It was miraculous how quickly the world moved on without Alana Tarkin. By June 10th, the gossip columnists and TV tabloid journalists had moved on to fresher stories, leaving big yellow stains in the front yard where their set-ups had been. Wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top, Alana Copperfield raced through the front yard and jumped around joyously, like the cheerleader she’d once been. From the front porch, Julia waved from behind the enormous manuscript of their father’s book. Life was moving forward.
Alana spent the afternoon in the sun, wearing her tank top and a pair of flip-flops she’d found in the back of her teenage closet. At three, she headed out to get the mail and leafed through it, eyeing bills that read BERNARD and GRETA, her heart flipping over with love for them. Yes, she was a forty-four-year-old washed-up actress and model. But she felt freer than she had in years. That was something.
“Hey.” A voice rang out from the street. Alana lifted her eyes to find Sarah before her, wearing a similar tank top, short shorts, and flip-flop combo. Her legs were thin as ever, and she wore Audrey Hepburn-style sunglasses. Beside her were three other teenage girls, two of whom were quite skinny as well, although not as worryingly so.
“Hi, Sarah!” Alana’s grin felt childish. She felt like she’d just run into some girls from her own high school, ones she wanted to impress. “What are you girls up to?”
Sarah gestured lazily to the girls around her. “This is Evie, Harlow, and Nora.”
“Hi, Evie, Harlow, and Nora. I’m Alana.”
“Hi Alana,” they said in singsong voices.
The girls assessed her in the way only teenage girls could. Probably, they judged her flip-flops. Alana thumbed through the mail nervously.
“I told them about the meal your mom cooked us the other day,” Sarah added timidly.
Alana was surprised that Sarah had confessed to eating so much. “Wow.”
“We’ve never had French food before,” Evie said, drawing a strand of her bright red hair around her ear.
“You’re missing out,” Sarah affirmed.
Alana cast her eyes toward The Copperfield House. The glorious Victorian was illuminated with the June sunlight. Back in the old days, the house had been so vibrant and alive, filled with countless artists streaming in and out of the place and eating Greta’s delicious food.
Sarah had obviously dragged her friends this way, hoping to catch sight of Alana. The thought rang through Alana like a bell. Perhaps she wanted the food or the conversation or just the proximity to Alana, who’d lived, in Sarah’s eyes, “a big life.” Regardless of the true reason, Alana was just grateful to know the girl was all right, that she wanted nourishment. That she wanted to keep living.
“Well, I can see what my mother’s cooking tonight if the four of you are interested?” Alana tried.
Alana stepped into the coolness of the house and found her mother in the downstairs study, writing in a journal. Alana explained the situation outside, which made Greta flip off her glasses excitedly.
“Why didn’t you invite them inside immediately?” Greta demanded.
From the doorway, Alana beckoned the four teenagers in. They walked single file, like a colony of ants, directly into the shadow of The Copperfield House. Alana was reminded of herself and her two sisters, those long-ago days when they’d piled into the house much like that.
Greta greeted the four of them warmly, saying their names with careful precision. “Sarah. Harlow. Nora. And Evie. Welcome to The Copperfield House.”
Julia came downstairs to find a particularly funny scene: four teenage girls chopping vegetables, browning duck, and listening to Greta’s favorite albums on her Bluetooth speaker. In the corner, Alana shrugged toward Julia and mouthed, “Greta has found her purpose again.”
As Greta showed the girls how to make Duck à l’Orange, her favorite dish, the girls found time to ask Alana what they could about her life of “exclusive parties” and celebrities. As island girls, they were fascinated with anything that wasn’t frigid Nantucket winters and blissful tourist-filled summers. They wanted images of a different life.
“And weren’t you an actress for a while?” Harlow asked, her jet-black hair catching the soft evening light as she chopped vegetables.
Alana blushed. “A little while. I did a few plays, some commercials.”
“She was the star at the Nantucket High School musical her senior year,” Julia interjected.
Alana cast her a dark look. “That was before I really knew what I was doing.”
“Oh, you were a star that weekend,” Greta affirmed. “Your father and I were ridiculously proud. Couldn’t get enough of it. We went to every single performance.”
“Oh, we were in the musical last year,” Harlow said, gesturing toward Nora. “Evie and Sarah refused to go out for it.”
Sarah shrugged, although Alana could guess why she hadn’t gone out for it. How could she control her eating habits if she had so many responsibilities?
The smells of browning meat and sizzling vegetables wafted through the large house. The sounds of laughter, too, spilled throughout the rooms. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise, then, that Bernard Copperfield eventually poked his head into the kitchen, curious.
It had been a few days since he’d emerged from his study. His beard was grizzled, and a pencil was tucked behind his ear, proof that he was hard at work on the edits and rewrites for his manuscript. Julia greeted him with a soft kiss on the cheek and whispered something in his ear. Alana’s heart felt bruised with jealousy. How could she build a better relationship with her father? Was it too late?
“Hi, there.” Bernard sounded nervous. “What a full kitchen we have!”
Greta waved a wooden spoon around in greeting. Her eyes glowed. “We’ve made some new friends if you can believe it.”
Bernard smiled timidly and twirled his mustache around his finger. “Welcome to our home, ladies. I see that Greta’s making her famous dish.”
“We’re all making it together,” Greta corrected. “I hope you’ll be ready to eat in a little while.”
Bernard seemed surprised to be invited. He stuttered and said, “It would be my pleasure to join you.” He then hovered in the doorway for another moment, unsure of where to put his large frame.
Alana had to find a way to bridge the divide between this man who’d missed so much and the teenage girls who had no idea who he was.
“The girls were just telling us about how much they like to act,” Alana tried. “And Mom reminded me of the musical from my senior year. I must have looked like such a clown.”
Bernard’s face cracked open joyously. “You were no clown, Alana Copperfield. You were a joy to behold. Everyone was captivated by your performance. It’s no mystery to me that you went on to pursue modeling and acting.” His soft, kind eyes studied the teenage girls across his kitchen. “What sort of acting have you girls done?”
Harlow explained that she and Nora had had mid-tier parts in the musical, while Sarah and Evie had both acted in the autumn play several times.
“You must show us your acting chops,” Bernard said suddenly and very seriously.
Greta chuckled. “Don’t make the girls do anything they don’t want to do, Bernard.”
But Bernard bent his head forward, building intensity. “You girls should know that Greta here is a whole lot more than a brilliant cook.”
“Bernard…” Greta warned.
“No. I’m serious.” Bernard tugged at his beard. “Greta used to write some of the most incredible short stories and plays.”
“Bernard, nobody wants to hear about that,” Greta said, trying out a laugh.
“Greta, don’t you remember that one play you wrote? It was set on Nantucket and talked about in the historical women of Nantucket Island.” Bernard’s frown deepened. “As I remember it, there were four roles in that play, weren’t there?”
Alana’s throat tightened. It was miraculous that, after twenty-five years of prison, Bernard could still shuffle through the files of his mind and come up with the play his wife had written years ago.
Greta blushed. “I’m surprised you remember that.”
Sarah glanced toward Alana, looking mischievous. “Do you know where that play is?”
“She’s read my mind,” Bernard said, his smile wide.
“Oh, gosh. It must be somewhere in the downstairs study.” Greta suddenly recalled with a wave of her hand.
“Mom, go find it!” Julia pleaded.
Greta looked exasperated. She gestured toward the duck, as though to leave it meant dinner would fail. But Sarah leaped forward, explaining that she could handle it until Greta got back.
“Come on, Mom,” Alana pleaded. “Everyone wants to experience your talent.”
About ten minutes later, Greta returned with a thirty-page script about the historical women of Nantucket Island, many of whom assisted in the growth of feminism throughout the 1800s.
“The play, which I called Nantucket Dreams, imagines a world where all of these important women from Nantucket actually knew one another,” Greta explained. “They live side-by-side and fight for the betterment of all Nantucketers, not just women. I’ve always believed that women’s rights are people’s rights. And…” Greta eyed Bernard. “I was lucky enough to have a partner who believed that, as well.”
Alana’s heart nearly burst.
Greta and Bernard obviously still loved one another.
But perhaps too much time had passed.
With dinner ready, Greta insisted that they all sit together and feast before the night’s rag-tag performance of Nantucket Dreams. Throughout, conversation flowed easily, with the teenage girls asking vibrant questions about Alana, Greta, and Bernard’s times in Paris, plus Julia’s career in publishing (which they found equally fascinating). Obviously, after so many hardships, the Copperfield family was overjoyed to converse about the brighter times of their lives— so much so that Greta and Bernard became overwhelmed as they told a story of getting lost in the streets of Paris in the rain. Greta’s eyes, there at the table, were damp with tears, and soon after, Bernard had to excuse himself to the bathroom, where he mopped himself up, too.
The girls ate heartily and spoke quickly, filling themselves with much-needed energy. When they finished, they made their way into the living room with the script, discussing the first few paragraphs as Alana, Julia, and Greta cleaned up. As Greta scrubbed a plate, her cheeks burned red with embarrassment.
“Mom,” Alana whispered. “This is a beautiful thing, isn’t it? Your stuff is getting read again.”
Greta bit hard on her lower lip. “It’s just intense for me, Alana. I never imagined it would happen.”
Harlow rapped on the doorframe of the kitchen and announced that she planned to head back to her parents’ house to make four copies of the play. “That way, we can read through it easier.”
Alana thought that the disappearance of Harlow would result in distraction and, ultimately, the decision to read the play another day. She was surprised when Harlow returned in fifteen minutes with four copies in hand. Breathless, she entered The Copperfield House and declared them “ready.”
Alana, Julia, Bernard, and Greta sat around the living room with the four teenagers in front of them, the scripts lifted. They’d decided on parts, with Sarah playing Lucretia Mott, Nora playing Elizabeth Coggeshall, Harlow playing Eunice Ross, and Evie playing Lucy Stone.
As the play unfurled, the listeners learned about the dynamic histories of these four women. Lucretia Mott, who’d challenged the beliefs of seventeenth-century America and thought that women should be allowed to own property and businesses. Elizabeth Coggeshall had been an outspoken women preacher involved in the Quaker movement, building female independence on Nantucket while the men were out at sea “whaling” for periods of up to five years. Eunice Ross had been an African American woman who was allowed entry to Nantucket High School all the way back in 1847, while Lucy Stone had been the first woman to earn a college degree in Massachusetts.
The play had it all: emotion and intrigue, a story that mastered its material, and gorgeous speeches that allowed the viewer to feel the trauma of past women who weren’t allowed to pursue their dreams.
The four teenage girls before them read their lines with passion and made few mistakes. Their performance left the Copperfield family speechless before they finally erupted with applause. Greta had to leave the room for a full five minutes before emerging, her cheeks caked with tears.
“You were incredible,” Greta breathed, captivated.
“Really,” Alana affirmed, jumping forward to give Sarah a big hug.
The girls beamed and glanced at one another, both embarrassed and pleased.
After a long pause, Bernard finally spoke.
“Why don’t you perform this play at the Fourth of July Festival?”
The air was instantly sucked out of the room. Alana and Julia caught one another’s gaze, genuinely surprised.
“Oh, I don’t know about that…” Sarah began.
“Why not?” Bernard asked, looking from one girl to the next.
“It was just a read-through, Bernard,” Greta told him. “Nothing more.”
“Come on. It’s a tragedy that the play was never put on,” Bernard pushed. “Alana, you could work as their director. Wouldn’t you like to hear feedback from an actual working actor?”
Alana longed to protest, to tell everyone that her mid-tier career as an actress was nothing to write home about. But the girls suddenly looked so bright, so hopeful.
“Come on, Alana,” Bernard coaxed. “Isn’t being a director every actor’s dream?”
Alana held the thought in her heart for a long, quiet moment. It seemed outlandish, even silly. But would it really hurt for her to call the Fourth of July Festival organizer and simply inquire about the possibility?
Wasn’t all of life just one possibility after another? And didn’t she always regret not chasing after possibilities with potential beauty?
Alana shrugged and glanced back at the teenage girls, who eyed her with rapt attention. “If you girls are up for it, I don’t see why we shouldn’t try.”
The teenage girls shrieked and huddled together. The windows of The Copperfield House quaked in their frames. All the while, Alana held Greta’s eyes with gentle curiosity, so grateful for this experience. She would help to bring her mother’s vision to life.