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That Friday afternoon, Julia and Ella drove out to Manakuket Beach on the western shore. They splayed a blanket across the chilly sands, wrapped up in sweatshirts and flannels, and watched in silence as the waves rolled toward them, cresting and then casting froth across the sand. Julia had spent all morning engrossed in her father’s words, making notes and writing with her marketer about potential plans.
Beside her on the blanket, Ella seemed lost in her own deep thoughts.
“Do you remember when we used to have family picnics out here?” she asked suddenly, her voice hardly penetrating the howling winds.
“Yes. Dad would load up the van and guide the artists from the house to the beach, where we’d set up an all-day camp. Bonfires. Singing songs. Eating in the sun and then rushing into the water.” Julia whispered, lost in the memory.
“I sometimes wonder if I made a mistake not giving my children the beauty of growing up here,” Ella murmured.
“We all had to get away,” Julia returned. “At least, that’s what I tell myself. To shove away the guilt.”
Ella nodded, her eyes glowing.
“I think I had to forgive myself a long time ago for leaving you and Mom behind,” Julia whispered then. “Otherwise, I might have destroyed myself with anger at myself. I’m sorry, so sorry. But that doesn’t mean that you have to forgive me. I only wish you would.”
“We’re in our forties, now, Julia,” Ella breathed. “We shouldn’t carry any anger, guilt, or shame from that time. Not anymore. It’s been too long.”
Julia and Ella shared the silence for a long time. Julia’s stomach stirred with confusion. They’d all returned to The Copperfield House to see it through to the bitter end. But what happened next between Julia, Ella, and Alana? Would they go back to not speaking?
A rain spit out from the rolling clouds above. Julia and Ella clambered to their feet, wrapped up the blanket, and headed back to Julia’s SUV. Ella mentioned getting back to the city, as her part-time jobs would probably let her go soon if she didn’t return. Julia nodded at the logistics, even though they seemed so sterile. “I keep telling Mom I have all the time in the world. Maybe I do. I can always get another stupid part-time job.”
Julia turned the SUV down the road that led to their old home. Slowly, they crept past the old homesteads and headed straight for the glowing ocean at the far end of the street. Julia then parked and stared straight ahead, her eyes toward the frothing waters.
Moments later, Ella interrupted her serene reverie.
“What are those teenagers doing here?” Ella asked.
For a moment, Julia thought she’d entered a nightmare.
When she followed Ella’s gaze, she found three very familiar figures before her— each with a backpack across their back, wearing stoic expressions. They stared at the SUV earnestly, waiting for the people within to get out.
It was Anna, Henry, and Rachel.
“Those are... those are my kids,” Julia whispered, her voice rasping.
With a huge surge of energy, Julia leaped out of the SUV and stepped toward her three children, toward Henry, who might as well have been Jackson’s twin, toward her headstrong and creative Anna, and toward her baby, Rachel. What were they doing here? How had they found her?
Ah. Of course. Julia had mentioned Nantucket to Anna on the phone the other day.
There came the sound of Ella opening and closing the passenger door of the SUV. All the while, Julia stood out on the grass as a Nantucket April rain continued to pour down upon them.
Finally, Anna spoke.
“When were you going to tell us?” she demanded.
Ella appeared beside Julia, trying on a smile that fell off just as quickly. “Hello, you three. My name is Ella.”
“Aren’t you the lead singer of Pottersville?” Henry asked, his eyes widening.
Even Ella’s laughter was musical. “You can also just call me Aunt Ella.”
Henry’s eyes traced from Julia to Ella, back to Julia. Confusion lined his face.
“Don’t drop the subject,” Anna blared, her eyes trained on Julia.
Above, the second-floor study window opened wider to reveal one-half of Bernard Copperfield’s grizzled beard. Pipe smoke billowed out. He was eavesdropping on the drama that was about to unfold.
Ella glanced toward Julia, arching her brow. “Why don’t we all go inside?”
Julia nodded, shellshocked. She stepped toward her children, who parted like the Red Sea and allowed her to enter the house. Once in the foyer, she removed her shoes and ruffled her jet-black hair.
“There you are,” Greta greeted gently from the corner, where she hovered over a half-packed box of books. “I can’t believe it, but I’m finally getting a few things together.”
After Julia, came her children, like a line of baby ducks, one after another. When Anna appeared, Greta’s lips parted with genuine surprise. When Rachel and Henry joined them, Greta draped a hand across her cheek. She stood on thin legs, wordless, and her eyes shone with a love that had no bounds.
“Your children. Julia... Your children are here.”
Julia’s heart dropped into her belly like a stone. Anna, Henry, and Rachel looked at their mother with a mix of confusion and curiosity.
Julia introduced them with soft tones. “This is my eldest, Anna. This is Rachel. And this...”
“Must be Henry,” Greta finished her sentence. She stepped around the boxes, her arms lifting up coaxingly. She wanted to give them a hug but seemed not to know how.
Rachel sniffled, then dabbed the corners of her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. When a sob escaped her, she apologized and said, “I’m sorry. I hardly slept last night. I’m just so...”
“Why don’t I make everyone some tea,” Greta offered kindly. She touched Rachel’s upper arm and guided her toward the kitchen. Henry stepped after them, glowering at Julia.
This left only Julia, Ella, and Anna in the living room, the air heavy around them.
“Your father told you,” Julia finally spoke. She ran a hand through her hair as she stole a glance at her oldest.
“He told Henry,” Anna corrected. “When I talked to you on the phone the other day, you sounded completely unlike yourself. I told Henry to push Dad for the truth. Dad was always more candid with Henry. A guy thing, I guess.”
Julia dropped onto the edge of the couch, pressing her knuckle into her chin. She could barely look at her daughter, could only sit and stew in Anna’s rage and sorrow.
“I learned about Beijing the same day you kids did,” Julia stated.
“What? Beijing?” Ella’s voice was high-pitched.
“Are you kidding me?” Anna demanded. “He didn’t tell his own wife?”
Julia shook her head, splayed her hands over her eyes, and pressed onto them until she saw only spots. “Your father’s career has skyrocketed in the past few years. It’s not that I’m not happy for him. It’s not that I don’t think he deserves it. It’s just that... He wants something else now. The life we had together in Bartlett, one he chose, is something he doesn’t what anymore. Meanwhile, the publishing house...”
Julia couldn’t bring herself to say it. She couldn’t begin to describe the Hail Mary she was now throwing if only to save the only thing she’d ever built herself.
Anna sat beside her mother and gently placed a hand across her upper back. Ella wrapped a hand over hers. Together, they sat in silence in the shadows of the living room, waiting for something to happen.
“You should have said something,” Ella whispered.
“I just did what I knew best,” Julia murmured. “I tried my best but then ran.”
A wail swelled out of the kitchen. Julia shot up in protective mode for her youngest daughter. As she headed for the kitchen, the sobs escalated.
There in the kitchen, Rachel huddled in the corner, her hands wrapped around her elbows and her face blotchy. Her cries were loud and all-consuming; her body shook with the weight of her emotions. Across the kitchen, Greta and Henry looked on, both at a loss. The kettle on the stovetop began to scream with a similar rage.
“Honey...” Greta breathed.
Julia tried to step toward her youngest daughter, but the sight of Julia made Rachel reach meltdown mode. Poor girl, in the first year of her university career, struggling through French and asking herself all these questions about her life. Now, she stood in her mother’s childhood home. Little did Rachel know that the place was now filled with such ugly history and marred Julia’s childhood happiness.
It was such a funny picture, despite how sad it was.
Because actually, Julia couldn’t remember when any of the Copperfields had cried like this— with their entire bodies, hearts, and souls. Instead, they’d taken on what had happened twenty-five years ago and ignored it, refusing to talk about it. This had made the pain that much more monstrous, growing silently, like cancer.
“I just don’t know why you couldn’t just...” Rachel heaved, unsure of where she wanted the sentence to go.
“Just be happy?” Julia asked. “Just go with your father wherever he wanted to go? Just force myself to align with his every whim?”
Rachel hiccupped and cried harder. Julia closed her eyes tightly as a headache swelled in the back of her skull. When she opened them again, she found Henry giving her a dark look.
“This is a hell of a way to learn that our family is breaking up,” Henry told her pointedly. “Very adult of you.”
Twenty-five years after the collapse of her first family, Julia found herself in that same house, in the midst of another catastrophe. How could she explain to Henry that she’d never really grown up? That she’d never escaped her demons from The Copperfield House? That she was just a frightened middle-aged woman without a clue?
Back in the living room, there came the twinkling sound of the baby grand piano. All the hair on the nape of Julia’s neck stood up straight at the sound. Although the baby grand hadn’t been tuned in what sounded like a few years, the sound was nostalgic and utterly beautiful. After a brief moment of broken and blissful chords, the piano player transitioned to one of Julia’s favorite classical pieces— Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paginini.
As the music welled over them, not an eye in the kitchen of the house remained dry. Rachel’s manic crying had stopped, and she stood, rapt with attention, her cheeks blotchy and red. Across the kitchen, Greta pressed an entire Kleenex against both eyes, wanting to hide out from the world and experience only the sound of this purely nostalgic tune.
It was time to greet their musical genius.
It was time to end the madness.
Bernard Copperfield sat at the piano bench in the next room, his eyes half-open as his fingers fluttered over the keys. Julia stood in the far corner of the room, clutching her heart, as her three children saw her father, the once-lost Bernard, with his grizzled beard and his sagging cheeks and that same-old twinkle in his eyes. Ella, too, wiped her eyes, seemingly unable to even look at their father.
Greta joined the group last, dropping into the antique armchair in front of the bay window and taking in the splendor of the man she’d once loved and lost.
The entire house was quiet when the song finished, save for the subtle creaks brought on by the Atlantic winds. Bernard’s eyes scanned the keys. He seemed too frightened to look up at them and acknowledge what he’d done.
But finally, he drummed up the strength to speak.
“We’ve lost so much in this family—so much time. And I’m not sure if any of that pain ever adds up to anything,” he began.
A sob escaped Greta’s lips. She stared at the half-packed box of books despairingly.
“I can’t speak for my wife, Greta. But I can say it’s a joy to have my daughter Julia’s children here with us. Regardless of the circumstances, I’d like to sit with you and know you, as best as I can, with all the time we have.”