Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Madeline
August 2025
I t was the afternoon before Henry’s flight to Los Angeles. Madeline and Henry spent as much of the day together as they could, wrapped in each other’s arms, sailing across the Nantucket Sound, telling stories, kissing, and leaping in the water. Madeline begged the universe to let the day last forever, but she knew it was a losing game. When the air was tinted purple, Henry directed the sailboat back to the harbor, then they went back to the Copperfields, who were expecting the both of them for a goodbye dinner. Madeline wanted to cling to Henry as tightly as she could.
Right after he tied up the boat, he turned and placed his hands on either side of her head and gave her the kind of kiss that made her weak at the knees. When it broke, his lips were glistening. “You haven’t said if you’re coming out with me yet.” His eyes were urgent and filled with fear.
Madeline swallowed the lump in her throat. It had been the most perfect summer.
“You should go out and get settled,” she said. “It’s not like I’ll be able to come to set all the time. I’ll join you after.”
Henry let his hands drop to his sides. Although he was twenty-four years old, Madeline had the sense that he’d gotten taller, his muscles were bigger, and he’d become more of a man than he’d been that day on the airplane earlier this year. Did she look more like a woman? She was twenty-three and tanner than she’d ever been. She’d gained a little weight, maybe, from all the bonfires and barbecues, but in the mirror, she sensed it was a healthy weight, something that filled her out and made her look happier. Julia had said, “Honey, you’re glowing,” so many times that Madeline had taken a pregnancy test. It had come up negative. Madeline had been disappointed at first, and then she’d been surprised at her disappointment. Did she really want to “steal” Henry from Hollywood with a baby?
We could make it work! a voice in the back of her mind cried.
“Let’s talk about it later,” Madeline said now. “We have to get back. Your grandmother already hates me. I don’t want her to hate you, too.”
“She does not hate you,” Henry said. “She loves you. She demanded you come back to Nantucket. She brought you out here!”
But Madeline couldn’t be talked out of thinking that Greta was disappointed in her. Greta hadn’t stopped asking Madeline about her painting, her drawing, her writing, her music—but Madeline had drifted in and out of her studio like a wanton and daydreamy girl without a care in the world. Her main focus—for the first time ever—was love. And she knew that Greta thought she was wasting her time.
Once, in mid-July, Greta had cornered Madeline and said, “Love is a beautiful thing. But you have to remember to make time for yourself, for your art, for what you want. Back when I first fell in love with Bernard, you could hardly get me out of the pages of my novel.”
Madeline had wanted to say, You’re a better woman than I am! You’re a better artist!
Instead, she’d said, “I’m so uninspired, Greta. I wish I could pull it out of myself, but I just can’t. And you’d think a beautiful island like Nantucket would do the trick!”
The truth was, of course, that she hadn’t burned with such desire to play the piano in years. Her love for Henry swept through her like a forest fire, and her creativity pulsed without any direction to go. She couldn’t really paint. She couldn’t really write. And that beautiful grand piano waited downstairs, a hulking and expectant thing. But she hadn’t sat down at a piano in six years. She was sure that she couldn’t remember a thing, that she’d embarrass herself the minute she got in front of the keys.
But her nightmares or her dreams echoed with piano tunes. Sometimes, in the dreams, Madeline played as though she’d never stopped, and other times, it was her mother at the keys—which was a funny thing. As far as Madeline knew, Diana had never played the piano. When Madeline asked her to just try, Diana said simply, “You know I don’t play.”
Madeline had begged her mother to tell her why she had “chosen” the piano at such a young age; she’d begged her mother to make sense of it. “Why do I feel like I’ve always known how to play?”
But Diana had waved her hand and said in her Polish accent, “It’s just one of those things. You’re a prodigy. There’s no way to explain something like that.”
Rather than a bonfire and barbecue for Henry’s goodbye dinner, Greta had made an elaborate feast: lemon-garlic fish, buttery potatoes, green beans, and salads peppered with pomegranate and tangy with vinaigrette. Charlie and Henry’s Uncle Quentin hauled picnic tables to the beach outside and treated themselves to a beer while Alana, Juila, and Ella set the tables with plates and bowls and forks and knives. Madeline hurried to help, but Julia waved her away. “Go make sure Henry’s not up to any trouble.” Henry, of course, was already drinking beer with Scarlet and Laura, giggling as they played cards on the side porch.
Henry tugged Madeline’s hand until she sat on his lap and helped him with his hand. “That’s not a hand, Henry,” she teased him. “That’s a foot. You’re beyond help!”
They sat for dinner at seven thirty. Henry and Madeline were across from Henry’s mother and stepfather and directly next to Henry’s older sister Anna and younger sister Rachel, both of whom eyed their only brother with a mix of jealousy and pride. Bernard got up to give a small speech, after which both Greta and Julia said a few words about Henry’s commitment to his craft.
“Everyone knows how much I wanted Henry to give up on the LA thing,” Julia said, mocking herself. “I guess I was wrong about that, huh?”
The Copperfields laughed. Henry had told Madeline all about his mother suggesting he’d never make it out West, that she’d wanted him to join the publishing world instead. “But it’s not like publishing is any easier!” Henry had said with a laugh. “But she wanted to protect me. I get that.”
Now, it seemed to Madeline that Henry might become one of the most famous of the Copperfields, far outpacing not only his mother but also Bernard, Greta, and even Quentin Copperfield—and that was saying something.
As dinner went on, Madeline found herself growing quieter and solemn. She sliced her potatoes and scraped at her fish but hardly ate anything—something she knew Greta hated, since she was very proud of her cooking, and for good reason. But Madeline’s stomach was in knots. She couldn’t help but think about Henry’s incredible future, about the leggy blondes he would date out in Los Angeles, about the Oscar he’d assuredly win, about all the accomplishments she’d have to keep tabs on from wherever it was she hid herself away.
These had been the happiest days of Madeline’s life, and now they were over.
Greta passed by to clear the plates and bent down to ask Madeline, “Honey, are you feeling all right?”
Madeline was so startled that she got up, feeling flushed. Henry’s eyes were on her.
“I just need a minute,” she said, trying to smile.
“You’ll let me know if you need anything?” Greta asked.
“Of course,” Madeline lied.
As the Copperfields continued exchanging stories and laughing, Madeline hurried back into the house and locked herself in the bathroom, telling herself not to cry. This is Henry’s big day , she reminded herself. You already got your chance, and you failed . But telling herself that only made it feel worse. The room spun. She briefly considered going upstairs, packing her bags, and getting on the next ferry. But where could she go? She didn’t have a single friend. She supposed she could call Mrs. Everett—but hadn’t she put Mrs. Everett through enough as it was? Besides, she hadn’t called or written her since she was seventeen years old. Mrs. Everett had moved on to other “geniuses,” other “prodigies.” Because there was always someone else to train, someone who was up to the task of being truly great. Madeline was probably barely a memory to her any longer.
When Madeline emerged from the bathroom, the Copperfields were even more uproarious. Henry was on his feet, a glass of champagne raised. It caught the last of the glinting sun. From where she stood in the kitchen, Madeline thought she could see Julia’s tears.
It felt strange that Madeline had ever thought she could belong to a family like that.
With a glass of water, Madeline turned back and walked toward the living room, where she found the piano, sitting in the shadows, abandoned. Her heart throbbed. It occurred to her that this was why she’d come inside. She’d wanted to be near this old beast, touch its mahogany, spread her fingers on the keys, and press down just the slightest bit. For the first time in six years. Her hope was that it would heal something in her. But probably, it would just crack her heart even more.
But she had to. It was the only thing she hadn’t tried yet.
Slowly, Madeline shifted toward the bench, pulled it out, sat down, and opened the lid of the piano. The keys glowed softly, spread out before her like a tapestry she’d always known. Tears filled her eyes. She raised her fingers and set them to the opening chords for “Claire de Lune,” a piece she’d mastered at the age of twelve that had won her and her mother five thousand dollars at a contest in Kansas. It surprised her that the chords had come to her right away. She wasn’t sure if she was brave enough to press down. But when the Copperfields’ laughter burst again toward the darkening sky, she forced herself to play—quietly, tenderly. After the first chords, the next ones rang easily, seamlessly, as though the sheet music was written on the back of her eyelids. Now, although she was rusty, she knew the music had never left her, not really. She fell into it. It was like diving into a pool and swimming around.
For seven minutes, she played with her eyes closed. She wasn’t aware of anything but her fingers, her heart, the soft air on her face. When she reached the final chords, her cheeks were wet with tears, and her heart was racing. She couldn’t believe it. Silence rang after the last note was played.
And then, applause echoed through the living room and through the hallways of the great house. Madeline was shocked. She turned to find Henry, Greta, Bernard, Julia, Ella, Laura, Scarlet, and all the other Copperfields straining to see her, their eyes enormous. She hadn’t realized they’d come in. Henry stormed up to the piano and wrapped his arms around her, whispering, “What the heck, Madeline? What was that?” But when their hug broke, Madeline forced her eyes to Greta, who looked at her like, where was that the entire time?
Madeline’s smile was one of surprise, of shock.
Bernard called out through the applause, “The girl’s a star!”
It had been a long time since Madeline heard that. “I’m not,” she assured him.
But Bernard shook his head obstinately. “Never do that.”
“Do what?” Madeline asked.
“Never dismiss your talent. It’s yours for a reason,” Bernard said. “And you have to use it. You cannot waste it. Ever.”
Next to him, Greta bowed her head and gave Madeline a look that she thought meant, Where has that been? Now, we can really get started .
Madeline had the sense that everything was about to begin. When she turned to look at Henry, the light in his eyes had dimmed the slightest bit—as though he could sense what was coming and knew it wouldn’t make their love any easier. But she loved him so desperately. She really did. She had the sense that she always would.
What did love mean in the face of ambition? She wondered now, as the Copperfields swept her back into the fold and poured her a glass of champagne. What did talent mean when you were all alone?