I’m still sitting on the bench an hour later when Jazz comes to find me. She crawls into my lap. “I’m hungry. Can we get some breakfast?” Her breath is surprisingly sour for such a sweet kid.
I kiss the top of her head. “Sure. Let’s go see what I have in the kitchen.” She giggles when I toss her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry her inside. I set her down and open the refrigerator. A lone carton of strawberry yogurt sits on the middle shelf of an otherwise empty refrigerator. “Yogurt?”
She turns up her nose. “I like the kind of yogurt you drink.”
“Right. A smoothie.” I slam the door shut. “I’ll bet Cecily has some goodies down at the carriage house. Wanna go see?”
“Sure!” she says and dashes out the back door.
As we cut across the lawn, I send a group text to Brian and Opal. We have a situation. Come to the farm ASAP. I hold my breath, hoping to see Naomi’s silver Honda parked at the carriage house, but of course it’s gone. When we enter the foyer, I’m surprised and relieved when Jazz doesn’t ask to see her mother. Instead, we go straight to the kitchen.
“Come on, kiddo. You can help me cook.” Lifting Jazz onto the counter, I remove eggs and bacon, butter and milk from the refrigerator.
When I was old enough to be left home alone, I often had to fend for myself for dinner. New York is the take-out capital of the world. But I quickly put on weight from eating rich food every night. Out of necessity, I taught myself to cook. Nothing fancy. Mostly simple foods.
We make plans for the day while I fry bacon and whip her up a cheese omelet. “So, Jazzy, do you know how to swim?”
She bobs her head. “I’m a good swimmer. But I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”
Where does one shop for kid’s clothes? “Maybe we’ll go on a hike instead.”
Jazz swings her legs, kicking the counter beneath her. “But I want to go swimming.”
Still no mention of her mother.
“Okay. We’ll see.”
I plant Jazz at the table with her breakfast. My stomach is too nervous to think about eating. I’m struggling to open the sliding glass doors when Opal and Brian arrive together.
“What’s so urgent?” Brian wears a day’s growth on his face, and the hair on the back of his head is flattened from his pillow.
I shake my head, finger pressed to lips and eyes on Jazz. “Eat up, Jazzy, while us grown-ups step outside for a moment.”
I motion Brian and Opal out the glass doors to the small terrace. “Naomi’s gone again,” I say, and show them her note. I tell them about Naomi being drunk yesterday evening. “I didn’t bargain for this when I moved to Virginia, Brian.”
“I realize that. But the situation is somewhat . . .” He hesitates as though searching for the right word. “Sensitive.”
A flash of anger pulses through my body. “Why do you let Naomi walk all over you like this? And why did she take care of Billy when he was sick? Who was he to her?”
Opal stares at Brian with what I interpret as pleading in her olive eyes. I sense she’s ready to break, to tell me what I want to know, but Brian shakes his head at her.
The we conspiracy again. “Look, I have a right to know whatever it is that you two are keeping from me. On Friday afternoon, Naomi told me this property isn’t really mine. What did she mean by that? I’m gonna scream, if you say it’s one of those things I’ll have to figure out for myself.”
“Then I won’t say it,” Brian says in a sympathetic tone.
I stare back and forth between them. I’m wasting my time. These two may never tell me what I want to know. I look through the window at Jazz, who’s finished her breakfast and is now twirling around the room. “It’s not that I don’t care about Jazz. I truly love her. But I know nothing about parenting. I’m worried I might break her or something. We need to find her father. I’ve never met him. I have no idea who he is and where he lives.”
“I’ll see if I can get in touch with Derrick,” Brian says. “But for reasons I’m not yet ready to explain, Jazz is better off here with you.”
Opal’s fingers brush against my arm. “And you’re not going to break her, sweetheart. She adores you. It might do her good to be away from her mama for a while.”
“Are you aware Naomi has a drinking problem?” I watch closely for their response. Surprise and confusion cross their faces.
“She’s certainly never missed work because of it,” Brian says. “Perhaps this is a recent development. She’s had a difficult few years.”
“I’ve never seen any evidence of it,” Opal says. “Good for her for getting help.”
“If she’s actually getting help,” I say. “I wouldn’t put it past Naomi to be in the Caribbean sipping a pina colada right now. How long do you think she’ll be gone? And what will happen to Jazz if she never comes back?”
“Why don’t we take it one day at a time,” Brian says.
Shoulders slumped, I stare at the ground. “Being without a driver’s license will present some challenges.”
“I will help you in any way,” Opal says.
“Same goes for me,” Brian adds. “All you have to do is ask.”
Jazz is overjoyed when I inform her that her mother has gone out of town, and she’ll be staying with me for a while. Opal helps us move Jazz’s things to the cottage. She has only a few articles of clothing, most of which need laundering.
“Mommy only let me bring what would fit in my suitcase,” Jazz explains.
Opal takes us to run errands. At Target, I send Jazz into the dressing room with an armful of dresses, shorts, and tops. She looks cute in everything, so I buy most of it. We locate flip-flops and tennis shoes in her size, and she picks out a tie-dyed bikini in shades of blues and reds and yellows. As an afterthought, we stop by the sporting goods department for inflatable floats and two pairs of goggles. We pile a second basket high with healthy options from the grocery section.
Opal is visibly exhausted by the time we unpack our purchases at the cottage. “You’ve outdone yourself, Opal. Go home and rest.”
She doesn’t argue. “I can come back in the morning to help with Jazz.”
“That would be great. I have a staff meeting at nine and the decorators from Richmond will be here at ten. Jazz will be much happier outside with you than stuck in the office with adults talking business.”
“We’ll have a jolly old time.” She pats Jazz’s head. “I’ll be here at eight.”
I discover a gas grill in the attached toolshed behind the cottage and grill chicken breasts for sandwiches for lunch. Afterward, we put on our bathing suits, blow up our floats, and take them down to the lake. Positioning her goggles over her eyes, Jazz jumps off the pier and swims around in circles like a little tadpole. While she dives for fish, I stretch out on one of the floats with my face tilted to the warm sun. When she exhausts herself, Jazz climbs onto her raft and bobs in the water alongside me.
After a few minutes, she says, “You know what the farm needs?”
“What does the farm need, Jazzy?”
“A swimming pool.”
“Hmm.” I pretend to consider her idea, although I’ve long since decided to incorporate an outdoor pool into the spa facility. “You know, you’re right. We do need a pool. I’ll get to work on it right away.” I manage to roll over onto my stomach without falling off. “Tell me about your daddy, Jazz. What’s he like?”
Jazz scrunches up her face. “He’s boring. All he does is watch football and fight with Mommy.”
“The fighting must have been scary for you.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she says, looking away from me.
“I understand, sweetheart.” I finger a tear off her cheek. “But, if you ever do feel like talking about it, you can come to me.”
She nods, her chin quivering.
We swim for nearly two hours. Then, changing into dry clothes, we go for a trail walk in the farm’s wooded area.
Our evening is uneventful. I make pasta with red sauce for dinner, and after tucking Jazz in around eight, I stay up late doing laundry. Exhausted, I finally climb into bed a few minutes before midnight. If Jazz kicks me in my sleep, I’m not aware of it.
The ringing of my phone wakes me the following morning. I answer, my voice groggy from sleep. It’s Opal, calling to say she’s sick and won’t be able to watch Jazz after all. “I’m so sorry, Stella. I know you were counting on me, but I think I may have the flu.”
“But it’s not flu season.” I don’t say what I’m thinking—that a more serious medical condition is causing her fatigue and achiness. “I think you should go see your doctor.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says, but even Opal sounds unconvinced.
The bedside table clock catches my attention. I forgot to set my alarm, and it’s already ten minutes past eight.
“I’ll check on you this afternoon,” I say to Opal. “In the meantime, get some rest.”
I shake Jazz awake. “We overslept, sweetie. I have a meeting at nine. We need to hurry.”
I’m frazzled by the time I get both of us dressed and fed and over to the carriage house. My team has already started our meeting when we arrive ten minutes late. I settle Jazz in the corner of the room with a coloring book and crayons and join the others at the table.
I don’t think Jazz is listening, but I lower my voice just in case. “I’m so sorry. Who knew that taking care of a kid was such hard work.”
“Where’s Naomi?” Cecily asks.
“She had to go out of town unexpectedly. Jazz is staying with me for a while. I feel sorry for the poor kid. I have back-to-back meetings all week long. How am I supposed to keep her entertained? Naomi didn’t think to leave us her iPad.”
“I may have a solution for you.” Katherine pulls out a pink flyer and pushes it toward me. “I ran into my across-the-street neighbor on my way to the farm this morning. She’s an adorable sixteen-year-old with a ton of energy. She’s hosting a backyard camp for little girls this week. She still has a couple of openings and asked if I knew anyone who might be interested.”
I scan the flyer. The camp runs every day this week from nine until two. Lunch is included, and the cost is a hundred dollars. “This sounds perfect, but how do we know this girl is responsible?”
Katherine points to a list of names at the bottom of the flyer. “There are three counselors, actually. Leigh is my neighbor I mentioned. I don’t know her all that well, but I’ve met her parents. They seem nice enough. Why don’t you give her a call? You can put her through the inquisition.”
“I’ll do that. Continue the meeting without me. I’ll be right back.” Rising from the table, I take my phone and the flyer into the kitchen.
Leigh answers on the first ring. I explain who I am, and she tells me a little about the camp. “We have ten other little girls ranging in age from five to eight,” she says, and I can hear the children squealing in the background. “We’ve planned crafts and games and other outdoor activities. She’ll have a blast. I promise. This is my second year doing this camp. If it makes you feel better, my mother is on standby if we need an adult. I’m a certified lifeguard and one of the other counselors is a volunteer EMT.”
“That seals the deal,” I say. “I’ll bring Jazz over right away.”
“Awesome. We have plenty of sunscreen but be sure she brings her bathing suit.”
I return to the lounge. “I owe you one for this, Katherine. Your neighbor knows more about kids than I do. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to leave now in order to walk her over and be back before the decorators arrive.”
“You stay here,” Katherine says, already on her feet. “I’ll take Jazz in my truck. I don’t have much to report today anyway. I’m working on a comprehensive landscape plan. I’ll have it ready for you next week.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
Jazz is ecstatic when I tell her about the camp, and she practically drags Katherine out the door. “Don’t forget to stop by the cottage for your bathing suit,” I call after them.
Cecily waits for them to leave before asking, “What are you not telling us about Naomi’s impromptu trip?”
I debate how much to say. But I’m likely to need their support and understanding in the weeks ahead if Naomi stays gone a long time. “Naomi got pass-out drunk on Saturday, and Jazz spent the night with me. On Sunday morning, I found Jazz’s car seat and a note from Naomi on my front porch. She claims she’s getting help for emotional problems. I have no idea when’s she’s coming back.”
I risk a glance at Jack, who hasn’t said a word since I arrived. Is that sympathy I see in his expression? I open a file folder in front of me. “Anyway, let’s move on with business.”
The week flies by. I meet with all our major vendors, but as the various components of the project begin to take shape, I’m faced with making an overwhelming number of decisions. I come to the conclusion that I am not a detail-oriented person and look to the professionals to provide input.
Jazz adores camp. She has girl crushes on her counselors and talks nonstop about her new friends. Based on a tip from one of the other moms, I sign Jazz up for a bible school and day camp at the local YMCA for later in the summer. For the coming weeks, I schedule private lessons with Jazz’s ballet instructor and sessions with Ellen, the reading tutor Candice from the library told me about.
We receive no word from Naomi. When Powers calls me Wednesday afternoon, he says, “According to his coworker, Derrick will be out on vacation for the next two weeks. No one in the office seems to know where he’s gone. At least they’re not saying. They know who I am and understand my association with Derrick’s estranged wife.”
“Thanks for the update.”
Jazz is tired in the afternoons when she comes home from camp. She’s content to chill out in the cottage, watching a movie in the living room while I work at the kitchen table. Late Friday afternoon, we’re in our respective places when we have our first disagreement.
Jazz calls to me from the sofa, “Can we go out to dinner, Stella?”
“Not tonight, kiddo. I’m exhausted.”
I hear a thud, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet on the floor. She appears in the doorway. “What’re we gonna eat, then?”
I glance at the stove clock. It’s almost six o’clock. Time to think about dinner even though I’m not the slightest bit hungry. What is it with growing kids? They’re in constant need of food—frequent snacks and three square meals a day. I don’t need to check the refrigerator. There’s nothing meal-worthy in there. I should’ve asked Cecily or Katherine to drive me to the store. Life is so much easier in New York, where you can get anywhere either on foot or by subway, bus, or Uber.
“Why don’t we order a pizza?” I suggest.
She stomps her foot. “I don’t like pizza!”
I smile at her, even though she’s trying my patience. “Of course you do. Everyone loves pizza.”
She folds her arms and pouts. “Not me! I hate pizza! I want to go out to dinner.”
Her petulance pushes me over the edge. What an ungrateful brat. I’ve been catering to her every whim all week, and she’s not even my kid. I raise an eyebrow at her. “We don’t use the word hate in this house. And since you dislike pizza so much, I’ll eat a bowl of cereal and you can fix your own dinner.”
Jazz storms out of the room, and seconds later, I hear the bedroom door slam.
I work for another hour, and when I go check on her, she’s sound asleep. I plan to fix grilled cheeses for dinner, and I debate whether to wake her to eat, but I decide she needs her rest. When I lean down to kiss her cheek, I see that her pillow is wet with tears. Guilt hits me like a ton of bricks, and I punish myself by skipping dinner altogether. I wake up with a rumbling belly on Saturday morning. Jazz wakes up with a fever.