Chapter 27
Stella was no longer herself. She was no longer Stella McGee nor Heidi Kimpel.
She was no longer a country-western queen, a bartender, a housewife, or her father’s maid.
Rather, she was Stella Vanberg, the adopted daughter of the German immigrant Greta Vanberg.
More than that, she was a mother, the mother of Candice Vanberg, the most beautiful and perfect baby.
Candice was nearly six months old. She was growing like a weed and had chunky cheeks and a chunky belly and chunky hands and feet that broke Stella’s heart in two.
Candice rarely cried, which Greta found startling.
Sometimes Stella caught Greta standing outside of Candice’s nursery, listening for signs of distress.
But Candice slept so well that Stella considered it a gift from beyond.
Stella had certainly been through enough, and so had Greta.
At the beginning of August, Greta threw a little party at the Harbor House. She wanted to celebrate Candice’s six-month birthday, and she wanted more of her Vineyard friends to get to know Stella, now that Stella was officially a member of her family.
Greta threw herself into planning the party.
Stella felt it was as remarkable and elaborate as a wedding.
Greta hired caterers and bartenders. She hired someone to completely refurbish the living room and stylize the veranda.
Stella didn’t ask Greta if she thought she was going overboard.
In Greta’s eyes, Stella saw a joy that she hadn’t expected, one that she never could have fathomed when she met Greta back in Nashville more than a year ago.
What strange timing that had been.
As Stella waited for the first guests on the veranda, she adjusted her soft pink dress and considered her reflection in the big glass door.
Maybe because she was so young, she’d lost the baby weight almost immediately, and Greta had bought her an extensive wardrobe to help her “fit” into this Martha’s Vineyard world.
Stella had asked for speaking lessons to help her get rid of her Southern accent, and already she felt it drifting away.
When Greta asked her to sing, which was not often, Stella tried to get rid of her Southern singing accent, too.
Greta urged her not to push that identity too far away.
But Stella told her she was ready to move on.
Greta had hired a babysitter to take care of Candice during the party, which allowed Stella to amble about, sipping wine and chatting with guests.
Everyone complimented her dress, and a few men told her she had a beautiful smile.
It had been ages since anyone had flirted with Stella, and it made her feel floaty and exposed.
Sometimes she eyed the door, wondering if her husband and father would barge in and destroy her life all over again.
But she’d changed her name. She wasn’t advertising herself anymore because she wasn’t famous.
More than that, her father and husband were still in jail. A divorce lawyer had helped end her marriage a few months before Candice was born, which had been essential.
She was free of them. Well, she hoped she was.
It was on this night that Greta’s friend Rita brought her nephew Ben Winthrop over.
Ben was an academic with a future in journalism; everyone said so.
He only came to Greta’s party as a favor to his Aunt Rita.
But when Ben walked up to Stella, Stella felt an electricity between them that reminded her of performing on stage for the first time.
Something in her body told her, You belong here with him.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, trying to brush the feeling aside. After what Billy Long had done to her, she knew better than to trust random men.
“It’s a pleasure,” Ben said. “You look beautiful.”
Stella rolled her eyes, then smiled. They looked at one another for a long time, while Stella’s heartbeat quickened and her fingers fluttered at her thighs.
Twice, she glanced over to see Greta and Rita, whispering and laughing together.
She knew they were talking about Ben and Stella.
She knew that they’d dreamed of getting them together.
“Do you have the feeling we’re being watched?” Ben asked, surprising her.
Stella laughed. “They can’t get enough of us.”
“Maybe we should pretend to fight,” Ben said. “Give me an awful look. Make it look truly sinister.”
This made Stella laugh even harder.
“Is that how you look when you’re angry?” Ben asked.
“No,” Stella said, trying to fix her face into a scowl. But when she saw Ben frowning at her, his eyes alight with humor, she burst into giggles again. She couldn’t stop herself. Her stomach ached from bubbly champagne and too much laughter.
“This will never do,” Ben said, shaking his head. “They’re never going to get the idea we hate one another. And then what will we do?”
“I don’t know,” Stella said. “They might force us to date each other.”
“That would be truly terrible,” Ben offered. “What would we do next? Fall in love with each other?”
“What a disaster that would be,” Stella said.
But she could already feel their future, rising out from their hearts. And although she’d told herself she’d never love anyone again, she felt herself take the slightest step forward.
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The Quiet Rebuild