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Quentin agreed to come to Nantucket Island to help deal with the Mom and Dad situation. He would leave that Wednesday after his early-morning appearance on the New York City morning show. This left Julia, Ella, and Alana jittery and nervous over the next few days, throwing themselves into revamping the house the best they knew how. They did some deep cleaning, throwing out broken pieces of furniture and having a plumber over to fix a leaky sink in the back bathroom. When the plumber entered, his eyes widened to take stock of the old house, which hardly anyone had entered in twenty-five years. Just his luck, though: the entire place sparkled with cleanliness, its antiques stood shiny and clean, and the paintings hung straight on the walls. His disappointment at how normal everything looked was palpable. Probably, he’d taken the job just to leech up gossip, which he’d planned to pass along to the residents of Nantucket as a form of currency.
Although they still hadn’t seen much of their father, they sensed his presence in small ways. Between Monday evening and Tuesday morning, someone had eaten an entire bag of cashews, which just happened to be Bernard Copperfield’s favorite snack. Wine bottles were constantly disappearing, as with the olives from the refrigerator. Julia found herself at the grocery store, stocking up on items her father might like. She wished she could have asked him what it felt like, tasting an olive for the first time in twenty-five years. It was probably like a religious experience.
Tuesday night before Quentin’s arrival, Nantucket enjoyed its first seventy-degree day since spring had begun. Julia opened up the back patio, which offered a gorgeous view of the beach and the ocean, its waves frothing up across the sands, and set to work cleaning off the patio furniture. She fluttered a beautiful patterned cloth over the back table and set a bouquet of flowers in the center. Admiring her work, she poured herself a glass of rosé, crossed her legs, and sat at the table alone as the breeze fluttered over the tips of her ears.
That’s when she heard it.
From somewhere skyward came the sound of classical music.
Julia strained her ears to hear it through the rush of the waves and the sweep of the breeze.
The twinkling music eased itself into grandiose chords and swells. Julia’s heart shattered at the sounds of it, recognizing it at last as Rachmaninoff, her father’s favorite composer.
Julia stepped outside and walked through the grassy sands to stand beneath her father’s open window. The music streamed out of the window, joining with the soft light of the April evening in a way that felt heavenly and dreamlike. Julia pressed her hand across her heart, remembering exactly what her father had said about Rachmaninoff back in her youth.
“He turns your heart inside out and then hands it back to you.”
Julia had avoided Rachmaninoff for years, as the tremendous agony of some of the music took her straight back to those long-lost days at The Copperfield House. It took her back to her love for her father.
Yet here it all was again, crashing back into her.
Julia went back inside and found herself hovering over a blank sheet of paper, a pen lifted.
Finally, she forced herself to write a note that she eventually slipped beneath his door.
The past twenty-five years have stolen my heart, turned it inside out, wrung it, and smashed it against the rocks.
I’ve only just gotten my heart back.
I hope one day we’ll find the strength to talk again.
Julia
**
IT WASN’T OUTRAGEOUS to learn that Quentin Copperfield had flown out to Nantucket from New York City. The likes of Quentin Copperfield wouldn’t have been caught in a car that long— and he certainly wouldn’t have driven himself. He was just that important.
He arrived at one p.m. sharp in a pair of khakis and a polo shirt, his hair perfectly styled and his cologne something Alana called, “Out of this world expensive.”
He stood in front of The Copperfield House with his large hands on his hips. The three sisters eyed him suspiciously as though he was a wolf about to attack.
True to her goodness, Greta was the first to interrupt the awkwardness. She burst from the front door and rushed for her son, her firstborn. He’d been the reason she and Bernard had left Paris in the first place. A surprise pregnancy and a new life on Nantucket, where Greta had been born and raised.
Greta’s tears flowed freely yet quietly. With the final Copperfield there at her doorstep, there was no denying the truth. They were all basically strangers.
One after another, Alana, Julia, and Ella stepped up to give Quentin side hugs. Julia nearly choked on the toxicity of his cologne. Hugging him felt like hugging a slab of marble as he’d sculpted each muscle to perfection in the gym.
“It doesn’t look half-bad around here,” Quentin noted as he stepped into the house's foyer, leading the way. His ego seemed to swell around the rest of them, forcing them to keep their distance.
“The girls have given me a hand fixing everything up,” Greta said, her voice losing traction. “I’ll admit, I let some things go around here over the years.”
Julia and Ella had prepared lunch for Quentin’s arrival, a vibrant salad with arugula, feta, olives, cherry tomatoes, and sandwiches made of turkey and cheese. Throughout the lunch preparation, Alana had sat at the kitchen table in a satin robe and texted aggressively with a French friend who’d reportedly seen Asher around Paris. “I’m sure it’s fine. Everyone needs space. We’ve taken space from our marriage before,” Alana had explained to her sisters. Ella and Julia had exchanged worried glances. Alana’s mental state seemed precarious but couldn’t be their main focus at the moment.
Out at the back patio table, Quentin announced he wasn’t eating bread at the moment but would “nibble” on some salad. Greta teetered toward the table as her color shifted. Julia helped her sit in the chair beside Quentin and placed two sandwiches on her plate.
“You’ve got to eat something, Mom. You’re as pale as a ghost,” Julia told her.
Greta nodded, took a tentative bite, then placed the sandwich back down. With all four of her children’s eyes upon her, she shivered anxiously and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“It’s so good to see you four together again...” she whispered. “It’s enough to make a mother wonder...” She shook her head despairingly and glanced back toward the door.
“Do you want to lay down for a while, Mom?” Ella asked, erupting from her chair quickly so that it creaked against the floor. “We can bring your sandwiches inside.”
Greta splayed a hand across Quentin’s. The contrast of her pale, almost greenish skin against his robust, tan hand was alarming.
“We can catch up later, Mom,” Quentin told her. “Why don’t you let Ella take you to bed?”
Greta looked like a child who’d gotten sick on her birthday. Slowly, she stood, linked her arm through Ella’s, and headed for the soft gray embrace of the indoors. For a long moment, the silence grew denser and more toxic over the back patio table. Julia couldn’t bring herself to look at Quentin. She could tell he was fuming.
“This is ridiculous,” he finally said, his voice powerful, as though he spoke to the entire nation instead of just Alana and Julia.
“She’s just shocked to see you. She’s been doing a lot better. Don’t base judgment on the first ten minutes.” Julia told him.
But it was no use. Quentin puffed out his cheeks, exasperated. “I’ve come today to tell you I’m in the process of purchasing living quarters for Mom at a community center in Manhattan.”
Julia’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry?”
Quentin pointed his thumb back toward The Copperfield House with disdain. “I should have done something like this years ago. Now that Dad’s home and putting Mom in the hospital, I feel I have no choice but to take matters into my own hands.”
“But... this is Mom’s home. She was born on Nantucket. Heck, even her great-grandfather was born on Nantucket,” Julia interjected. “Alana, help me out here.”
Alana stared into space, her eyes swelling with emptiness. “I don’t know, Julia.”
“Julia. Listen to reason,” Quentin said, speaking to her the way her financial advisor had when he’d told her to close down the publishing house. “Mom has spent the past twenty-five years living alone in this house. I should say, cursed house. Her health is diminishing. She deserves a new life, whether she knows that or not. Besides, my children and Ella’s children live in the city. She can be the grandmother she should have been all this time.”
“Should have been? Who are you to say what Mom should have been?” Julia demanded. “Greta Copperfield has always done exactly as she pleased.”
“You’re talking about another version of our mother, Julia. You’re living in the past,” Quentin shot. “Am I the only one in this family who’s moved on from all this?”
Julia gaped at her brother’s words. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re not over it.” Alana breathed.
“We’ve all built something for ourselves, Quentin. Just because we’re not America’s news darling doesn’t mean our lives aren’t worthy,” Julia spat back.
Julia prayed she would never have to confess the failure of her publishing house.
“And what about Dad?” Julia continued. “He’s been through hell and back.”
“He’s the one who put us through hell,” Quentin returned. “I thought you of all people believed that? You took off, just the same as I did.”
Julia’s throat tightened. He spoke the truth.
“Don’t tell me that you suddenly believe in this family based purely on this little nostalgic trip home,” Quentin continued. “Don’t tell me you want to re-open The Copperfield House as some acclaimed artist residency, bring all the poets back in, and pretend like the past twenty-five years didn’t happen.”
“I’m just saying...” Julia began.
“Let Dad stay here and rot for all I care,” Quentin growled. “I, for one, want to take Mom somewhere safe. Somewhere she can start over. And I’m not waiting for any of my sisters to give me the okay to do so.”
Suddenly, the screen door between the back patio and the kitchen sprung open to reveal a white-faced Ella.
“Are you crazy?” she hissed. “Mom and I were hardly in the kitchen before you started in on your...”
Greta appeared behind her. A wrinkled hand pressed against the wall for support. Her eyes found Quentin’s. For a long moment, Julia expected her to tell him to leave her alone, to let her live out her days at The Copperfield House in peace.
But instead, she exhaled all the air from her lungs and said, “It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Mom... Are you sure about this?” Julia breathed.
Greta took a slight step forward, using all the energy she had left. Ella steadied her mother, her own face tight with worry.
“I’m just so tired,” Greta continued. “I don’t think I knew how tired I was until your father came home. He made me realize how much of my life I haven’t lived. He made me remember a life I’d forgotten. One had loved with my entire heart. He made me realize how much I’ve lost over the years.” She shook her head as her eyes filled with tears. “But he also made me realize that I’ve had enough. I don’t want to live in this house any longer. It’s tainted and will never be the way it once was. I don’t want to live with all the ghosts of our past. And above all, I do not want to be Bernard Copperfield’s wife. Not for one more day.”