Dream Big, Stella!

by Ashley Farley

  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.”

  Seventeen

  For the next few days, as much as it saddens me, I avoid spending time with Jazz. I’m a trigger for Naomi’s anger, and I’m concerned that Jazz finds our heated exchanges disturbing. Poor kid doesn’t need any more confusion in her life when she’s already having to cope with her parents’ recent separation. But every time I stop by the office to check on Naomi’s progress, it breaks my heart to see Jazz in the corner chair watching movies on her mother’s iPad. It’s summertime. She’s a six-year-old kid. She should be swimming and riding bikes and playing with her friends. On Thursday, I ask Opal to drive me to Target and we load up on crafts—Play-Doh and a Spirograph Kit and a Disney Princess Activity Tote. When I give Jazz the plastic Target bag, she looks at me with pleading eyes and I can’t resist. I spend the next couple of hours playing with her on the floor.

  Every time I ask to see Naomi’s list of media outlets and potential graphic designers, she makes up an excuse as to why it’s not ready. Finally, on Friday morning, I lose my patience. “This is serious, Naomi. We should’ve already hired a graphic designer and be networking with the media.” I hold out my hand. “Show me what you’ve got so far.”

  She clicks her mouse and a blank sheet of paper spits out of the printer. “Here you go.”

  I’m aware of little ears listening, but I’m too angry to care. “You’ve been sitting behind this computer all week, and all you have to show for it is a blank sheet of paper.”

  “Pretty much, yep.”

  I ball up the paper and toss it in the trash. “This is unacceptable.”

  “I’m sorry, Stella. I’m dealing with some personal issues at the moment.”

  “I’m not paying you to deal with your personal issues.” As the words leave my mouth, it crosses my mind that Naomi is my employee and I’m being unsympathetic to her situation. A growing number of disgruntled employees are suing their employers for lesser grievances these days. I could argue that she just returned from a month’s leave of absence. But her attorney would counter that it was unpaid. Or was it? Brian is currently handling our accounting. Is it possible he’s been paying her all along? Best if I back off and play it safe. “Look, Naomi. I’m sorry for what you’re going through, but my primary concern is getting this job done.”

  “Just give me until Monday.”

  I don’t want to give her another hour, but I don’t have much choice. “You have the weekend, but I want to see your report at our meeting on Monday morning.”

  When I turn away from the desk, I see Jazz’s hands are over her ears, blocking out the sound of our raised voices. On my way out of the office, I tickled her until she begs for mercy.


  I’m certain Naomi won’t have her list ready on Monday, and I question how much past exposure she has to marketing campaigns. I go straight to the cottage, brew a pot of coffee, and spend the rest of the day at the kitchen table, working on my laptop. I take pages of notes as I research graphic designers and media outlets. While I’d like to work toward having our own in-house marketing department, I ultimately conclude, in light of our time crunch, that we’re better off hiring a full-service marketing agency for now.

  Around four o’clock, there’s a knock at my door, and I’m curious to see Brian on my front porch. While I’ve spoken to him on the phone several times, I haven’t seen him since our initial meeting with Jack weeks ago. Brian is wearing long shorts and a knit collared shirt, as though straight off the golf course. What could be so important to warrant a visit from him on a Friday afternoon?

  “Afternoon, Stella. I apologize for showing up uninvited, but I wondered if I might have a word with you.”

  “Of course. Come in.” I step out of the way and motion him to the sofa. “Can I get you some coffee or tea?”

  “I’m fine. But thanks.” He waits until I’m seated in the chair next to him before broaching the subject. “I understand you’re having some problems with Naomi.”

  The bottom drops out of my stomach. Has Naomi already hired a lawyer? “How’d you know?”

  “There are eyes and ears all around you.” The mischief in his blue eyes puts me at ease.

  “Opal told you.”

  “Only because she’s concerned.” He repositions his body, making himself comfortable. “First of all, Jack has been giving me weekly updates and I’m pleased by your progress thus far. It’s remarkable.”

  “Thank you for the compliment. Everything seems to be coming along.”

  “I realize I haven’t been around much these past few weeks,” Brian says. “I didn’t want to hover over you while you were settling into your job.”