Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
An hour before the Christmas party, Ella and Laura were upstairs at the Copperfield House, fixing their lipstick and hair and decompressing after a long afternoon of setting up.
Greta had been merciless until she’d found perfection.
From downstairs came the sound of Christmas music, playing cheerily from the big speakers that Greta had bought especially for the party.
“Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas” was on now.
Laura crashed onto the guest bed, the same bed that had been Ella’s as a teenager, and closed her eyes.
In her dark red velvet dress—her belly still flat despite the pregnancy—she looked sleek and young and sophisticated.
Ella sat at the edge of the bed and cupped her daughter’s ankle.
She knew how emotionally devastating the past few months had been for Laura.
She hoped that this tender time on Nantucket had been healing.
There had been numerous movie nights, and countless dinners with Ella and Will and the grandparents and the cousins.
Throughout, Ella had watched her daughter like a hawk, praying she was all right.
But was anyone “all right” while they were pregnant? It was so overwhelming.
“Mom, I need to tell you,” Laura croaked, her eyes still closed. “Vinny reached out.”
Ella’s heart seized. “When did this happen?”
“Last night.” Laura’s voice was soft, demure. “He says he misses me. He says he wants to reconnect.”
Ella ached with worry. What if Vinny steals Laura and the baby away?
“What do you want?” Ella asked. And then, before Laura could answer, she asked, “Did you tell him about the baby?”
“I haven’t responded yet,” Laura admitted. “But I’m having second thoughts about keeping the baby a secret. I think he deserves to know.”
Ella bowed her head. “Bringing a baby into the world is an enormous thing.”
“That’s the understatement of the century.” Laura laughed and sat up, scooting over to put her head on Ella’s shoulder. “I don’t want him to change his life for the baby and me. I don’t want him to not chase his dreams just because of all of this.”
“But what about your dreams?” Ella asked. “What about grad school?”
“The thing about being pregnant,” Laura continued, “is that I feel all my priorities stacking up. I’m letting so many things fall away, things that never mattered to me.
I think I’ve learned more about philosophy as a pregnant woman than I ever did from the pages of a book.
It makes me think that most philosophers should have been women.
We have the secret to life. The old philosophizing men can only talk and write and talk and circle the idea of life.
They don’t know anything about it. Not like we do. ”
Ella’s stomach tightened with intrigue. What had made her children so brilliant? Before she could answer, though, the door swung open, and in came Danny, her other bright light in the world.
“I think the first guests are here,” Danny said, tugging at his itchy sweater, the one his grandmother had asked him to wear. “Grandma wants everyone downstairs.”
“They’re early!” Laura said. But she popped up swiftly and followed her brother to the staircase. “Let’s face the music.”
Ella lagged behind, watching her children whisper secrets to one another and laugh.
As she padded down the steps, she inhaled the delicious smells of cinnamon and nutmeg and allspice and orange.
Greta had spent countless hours baking and cooking and preparing.
Eventually, because she’d decided they were insufficient, she’d fired the caterers and told everyone she wanted to do everything herself.
When the party was over, Ella knew Greta would charge directly into preparations for their Copperfield family Christmas.
She had more energy than anyone Ella knew.
Downstairs by the Christmas tree, Stevie stood in an emerald dress, her dark blond hair in a dramatic wave down her back. Ella hadn’t seen her since their rehearsal yesterday afternoon, during which Stevie had acted strangely and asked Ella, “What do you remember about my daughter’s father?”
Ella had shrugged, diving through her foggy memories, and said, “That wealthy guy who always came around the burger place? That was him. Wasn’t it?
” But Ella couldn’t remember the guy’s name.
Stevie had left New York City when they were twenty years old—long before so much of Ella’s Manhattan life had even happened, before their band had taken off.
Ella questioned if Stevie regretted never telling him about her baby, about the life they could have had together. She wondered where he was now.
Now, Stevie wrapped her arms around Ella and whispered into her ear, “Will says that guy is coming to the party. Grayson Harris?”
Ella laughed and glanced across the room to find Will and Quentin, sipping mulled wine and watching out the window as the first guests milled through the snow. She was surprised that Stevie had brought up Grayson. Maybe she wanted to poke fun of him.
“Yes. Will invited one of the wealthiest men of our time to the party,” she said. “I doubt he’ll show up.”
Stevie’s eyes flickered strangely. Again, Ella felt as though she were hiding something.
Maybe because of everything Stevie had been through with her daughter, or perhaps just to change the subject, Ella told Stevie that Laura’s ex-boyfriend had reached out. “She’s thinking about telling him about the baby.” Ella swallowed. “What do you think she should do?”
Stevie laughed nervously. Scarlet passed by with several glasses of wine, and Stevie took one. The glass shook because her hand was shaking so badly. “I don’t think I’m someone capable of giving good advice. I’ve made so many mistakes.”
The door opened to bring in the first guests: Esme and Victor Sutton, a couple in their seventies who’d recently gotten back together after tragedy and many years apart.
Ella hadn’t seen them together since she was a girl.
But as they entered, they held hands and laughed with Greta and Bernard, as though the four of them had always been on Nantucket.
As though nothing bad had ever happened. As though it were always Christmastime.
The Christmas songs changed from “Jingle Bell Rock” to “Blue Christmas” to “Silver Bells.” Stevie and Ella stood by the Christmas tree, watching as the first few guests came in, carrying bottles of wine and dotting kisses on Greta’s cheek.
Greta looked gorgeous. She looked like she was about to levitate off the floor.
And then, Will appeared before Ella, his smile enormous. “Grayson’s here!”
Ella let out an ironic laugh. “You’re kidding.”
But Will was not. He led Ella to the big picture window so she could see the handsome Grayson Ellis walking up the driveway next to a young woman who had to be his daughter, Camille.
Like all of them, Ella had learned that Grayson was having troubles with his twentysomething daughter.
He’d brought her back to Manhattan to keep a close watch on her.
Even the wealthy had problems, she knew.
“I can’t believe it,” Ella said. She glanced around to catch Stevie’s eye, hoping to share a private laugh with her about Will’s new and unlikely friendship.
But Stevie was no longer standing by the Christmas tree.
Maybe she’d ducked into the kitchen for a fresh glass of wine.
Maybe Greta had stolen her and demanded help for one party disaster or another.
Regardless, Will tugged Ella toward the front door, where she found herself shaking hands with Grayson and Camille Harris for the first time.
“Merry Christmas!” Grayson said, handing over a bottle of sensationally expensive French wine.
Greta swooped over to take the bottle and coo, “I haven’t had a glass of this since 1971!”
“It’s certainly aged since then.” Grayson winked.
Camille was French and very cool and quiet, far skinnier than she needed to be, dressed in a chic black jumpsuit with glitter in the threads.
“This is a charming house,” she told Greta. “Victorian, no?”
Greta immediately caught Camille’s French accent and swapped languages, leaving everyone around them out.
Greta’s eyes flashed with excitement. Ella guessed she hadn’t expected a real French person at her Christmas party.
Greta was already leading Camille to the kitchen, presumably to get her to taste test a few of Greta’s divine French recipes before she served them to the public.
Camille laughed happily, charmed by Greta. But who wasn’t?
“I haven’t seen her so happy in a long time,” Grayson confessed to Ella and Will of his daughter, his eyes tracing her path to the kitchen.
“She’s taking to the move well?” Will asked.
Grayson rubbed his palms together. “It’s still too early to say. But she’s seemed at ease since we arrived. And when I asked her about the Christmas party, she leaped at the chance. She wants to see more of America. She calls it ‘discovering her roots.’”
As Grayson and Will laughed, there was something about Grayson’s face, something about his smile that triggered a memory. But try as she might, Ella couldn’t figure out what that memory was.
“I’m sorry to ask you this,” she said finally, interrupting his and Will’s conversation, “but have we met before?”
Grayson grew momentarily solemn. “We did, yes. I went to a lot of your concerts back in the late ’90s and early 2000s.
I spent some time in Manhattan back then.
It was my plan to live there forever, but life got in the way, and I had to go back to France.
” He gestured vaguely toward the kitchen, indicating that his daughter had been the reason for his return to Paris.
“But you could say I was a huge fan,” Grayson went on dreamily. “I went to a lot of your shows by myself. I stood in the audience and pretended to be a musician myself. I could barely sing a tune, and I was terrible at every instrument I tried.”
Will clapped his shoulder and said it was time to get him a drink. “My father-in-law has some sensational whiskey,” he said, guiding him toward the back of the room.
Ella watched Grayson disappear through the crowd, her heart thudding. She couldn’t figure out why or how, but she was sure she knew him better than “just seeing him around in the music scene.” It was all so long ago. But she suddenly felt uneasy, as though something bad was about to happen.
Searching for Stevie, Ella went past the Christmas tree and into the kitchen, where Alana, Julia, Catherine, Scarlet, and Anna stood in a circle, eating Christmas cookies and chatting.
It seemed there was no end to Copperfield gossip and conversation.
Ella asked them if they’d seen Stevie, and Scarlet said, “I think I saw her heading back to the residency? But I’m not sure. ”
“I might go over there, too,” Catherine said. “This is overwhelming!”
Ella thanked them and left the kitchen, hurrying to the long hall that separated the residency side of the house from the family’s.
When she entered, all she heard were gusts of wind against the house, gusts so strong that they seemed to threaten the foundation.
At first, she went to Stevie’s room, then cursed herself for her silliness.
Obviously, Stevie was in the practice room downstairs. She wouldn’t be anywhere else.
When Ella opened the practice room, she found Stevie hunched over the table, scribbling lyrics on an old notepad, her hand shaking, tears staining her cheeks. Stevie froze and burst up to see Ella, then quickly wiped her cheeks.
“Sorry,” she said. “I was suddenly so inspired. I had to come, um. Write everything down.”
Ella frowned and hurried over to hug her friend. Into her shoulder, Stevie breathed, “I’m going to stay down here until we perform. Is that all right?”
“You can do whatever you want!” Ella said. She pulled back and looked Stevie intently in the eyes. “Are you sure you want to go on at all? It’s just a silly performance for my mother and her friends. There are no stakes. I promise.”
Stevie stiffened her jaw. “I want to. It means everything.”
Ella couldn’t fathom what she meant.