Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
C atherine pulled her car into the belly of the ferry that night at seven, cut the engine, and got out to stretch her legs on the top deck. It had felt like a terribly long drive from Manhattan. Her mind was crowded with fears and questions about Felicity Fellini, as well as Gionnocaro Fellini—both of them—and her grandma Gwen. It had been difficult to keep her mind on the road, her hands at ten and two. Her heart was elsewhere.
She was forty-eight years old. And it was increasingly clear that she knew less about the world now than ever—if only because she was aware of just how diverse and strange the world really was.
Catherine leaned against the ferry railing and watched the island come closer on the dark horizon. Quentin was in Martha’s Vineyard, tending to another documentary project, and said he wouldn’t be back till later. But Catherine wanted to make a pit stop at The Copperfield House anyway. She’d learned via the Copperfield group chat that most of the family was over for dinner. Catherine wanted to slip into the Copperfield family’s boisterous laughter and funny stories; she wanted to eat divine food, drink a glass of wine with Greta, and forget the pains of the day.
That was when she realized Scarlet had texted her earlier today. Catherine was so out of her mind that things like that were slipping through the cracks.
CATHERINE: I’m back now!
CATHERINE: Are you coming to The Copperfield House for dinner?
But Scarlet didn’t answer right away. And soon, it was time for Catherine to return to her vehicle.
Catherine drove immediately to The Copperfield House, parked on the road, and got out. A few of the Copperfield grandchildren raced across the sands. Alana and Julia wore cutoffs and flipped through magazines on the steps of the back porch.
Ivy was in the middle of them, coming closer, kicking her feet through the sand. Catherine’s heart thudded. Here she was: her beautiful middle child, who would return to New York University soon. Catherine had missed too much of her time at home. She cursed herself and promised herself she’d go to the city often to make it up to Ivy—and herself.
You blink, and your children are grown.
Catherine hurried to scoop Ivy into a hug. Ivy offered a soft smile.
“How was the city?” Ivy asked, peeling herself from her mother.
“It was interesting,” Catherine answered.
Ivy didn’t ask any additional questions. She flipped her hair and turned her head.
Catherine’s stomach felt like it was eating herself. She’d find a way to talk to Ivy as soon as she grabbed a snack.
Catherine led Ivy inside to find Greta at the kitchen stove as always. Ivy grabbed a glass of water and returned to the beach, where she slung herself across a towel and read a novel. Okay, I’ll talk to her later, Catherine decided as she nibbled on a piece of cheese.
“Is Ivy doing all right?” Catherine asked.
“She’s seemed particularly thoughtful lately,” Greta answered as she unfurled a carrot from its skin. “I’m sure it’s just about school. I was always worried about school at her age. I was always worried I wouldn’t get to where I wanted to be.”
“You were the most driven woman at the Sorbonne,” Ella said as she entered with a platter of fresh bread.
“She was the most driven person at the Sorbonne,” Bernard said, entering the kitchen briefly to give Greta a kiss on the cheek. “Gender had nothing to do with it.” Bernard took a slice of gouda and winked at Catherine, then said, “How was the city?”
Catherine smiled. “Messy.”
Greta laughed knowingly. “It always is.”
“My wife tells me you’re up to your elbows in stories,” Bernard said. “I hope you’ll regale us with a few when we sit down for dinner.”
“You know how she is,” Greta reminded him. “She’s just like our son. She keeps it all locked away until it’s ready.”
Catherine’s heart swelled with the sudden desire to see Quentin as soon as possible. She couldn’t wait till he got home tonight. She couldn’t wait to cuddle him close.
“But it has to do with your grandfather, correct?” Bernard pushed it.
“It did,” Catherine said.
“Past tense!” Bernard raised his eyebrows.
“Like I said. Things got messy,” Catherine said.
They sat for dinner at eight thirty. Catherine sat between her children James and Ivy and across from her sister-in-law Julia. She heaped butter chicken on her plate and listened to James’s stories from a pickup baseball game that afternoon. The animation in his eyes made it difficult to believe he’d spent the majority of his life in the city rather than wild and free on an island.
Midway through dinner, Ivy scooted her chair back. She’d been very quiet, only saying please and thank you as the food was passed around. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes.
Catherine was suddenly terrified that Ivy wasn’t eating enough. It had happened to Alana’s stepdaughter, Sarah. Why not Ivy, too?
Ivy twisted to look at Catherine. “May I be excused?”
Catherine was caught off guard. Ivy’s voice was sweet and sincere; her plate was clean. It might have been any other normal night. But something about this gave Catherine pause.
“Where are you off to?” Catherine asked.
“I’m meeting some friends,” Ivy said.
Catherine’s stomach thundered. “Which friends?”
“Just some island friends. You don’t know them,” Ivy told her.
Catherine wiped her mouth with a linen napkin. She reminded herself, Ivy goes to college. She’s accustomed to doing what she wants.
“Okay. Let me know if you need someone to pick you up later,” she said.
“Yeah. Cool.” Ivy went around the table to kiss Greta and give Bernard a high-five. “Have a good night, guys!”
With that, Ivy rushed out into the night, disappearing on the other side of the house. Next came the sound of the engine of her car.
Never should have gotten her a car, Catherine thought glumly.
After dinner, Catherine washed dishes in the kitchen while Alana and Julia dried and put them away. Greta was at the kitchen table with a glass of Malbec. Catherine’s mind was still heavy with thoughts of Ivy. Finally, she turned and looked Greta in the eye.
“Have any of you seen Ivy’s boyfriend?”
Greta smiled and set down her glass. “I haven’t seen him, no. But I heard he's handsome.”
“Who said that?” Alana asked.
“One of the girls was saying so. Was it Laura?” Greta furrowed her brow.
Catherine scrubbed another plate. “I hope she doesn’t want to go long distance with him after she returns to school.”
“Why not?” Greta asked. “Long distance is romantic.”
How could Catherine answer? Because Ivy needs to be focused on school. She can’t throw herself totally into her romantic relationship. She can’t get lost in it before she even knows who she is.
The front door screamed open, and Scarlet appeared in the kitchen a moment later. She looked glum and tired. Greta wrapped her in a hug, and Catherine dried her hands and did the same.
“Where were you?” Greta demanded. “Oh, but don’t worry. We have plenty of leftovers.” She returned to the kitchen table, then added, “Where’s your friend?”
“He’s back home,” Scarlet said. “Too tired to come out.”
But there was a flicker of something in Scarlet’s eyes when she said that. Catherine had the sudden and inexplicable hunch that Scarlet was lying about something.
But what would she lie about? About the guy?
“We were just talking about Ivy’s boyfriend,” Catherine said. “He’s such a mystery.”
Scarlet nodded as she piled a plate with butter chicken and put it in the microwave. “She really likes him.”
“Have you met him?” Greta asked.
“Nope.” Scarlet looked downtrodden. She sat across from her grandmother.
What’s going on? Catherine wondered.
Suddenly, she wanted to draw Scarlet deeper into her world. She wanted to tell her everything she’d learned about Gionnocaro the first and second; everything Dee had said at the nursing home; everything she suspected of Felicity Fellini.
But she also didn’t want to frighten Scarlet. Whatever these people were up to, it wasn’t kind or nice or good. She wanted to protect her.
Not long after she ate, Scarlet left The Copperfield House, promising she’d be back soon. Catherine packed up, too, and drove James back home. He fell asleep in the passenger seat even though the drive was only ten minutes long. Catherine’s heart swelled.
Quentin got home just a few minutes after they did. Catherine leaped on him joyfully and covered him with kisses. He was boisterous with stories, and Catherine was allowed to forget her own for a little while. They went into the bedroom and lay down, holding hands. Catherine wondered if Quentin would want to do a documentary about the Fellini girl and whatever happened to her. Maybe he’d want to do a documentary about Gionnocaro Fellini—the first and second.
Maybe they could even work together for the first time in years.
Catherine and Quentin fell asleep a little past midnight. Catherine waded through dreams and nightmares, tossing and turning.
But when the gray light of the morning streamed through the bedroom window, Catherine was up and ready for her run.
She raced downstairs, stretching out her legs and arms. She drank water and peered out at the thrashing water, proof that the weather had turned sometime last night.
Then, without thinking about it, Catherine went to the garage to make sure Ivy’s car was there.
She opened the door and stood in the doorway, staring at where Ivy’s car was always parked—between James’s and Quentin’s. Her heart slowed to a stop. Her knees clacked together.
Maybe she parked out front?
Catherine shot through the garage and peered down the road from left to right. Raindrops splattered her face. “Ivy?” she called, although she knew that was foolish of her. “Ivy?” she tried again.
Catherine’s hands shook. She called Ivy’s number, but it went immediately to voicemail. Catherine called three more times before she bucked up the stairs to wake up Quentin.
She hasn’t called. She hasn’t texted. Something must have happened. Something the police don’t know about yet.
Was this one of those terrible moments in life parents dread?
Was it happening to her?
Just before she reached the bedroom door, her phone lit up with a text from Ivy. Catherine exhaled all the air from her lungs.
IVY: Don’t freak out. I’m okay.
IVY: But I’m not going back to college this year.
IVY: And I’m not coming home.
IVY: Don’t try to find me.