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Sarah deserved to hear Alana’s truths, as well.
“I guess you’ve seen the tabloids,” Alana tried.
Sarah shrugged. “You’re all over the internet.”
“Did you know about it when we met on the boardwalk?” Alana asked.
“No.” Sarah placed her fork to the side of her plate, taking a break. “I just put it together recently.”
Julia and Greta eyed Alana knowingly.Give her your truth. She trusts you. Show her that you trust her back.
“How did you um.” Sarah furrowed her brow and lifted her fork again, clearly distracted. “How did you manage to have such an insanely wonderful and exciting life? After growing up here on this boring island?”
Alana’s lips parted with surprise. Over the past weeks, all she’d done was stew in self-hatred and fear. It was remarkable to see her life from another’s perspective, especially a girl who seemed so much like Alana herself back in the old days.
“That is quite a story,” Greta chimed in.
Julia laughed. “It really is.”
“That’s a lot of pressure,” Alana joked. “But I suppose I can find a way to tell it succinctly.”
“Or you can take all the time in the world,” Greta said. “I’ve just told Sarah the importance of a traditional French meal. It’s meant to go on forever, allowing time for stories and for jokes and for laughter.”
Sarah nodded as she slid her fork into the cassoulet again, with the slightest bit of eagerness. Alana prayed that Sarah wouldn’t curse these actions later. She prayed that she would feel the strength of each bite and honor her body’s needs.
“Well, gosh.” Alana groaned inwardly. “How should I start, Julia?”
Julia’s voice was sing-song. “Once upon a time…”
“Sure. That’s one way. Once upon a time, there was a seventeen-year-old girl named Alana Copperfield. Back then, she lived in a magical castle called The Copperfield House, where artists, writers, filmmakers, and musicians from all around the world gathered to exchange ideas and work on projects.”
“A magical time,” Greta repeated.
“One day, a dashing artist by the name of Asher Tarkin entered the walls of this great kingdom,” Alana continued, laughing at herself. “He painted a portrait of Alana Copperfield and eventually whisked her away to New York City, where she began to live the life of her wildest dreams. But the man she’d fallen in love with wasn’t exactly the prince she’d imagined him to be. Over the years, he showed his cruelty and his rage. And as her life grew smaller and smaller, his seemed only to get bigger.”
Sarah’s eyes watered. “And then, he tried to sell the painting that had made him famous…”
“Which he painted right back there,” Greta added, pointing toward the residency side of the house, which was now mostly unused.
“Wow.” Sarah looked shocked.
“I’ve learned a lot from that experience,” Alana continued, wanting to impart some kind of wisdom to Sarah, even if she wasn’t fully sure what she’d taken from the experience herself. “But one thing I can definitely say is this. Over the years, my life was exactly what Asher wanted it to be. When I asked if we could have children, he said it wasn’t the right time for his career. When I thought about moving to Los Angeles to pursue acting, he suggested that we move to Beijing instead. We had more money and more fame than most people have in an entire lifetime. But still, I was miserable. And I don’t think I really knew how miserable I was until I saw my painting on display in that gallery a few weeks ago in Paris. I felt like a laughingstock, like the whole rest of the world knew, now, that I’d been nothing to my husband over the years than a pretty trophy. And now, he wanted to throw that trophy away.”
Silence hung heavy over the table. Alana gasped inwardly, terrified that she’d let so many of her emotions fly out of her.
Julia splayed a hand over Alana’s, there on the table between their plates. “You are nobody’s trophy, Alana.”
Tears dropped from the corners of Alana’s eyes. She tapped them with the corner of her napkin, overwhelmed.
“I’m so sorry, Sarah,” Alana murmured, mostly to her napkin. “I didn’t mean to put on such a show.”
But when she placed her napkin back on the table, she lifted her eyes toward Sarah, whose cheeks were blotchy from tears of her own.
“Just never let any man make decisions for you,” Alana said softly. “Promise me that you’ll think of your life as yours and no one else’s. Okay?”
Sarah nodded. After a pregnant silence, she whispered, “I promise.”
