Page 10 of Meet Me at Christmas
Forcing her gaze back to the computer, she returned to the article. “‘Mrs. Hastings delivered three more stillborns after that—all while wearing the diamond. Shrouded in grief and convinced the Christmas Diamond was cursed, she ripped the necklace off and placed it in her jewelry box. The next year, she had a son. Agnes and William went on to have three more children.’”
“That’s an incredible story.” Mama reached over and pinched the pendant around Stella’s neck, scrutinizing it. “It sure does look like the one in the photo, doesn’t it?”
Now that Stella was no longer under the spell of the legend, her rational side kicked in. “If this really was the same necklace, I doubt very seriously it would have been on the floor of the Atlanta airport. An antique like that would be secured.”
“I agree. But you should still call the airport. It definitely belongs to someone, and I’m sure they’re missing it.”
“I’ll call right now,” Stella said. She took off the necklace and set it on the table between them. The blue stone shimmered in the gray light filtering in from the window. It definitely looked too harmless to be bad luck. Maybe she’d actually havegoodluck and find the owner.
* * *
While her mother called a tow truck to get the car out of the ditch, Stella sat on her childhood bedroom floor and added more to her piece on long-term brain health, implementing the studies she’d worked on while in London. She’d spent the last couple of hours writing after sending emails to all her sources and double-checking a few final details with St. Thomas’ in London.
Her mind, however, had been on the necklace that was sitting on her dresser. To whom did it belong? Was it an elderly lady, someone’s mom, a young girl? Did it have sentimental meaning and the owner was missing it? The person she’d spoken to at the airport hadn’t had any inquiries, but he’d taken down her information in case something came in. It belonged to someone, and it had a story. She decided she wouldn’t wear it again.
The ringing of her cell phone drew her attention right away. Seeing her sister’s number, she answered quickly. “Lily?”
“Hi! I can’t talk long because I lose connection, but—” The rest of her words were garbled.
Stella cut her off. “I can’t hear you.” She pressed the phone harder against her ear as if that would help.
“I’m not—” The words fell apart again through the line.
“You’re not what, Lily?”
“…Love you!”
The phone went dead.
Stella tried to call her right back, but it went to voicemail. Disappointed, she set the phone on the carpet beside her and stared at it. This was absolutely not what their father would’ve wanted for their first Christmas without him.
Are you here, Pop? Do you have any idea what Lily’s doing?
No response.
She didn’t have time to figure out why her sister had decided to completely abandon them at Christmas. She had to check if the roads were clear yet, then get the ice off her mother’s car so she could make the drive to Vanderbilt Hospital. She needed to work on her final article and try to win the President’s Award.
Five
Later that afternoon, Stella had an appointment with her new contact at the hospital. Even with the salt trucks, it had taken an hour and a half on the icy roads to make the normally forty-minute drive to Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville. After parking and then finding the correct department, Stella was cutting it close. She hurried to the office of Dr. Abigail Astley, her point of contact, and walked in.
“I’m glad you were able to get here. The streets are absolute madness,” Dr. Astley said.
“Thank goodness for the warmer temperatures that came in today,” Stella said, unwrapping her scarf. “And thank you for allowing me to do this.” She held out her hand.
Dr. Astley shook it. “Of course. I jumped at the chance to have a feature inBrain Borders.” She offered one excited bounce of her eyebrows. “I read your piece on cognitive dissonance. It was relevant for the patient you’ll see today.” She set a file on her desk next to a miniature Christmas-tree card holder.
“Patient—as in one?” Stella had been hoping for more options.
Dr. Astley gestured to the empty chair. “Have a seat.”
Stella complied.
“We explained what you were doing to five of our patients who we felt fit your criteria, but only had one of them consent to observation.”
Stella’s visit had been last minute, and with the holiday approaching one patient was better than nothing. She’d have to take it, but she wasn’t sure if she could get enough data from one person.
The doctor pulled an iPad from a stack of papers and swiped. “I just need a few signatures from you stating that you’ll keep all personal information confidential.”
