six weeks she’s been gone. I have no clue when or if she’s coming back.
As much as I love Jazz, I’m not sure I’m ready to be a full-time parent. The truth is, I’m as sexually frustrated as Jack. I’ve finally fallen in love with the right man, and we can’t find any time to be alone. What if Naomi doesn’t ever come back? I can’t . . . I won’t turn Jazz over to child services to be placed in a foster home. I’ve never discussed it with Jack. Would he be willing to raise a child that’s not his? The situation causes me considerable anxiety, and I try my best not to think about it. But with each passing day with no word from Naomi, my concern mounts.
The counselors at last week’s bible camp got the kids excited about attending Sunday school, and Jazz is up bright and early the following morning, raring to go. After breakfast, we throw on casual dresses and set out on foot toward town. We’re halfway down the driveway when we see Naomi’s silver Honda speeding toward us. Naomi jumps out of the car, and when she drops to her knees to embrace her daughter, Jazz hides behind my legs.
Naomi stands to face me. “Stella.”
I nod at her. “Naomi.”
“What happened to your hair?”
“Opal has leukemia,” I say by way of explanation about my shaved head.
“Oh. That’s too bad,” she says in a manner that tells me she doesn’t care one way or another about Opal’s leukemia.
“How was Arizona?” I want her to know that I know where she’s been and what she’s been doing.
“Arizona was exactly what the doctor ordered. I feel like my old self again. Thank you for taking care of my child. I see you’ve succeeded in turning her against me, but that was a risk I had to take to get the help I needed.”
Dream Big, Stella! Page 21
