I’m shocked, and more than a little irritated, to find Naomi working at the computer in the manager’s office early the following morning. She walked out on me a month ago with no indication of ever coming back. Does she seriously think she can resume her job as though nothing happened? On the other hand, it’s my bad for not straightening her out about her job responsibilities yesterday.
Jazz is curled up in a chair in the corner watching a movie on Naomi’s iPad. When she sees me in the doorway, she jumps up and hurries over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Did you see, Stella? The bikes came!”
I pat her spongy mass of hair. “I know, Jazzy. I was here when Mr. Farmer delivered them. He brought several for you to try out.”
In a begging tone, she asks, “Can we go for a ride now? Please . . .”
“I have a meeting in a few minutes. But I was thinking we could ride down to the lake later. We could even have a picnic. If your mommy says it’s okay.” I look over at Naomi who’s watching us with keen interest. “I promise we won’t leave the farm.”
“That’s fine,” Naomi says, and returns her attention to the computer.
I kneel down in front of Jazz and speak to her in a soft voice. “What’re you watching on your iPad?”
“Frozen.”
“Very cool.” I tuck her hair behind one ear. “Why don’t you finish watching it while I talk business with your mommy?”
Biting down on her lip, she returns to her chair in the corner.
I cross the room to the desk, but I don’t sit down. Naomi’s in my chair. To take a seat opposite her would be to hand over my authority to her. “Since workspace is at a minimum around here, we’re going to have to share this office.”
With a huff, as though annoyed at being disturbed, she tears her eyes away from the screen and turns toward me. “How is that possible with only one computer?”
Now that I own a laptop, I could easily work from the cottage. But I sense she’s testing me, and I can’t let her win. “We’ll have to find a way.”
Tapping on the desk with a red-lacquered fingernail, she says, “This is the general manager’s office and I’m the general manager.”
My mouth falls open. So, she does think she can waltz back in here after a month’s absence. Is it audacity? Or has she lost complete touch with reality?
“You’ve been gone for three weeks, Naomi. The renovations are now in full swing. I’m organizing the contractors, and I’m making the decisions. I am the new GM.”
She pins me against the far wall with her death glare. “That’s not what Billy wanted.”
I glare back at her. “That’s exactly what Billy wanted. He left specific instructions in his will.”
“He was too sick to make such important decisions. He was not of sound mind.”
Pot calling kettle, I think. “I can either get Brian Powers over here to explain the situation to you, or we can work this out ourselves.”
She leans back in the chair, examining her fingernails. “Why don’t we share the job? There’s enough work for two GMs.”
Despite my racing heart, I manage to keep my voice even. “That’s not happening. I’ll tell you what I have in mind. Then you can decide whether you want to stay.”
Cocking her head to the side, she says, “Fine, Stella. What do you have in mind?”
“There will be plenty of other positions to fill when we get closer to reopening. We can discuss which one you’re better suited for later. As of now, I’ve hired a chef and groundskeeper. I—"
She sits up in her chair. “What happened to Bernard?”
“He pulled a gun on me, and I fired him.”
“Ha. A gun loaded with snake shot.”
“A gun is a weapon.” I plant both hands on the desk and lean toward her. “As I was saying, Naomi, we have a groundskeeper and a chef. What we need most right now is a marketing director to develop campaigns for the reopening. You’ll be useful in the role, since you’re already aware of what marketing we’ve done in the past.”
“Fine. I’ll be the marketing director.” As she spins around to face the computer, she mumbles, “For now.”
I straighten. “Did you get my text about the meeting?” I’ve summoned all members of my team for our first official meeting in the carriage house lounge at nine.
“I’m not really into meetings,” she says with a smirk on her lip.
I bang my fist on the desk. “Then I suggest you get into them. You’ll either do things my way, Naomi, or—"
She bolts out of her chair. “Or what, Stella?”
“Or you can leave. Believe me, it’s no skin off my back if you do.” I glance at the wall clock. “You have an hour to pull together whatever information you can regarding prior publicity campaigns.”
Turning away from her, I march out of the office, wiggling my fingers at Jazz as I pass her chair. The fresh morning air clears my head, taking the sizzle out of my anger, as I cross the grounds to the carriage house.
When I find Cecily arranging pots and pans she brought from home in the cabinets, I ask, “What do you think? Does the kitchen work for you?”
“It has a gas stove. Which, for me, is the most important thing. I can make do with the rest.” Cecily studies my face. “What’s wrong?”
“I have a nightmare on my hands.” I tell her about Naomi taking care of Billy when he was ill, and how she walked out on me the day after my arrival, and her sudden return yesterday. “Powers asked me to give her the benefit of the doubt. He feels like we owe her that much. If she doesn’t straighten up, I’ll let him deal with her.”
Cecily sets a utensil holder on the counter and fills it with ladles and spoons and spatulas. “I don’t get it. Were Naomi and Billy romantically involved?”
I shake my head. “Not unless she was cheating on her husband. As best I can tell, she and Billy were just good friends. I feel sorry for her kid. She has the most adorable daughter, Cecily. Wait until you see her.”
“And they’re living here, in the carriage house?”
I point at the ceiling. “There are two suites upstairs. While you’re technically sharing the kitchen with her, your work takes priority. Whatever you do, don’t let her tell you otherwise.”
I’m caught off guard when Naomi arrives five minutes early for our meeting. She speaks to Jack as though they’re old friends and introduces herself with a warm smile to Cecily and Katherine. She’s pleasant and polite, not at all the same person I encountered in the office an hour ago. Maybe she’s had a change of heart.
While everyone is finding their seats, Naomi settles Jazz with a coloring book and a box of crayons in the chair beside her.
At the head of the table, I say, “I apologize for the short notice. But today seemed like a good time to hold our first official meeting now that Cecily and Katherine are officially onboard. In order to reopen as planned in early September, we must all work hard, as individuals and as a team. We are the dream team. Every idea, no matter how big or how small, will be considered. My vision is to restore Hope Springs Farm to its pinnacle of glory of the sixties and seventies. There is no obstacle we can’t conquer, if we work together. Thanks to Jack and his hardworking crew, we’re off to an excellent start.”
The others join me in giving Jack a round of applause.
I continue, “Going forward, we’ll meet every Monday at nine o’clock. This room will serve as our hub of activity. I realize it’s not ideal, but it’s the best we’ve got right now.” I hand a stack of stapled printed copies to Cecily on my right. “Take one and pass the rest, please. This is a list of the vendors I’m working with and what we’ve accomplished to date. Please review it in your spare time and let me know if you have questions or concerns. I’d like for each of you to speak for a minute about what you hope to achieve in the coming week.”
Volunteering to go first, Naomi recites her marketing report as though she’s been preparing it for weeks. She describes in detail the campaigns she’s run in the past and offers suggestions on ways to expand going forward. Her goal for this week is to create a list with the names of potential graphic designers as well as the local and state media outlets she’d like to pitch our reopening campaign. She’s professional and asks intelligent questions of the others when they make their reports.
Cecily talks about developing her menus and Katherine is knee-deep, literally, in laying mulch. Jack’s eyes travel the table, speaking to everyone in turn as he brings us up to speed on the progress of the renovations. When he gets to me, his gaze doesn’t meet mine. He’s either angry or upset or disgusted over my drunken behavior on Friday night. It’s best for us to keep our distance. He must think so as well, because he flees the carriage house as soon as I adjourn the meeting.
The others are gathering their things when Cecily leans in close to me. “I hate to say it, but I like Naomi.”
“She definitely put on a professional show. Maybe I’m wrong about her,” I say, even though I know I’m not. Naomi is after my job. Game on.
When Naomi and Jazz start toward the door, I call them back. “The office is all yours today, Naomi. I have some things I need to check on around here. Why don’t I take Jazz with me? I’ll bring her back to you this afternoon after our bike ride and picnic.”
Palms pressed together, Jazz says, “Can I please, Mommy?”
“Of course, darling.” Naomi kisses the top of her daughter’s head, as though she’s the most loving mother in the world. “You be sweet for Stella now, you hear?”
“Okay, Mommy.”
Jazz and I stand together in the doorway, watching her mother walk away. “So, kiddo, are you ready to go check out those bikes?”
“Yes!” Jazz breaks free of me and twirls her way down the sidewalk. I catch up with her, and we race each other to the main building. She easily wins and I’m completely winded. Aside from yard work, I can’t remember the last time I exercised. Not good, Stella. You need to get into shape.
Fastening on our helmets, we try out all the bikes, riding them back and forth on the road between the main building and the barn. Because they all perform about the same, our decision comes down to color. Jazz chooses pink and I pick baby blue.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask. “I have a surprise for you.”
Her face lights up. “What kinda surprise?”
“You’ll see. Follow me.” I ride off down the sidewalk leading toward the lake, glancing back periodically to check on Jazz. Opal is waiting for us on her park bench with her supply satchel and Igloo cooler at her feet.
When Jazz sees Opal, she squeals and jumps off her bike, letting it fall to the grass. She hurries over to the old woman, jumping into her lap and wrapping her arms around her neck. “I’ve missed you, Opal!”
Opal smooths her hair back and kisses her forehead. “And I’ve missed you, child.”
I clear my throat. “I hate to be the bad guy here, but Jazz, this is no way to treat your bicycle.”
She brings her fingers to her lips. “Oops. Sorry, Stella.” Sliding off Opal’s lap, she walks the bike back to the sidewalk and parks it with the kickstand.
Jazz returns to the park bench. “Where’s your bike, Opal? Aren’t you gonna ride with us?”
“I’m sorry, sweet pea. I didn’t bring my bike today. My bones are feeling a bit creaky. I thought we’d have some fun with these.” From her supply satchel at her feet, Opal produces a bucket of sidewalk chalk. “I know a secret place with plenty of concrete for you to color.”
Jazz wrinkles her nose. “Where?”
“Come with me.” Opal grimaces as she slowly rises to her feet.
I’ve never seen her move so slowly, and as she leads us down to the lake, I ask, “Are you in pain?”
“Not much. Just my old bones acting up.”
“Is it arthritis?”
She shrugs. “I’m not sure what it is. I’ll feel better in a day or so.”
Bypassing the summer house, we walk along the edge of the lake to a large concrete pad with faint lines from an old shuffleboard game. She hands Jazz the bucket. “Color away.”
Seated on the ground, leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree, Opal watches while I draw flowers and rainbows and Jazz creates houses with windows and roofs and streams of smoke billowing from chimneys. I’m not blessed with my mother’s artistic talent, and my illustrations aren’t much better than the six-year-old’s. When we grow bored, we draw a tower of squares and play hopscotch until we’re all three hungry for lunch.
Returning to the park bench, we spread out Opal’s red-and-white checkered blanket and sink our teeth into the gourmet peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she purchased at the Local Market. Opal opens a bottle of Chardonnay and fills a plastic cup half full. She produces a second plastic cup and holds the bottle out to me. “Would you care for some wine?”
“No thanks. Day drinking for me always leads to a nap. And I have some phone calls I need to make this afternoon.”
“I don’t usually drink during the day either. I’m searching for inspiration.”
When she looks over at her easel, which is set up in its usual spot under the tree, I notice for the first time the canvas is blank. “What happened to the painting of the spring house you were working on?”
“I grew tired of it. I’ve painted all the scenes around here dozens of times. I need new material.”
Finished with her sandwich and bored with grown-up talk, Jazz leaves the blanket and begins cartwheeling and somersaulting across the grass.
I stretch out on the blanket with my hands behind my head and face to the sun. “Naomi is after my job.” In a low voice, I tell Opal about finding Naomi at my desk and the snow job she did at the meeting this morning.
“Watch out for her. She’s a conniving one. I worry about that poor child.”
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I look over at Jazz, who has stopped tumbling and is making a dandelion chain.
“Isn’t she the sweetest thing? Just as pretty as a picture.” Opal removes her phone from her pocket, and zooming in on the child, she begins snapping pictures.
“Has Naomi disappeared before?”
“A time or two,” Opal says. “But never for this long.”
I roll over on my side, propping myself on my elbow. “There’s something more about Naomi you’re not telling me. What is it, Opal?”
“That falls under the category of one of those things you’ll have to figure out for yourself.”
“Ugh.” I crawl to my knees and begin gathering up our trash. “I’m tired of everyone keeping secrets from me.”
“What secrets are people keeping from you, Stella?”
I look up to see Naomi looming over me. How long has she been standing there? I didn’t hear her approach. Opal appears as surprised as I am to see her.
I stand to face her. “I’ve told you before, Naomi. You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
She stares me down. “And you shouldn’t wander off with my daughter. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Here we are, in plain sight.” My arms shoot out from my sides. “You’d have to be blind not to see us. I promised we wouldn’t leave the farm.”
“True, but you neglected to tell me you were meeting her.” She gestures at Opal. “She’s a batty old bittie, and I don’t want her around my daughter.”
My blood boils. “You are way out of line, Naomi. Opal is my friend. And you don’t get to talk about her that way. Besides, she loves Jazz.”
Opal says, “Don’t let her get to you, Stella. She’s not worth it.”
“Let’s go, Jasmine,” Naomi bellows, her loving mother act from earlier now forgotten.
“But, Mom! Why can’t I stay here with Stella and Opal?”
“Because I said so.” Clasping Jazz’s wrist, Naomi drags her daughter up the sidewalk.
I help Opal to her feet, and we watch Naomi and Jazz disappear around the corner of the cottage.
“Have you ever met Naomi’s husband?” I ask.
“Briefly, once or twice. He seems okay. I don’t know how he puts up with her.” Opal kicks up the kickstand on the child’s bike and begins walking it up the hill.
“Leave the bike, Opal. I’ll get it later.”
“I’m fine. A little walk will loosen my joints.”
I grab my bike and hurry after her. “What does Naomi have against you?”
“Depends on the day. Naomi is not a nice person. She’s a user. She takes what she wants and leaves carnage in her wake. The sooner you figure that out, the better off you’ll be.”