29
Stella
Jazz skips alongside me on the way to the cottage, her reason for running away seemingly forgotten. Are all kids this resilient? Or has all the trauma she’s experienced in her short life made her an expert at shrugging things off? “Have you eaten dinner yet?” I ask.
Jazz stops suddenly in the middle of the road. “I haven’t eaten since lunch and I’m starving.”
Alarm bells go off inside my head. This active little girl eats at least two healthy snacks in between meals when she’s with me. “Shall we have Cecily make us a pizza?”
“Yes!” Jazz bounces on her toes. “I love pizza.”
I smile down at her. Jazz and I had our first fight over pizza on the night before she came down with bacterial meningitis. She insisted she hated pizza, and I was adamant that all kids love pizza. She went to bed without dinner that night. The next day, she landed in the hospital for a week. The poor kid was getting sick, and I never realized it. Was that only five months ago? It feels like a lifetime.
Grabbing her hand, we run the rest of the way to the cottage. Jazz jumps up and down on the sofa like a trampoline while I turn on the gas logs. “Can I spend the night, Stella?” After one last jump, she lands on her bottom. Pressing her hands together, she begs, “Puh-lease!”
“We’ll see.” I need to know why she ran away before I decide how to handle the situation.
Remaining by the fire, I call Cecily to place our order. “One Margherita pizza coming up,” Cecily says. “I’ll have one of my waitstaff run it over to the cottage when it’s ready.”
“You sound chipper. Pre-wedding bliss?”
“I’m on top of the world,” Cecily says. “I’m getting married in six weeks and business is booming. We’re booked solid tonight with a waiting list.”
“That’s awesome! I’d offer to come get the pizza, but I have Jazz with me.”
“I didn’t know you had Jazz tonight. In that case, I’ll bring the pizza myself, so I can give her a hug.”
I hang up with Cecily and turn to Jazz, my expression now serious. “We need to talk, kiddo. I have to call your mommy and tell her where you are. I’m sure she’s worried about you. You’re only six years old. Do you understand how dangerous it was for you to run away from home?” I cringe when I think of what could’ve happened to her. Naomi’s rental house is only a few blocks from the inn, but Jazz could’ve been hit by a car or kidnapped.
Jazz folds her arms over her chest in a huff. “I’m six and a half.”
I laugh. “I stand corrected. But still, you must promise me never to run away again.” Moving to the sofa, I sit down beside her. “What’s this about, anyway?”
“I got in a fight with Mommy. My dance school is performing The Nutcracker for our Christmas program this year. My teacher asked me to dance the role of Clara in the first act, but Mommy says I can’t do it. She says ballet is stupid, and I have to quit.”
My heart pounds in my ears. This has been a point of contention between Naomi and me since the beginning. At my insistence, Naomi had agreed to let Jazz continue to take ballet lessons. “Does your mommy know you left the house?”
Jazz shakes her head. “She sent me to my room. She thinks I’m still there. Her boyfriend is over. I snuck out when they were kissing on the sofa.” Jazz pretends to stick her finger down her throat as though gagging herself.
My face remains impassive, even though my insides are stewing. “Okay, doodlebug. I’m going to turn on Frozen and go outside to call your mom.”
I tickle Jazz for a minute before leaving the couch. After starting the movie, I put my coat back on and slip outside. My first call to Naomi goes to voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, I try again. Naomi answers on the fourth ring. “What do you want, Stella?”
“Jazz is with me at the cottage. She ran away from home. You don’t even know she’s gone, do you?”
“What’re you talking about? She’s in her room.” I hear footsteps on hardwood floors followed by the sound of a door creaking open. “That little brat. She was here when I checked on her fifteen minutes ago.”
Brat? Who calls their child a brat? “You’re lying, Naomi. You didn’t check on her fifteen minutes ago. Jazz has been at the cottage with me for at least that long. Before that, she was hiding in the wine cellar at the main building.”
When I see Cecily cutting across the lawn with our pizza, I point at my phone and motion her inside.
For once, Naomi doesn’t argue. She knows she’s at fault. “I’ll come and get her.”
“You can come get her after church tomorrow. Jazz is spending the night with me. Enjoy your date.”
I end the call as Cecily emerges from inside the cottage. “What’s going on?
I drop the phone into my coat pocket. “Naomi’s giving me a hard time.”
Cecily rolls her eyes. “Naomi gives everyone a hard time, Stella. I have the upmost respect for you, except when it comes to Naomi. You really need to do something about her. Soon. Before something really bad happens,” she says and heads back toward the main building.
Her warning sends a shiver down my spine. She’s right. Enough is enough. I need to find a way to take Naomi down. To get Jazz away from her and get Naomi out of their lives for good.
Sucking in a breath of frigid air, I go back inside, locking
