Chapter 17
Greta’s agent, Cynthia, called her on the morning of the Fourth of July. “I’m sorry to bother you like this,” Cynthia began without saying hello, “but I just received an exciting email, and I wanted to let you know about it right away.”
Greta was in her robe in the kitchen of The Copperfield House with a mug of coffee. Out along the beach were Catherine and Quentin, walking hand-in-hand as the water burst up along the sands. Catherine’s hair whipped out around her, newly grown and vibrant after her battle with cancer. Greta’s heart swelled. She knew they were on their way here for a Fourth of July breakfast followed by a barbecue and non-stop action till the exhilarating finish once night fell. And that was just the beginning. Fourth of July fell on a Thursday this year, which meant that the island would ramp up for an entire weekend of festivities. Greta couldn’t wait.
“Are you there, Greta?” Cynthia asked.
“Sorry. I’m not quite awake yet,” Greta offered with a laugh. “What’s up?”
“I chatted to someone in Hollywood about your new manuscript,” Cynthia said. “There’s a possibility that they want to option it and make it into a film.”
Greta narrowed her eyes with shock. Rather than leap up and down with excitement, her heart slowed. “My manuscript? You mean the one I’ve hardly started? The one about Celeste?”
“Yes. Like I told you already, there’s a huge market interested in your life while you lived in The Copperfield House alone,” Cynthia went on. “You know how it is. Some people think you got up to your own mischief in there. I read rumors online that suggested you were practicing witchcraft!”
Greta snorted and filled her mouth with coffee. What would people think of next?
“I’m only just getting a handle on the story itself,” Greta said finally. “I can’t fathom how this could be a movie. It’s going to be extremely poetic and introspective.”
“Greta, are you trying to kill me?”
Greta snorted with surprised laughter. “I’m sorry?”
“These people want to throw money at you! At us! And you want to turn them away?”
“There are more important things than money,” Greta offered with a soft smile. “My story and Celeste’s story are priceless. And I don’t want to change them on the surface of some faceless production studio. Do you?”
Cynthia grumbled. “I don’t know?”
Greta rolled her eyes and laughed again.
“If you were younger, you would say yes,” Cynthia offered. “You would say it in a heartbeat.”
“You can always replace me with a younger client, you know,” Greta said.
Cynthia sighed. “But I actually love you, Greta. You know I’m your number one fan.”
“I appreciate that. I do. But I also can’t accept this. I’m sorry.” Greta set down her mug as Quentin and Catherine entered the front door without knocking. “I have to run. Happy Fourth of July, Cynthia. Put this out of your mind. It just isn’t happening, okay?”
“Fine,” Cynthia groaned. “Love you.”
“Love you back.”
Greta swarmed Catherina and Quentin, hugging them and asking how their walk was filled with mugs of coffee and pressing them into their hands.
“We’re early!” Catherine said when she saw what Greta was wearing.
“You’re not. I got a slow start to the day,” Greta said. She wouldn’t share the reason for it; she wouldn’t tell her adult son and his adult wife that she and her husband Bernard had spent the morning in bed together. But she hoped that when Quentin and Catherine were older, they wouldn’t give up on each other the way some couples did. She hoped they found love in all its forms down the line.
Greta hurried upstairs to find Bernard coming out of the shower and toweling his wild gray and black hair. She kissed him and said, “Quentin and Catherine are already here!” as Bernard stepped into a pair of boxers and snapped them at his waist. “I have to start on breakfast,” Greta went on as she hurriedly dressed in a red dress and pulled her hair tie out of her long and lustrous hair. Bernard came up behind her and kissed her shoulder, making eye contact with her in the mirror. Something stirred in Greta’s chest, and she considered falling back in bed with him and avoiding the world. But it was the Fourth of July—and their entire family was coming over! It was a dream.
“Cynthia just called,” Greta informed him evenly as she put on makeup. “She says they want to make my book a film.”
Bernard snorted. “The one that isn’t written yet?”
“The very one. I told her it wasn’t for sale. It’s one thing to have total control over Celeste and my story on the page; it’s another to hand it over to a television studio.”
“Thatta girl.”
Downstairs, several more Copperfields had gathered. Scarlet and Ivy carried two trays of cheddar biscuits that they’d baked at home, and Ella and Will were stationed at the kitchen table with big mugs of coffee. Danny and Laura put Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” on the record player and clapped to get everyone excited for the day ahead. Greta breezed past them and kissed them as she made her way to the stove to make heaps of eggs and bacon. As she worked more and more, Copperfield’s arrived, and Danny and Laura repeated “Born in the USA” endlessly until Quentin ordered them in an authoritative voice to play “anything else in the world.” When they changed it to “Come on, Eileen,” Quentin cried with pain and went onto the porch. Everyone in the kitchen cackled.
“He’s always hated that song,” Alana said as she carried a big plate of crispy bacon from the kitchen to the back porch table. “I used to torment him with it in high school.”
“Yeah, how did you know that?” Ella called to her children in the next room. “How did you know Uncle Quentin hated that song so much?”
“Lucky guess!” Laura called back.
“Everyone hates that song!” Danny said.
“I don’t,” Julia said as she crunched a carrot and looked out the window. “I always listen to it when I need to pep myself up between writing and editing sessions.”
Alana returned and giggled. “I can just picture you in your office, listening to ‘Come on, Eileen’ on repeat with big, manic eyes.”
Julia swatted her and smiled. Greta watched her three daughters from her typical stance at the stovetop and felt a wave of emotion choke her up. It occurred to her that she had maybe ten or fifteen years left of this sort of gorgeous dynamic. Maybe twenty, if she was lucky. There was no telling how many years anybody had left. You had to put yourself at the mercy of time.
Alana leaned against the counter and held her coffee mug with both hands. Greta remembered how tenderly Alana had cared for her in New York. Without her, she wouldn’t have gotten through that day. Her heart still felt cracked at the edges. But it would heal. It had to.
Greta wondered if Alana had told Jeremy anything about her audition yet. She wondered if Alana would share how that had gone or if she would keep it to herself to protect her relationship. Greta respected both options.
And then, Alana offered up the situation on a platter for her sisters. “I auditioned for an off-Broadway play this week.”
Ella’s jaw dropped. “What! You didn’t!”
Julia swatted her on the shoulder. “How did it go?”
“Horribly,” Alana said. Her eyes glinted with embarrassment. Greta wished she could wipe it away. “The director basically told me I got the part and then ripped it out from under me. I’m pretty sure he was trying to date me in a roundabout way by manipulating me. Or maybe he just wanted control. I don’t know.”
Ella’s mouth hung open wider. “That’s so typical of the music business. I was always with Will, but people were always trying to do that to me. Manipulate me. Tell me that my career would be so much better if I just went back to their hotel room with them. Disgusting.”
“It takes such a strong stomach to be in the music and acting businesses,” Julia offered.
Alana sighed and made eye contact with Greta. Greta offered her kindest smile.
“I’ve been trying to get up the energy to explain to Jeremy what happened,” Alana said.
“What do you mean?” Ella asked.
“I didn’t tell him about the audition in the first place,” Alana said. “It feels like a betrayal.”
“But you didn’t know that guy was going to be such a dirtbag,” Julia said.
Alana raised her shoulders. “True. But I got carried away with my own dreams. And I didn’t include Jeremy in them. It’s like high school all over again. And we’re just a few weeks from the wedding!”
“He’ll understand,” Ella assured her with a wave of her hand. “Jeremy loves you no matter what.”
Alana’s chin quivered. “I hope you’re right.”
Suddenly, Sarah bounded into the kitchen with Jeremy hot on her heels. Greta hadn’t known Sarah was joining them. “You got out of rehearsals?” Greta cried as she collected the girl in a hug.
“We don’t have any all weekend,” Sarah said. Her hug was extra tight. It felt as though the city had made her stronger.
Greta still ached with the memory of when Sarah had been skin and bones. She watched as Alana kissed Jeremy with her eyes closed and asked, “How was your night in the city?”
“I don’t think we got up to as much as you guys normally do,” Jeremy said with a laugh. “But Sarah showed me her favorite burger place, and I have to admit it’s almost as good as our place here in Nantucket. Almost.”
“Come on! It’s way better,” Sarah said.
“No. Just almost better,” Jeremy teased.
That Fourth of July was one for the ages. Every single Copperfield and close Copperfield relative came over to eat breakfast, walk along the beach, and fly kites in the sterling blue sky above. By noon, the barbecue was smoking, and by one-thirty, everyone was eating hot dogs and hamburgers and inhaling chips and pretzels and Cheez-Its. Greta made margaritas for herself and the girls, and the boys stuck to beer and swapped funny stories and laughed. Eventually, everyone put on swimsuits and ran out into the Nantucket Sound. Their bodies were glistening beneath the sun.
For dinner, they feasted on barbecue chicken and grilled vegetables, then made s’mores around the bonfire as the light died overhead. A smattering of stars came next, followed by explosion after explosion of an iconic array of fireworks. They came from near the lighthouse and a few larger ships offshore. It was like the light was coming from all directions. Greta placed her head on Bernard’s chest and listened to her family “ohh” and “aww” over the display. Jeremy and Alana were cozied up together on a blanket on the beach with their arms around one another. Sarah was over with the other teenagers and twenty-somethings, all of whom had probably eaten them out of house and home today and planned to go back for thirds when the fireworks were through.
For whatever reason, Greta thought back to the Fourth of Julys that she and Celeste had spent together. They’d sat out on the back porch with glasses of white wine and remained quiet as the fireworks exploded overhead. It often felt as though they were the only two people in the world, as though it was just them on a rock floating through outer space. But the truth was there were billions of people out there. And the fireworks were proof of that. It was difficult to know if they would join them one day or if they would remain at The Copperfield House forever.