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ChapterFifteen
It was miraculous how quickly the world moved on without Alana Tarkin. By June 10th, the gossip columnists and TV tabloid journalists had moved on to fresher stories, leaving big yellow stains in the front yard where their set-ups had been. Wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top, Alana Copperfield raced through the front yard and jumped around joyously, like the cheerleader she’d once been. From the front porch, Julia waved from behind the enormous manuscript of their father’s book. Life was moving forward.
Alana spent the afternoon in the sun, wearing her tank top and a pair of flip-flops she’d found in the back of her teenage closet. At three, she headed out to get the mail and leafed through it, eyeing bills that read BERNARD and GRETA, her heart flipping over with love for them. Yes, she was a forty-four-year-old washed-up actress and model. But she felt freer than she had in years. That was something.
“Hey.” A voice rang out from the street. Alana lifted her eyes to find Sarah before her, wearing a similar tank top, short shorts, and flip-flop combo. Her legs were thin as ever, and she wore Audrey Hepburn-style sunglasses. Beside her were three other teenage girls, two of whom were quite skinny as well, although not as worryingly so.
“Hi, Sarah!” Alana’s grin felt childish. She felt like she’d just run into some girls from her own high school, ones she wanted to impress. “What are you girls up to?”
Sarah gestured lazily to the girls around her. “This is Evie, Harlow, and Nora.”
“Hi, Evie, Harlow, and Nora. I’m Alana.”
“Hi Alana,” they said in singsong voices.
The girls assessed her in the way only teenage girls could. Probably, they judged her flip-flops. Alana thumbed through the mail nervously.
“I told them about the meal your mom cooked us the other day,” Sarah added timidly.
Alana was surprised that Sarah had confessed to eating so much. “Wow.”
“We’ve never had French food before,” Evie said, drawing a strand of her bright red hair around her ear.
“You’re missing out,” Sarah affirmed.
Alana cast her eyes toward The Copperfield House. The glorious Victorian was illuminated with the June sunlight. Back in the old days, the house had been so vibrant and alive, filled with countless artists streaming in and out of the place and eating Greta’s delicious food.
Sarah had obviously dragged her friends this way, hoping to catch sight of Alana. The thought rang through Alana like a bell. Perhaps she wanted the food or the conversation or just the proximity to Alana, who’d lived, in Sarah’s eyes, “a big life.” Regardless of the true reason, Alana was just grateful to know the girl was all right, that she wanted nourishment. That she wanted to keep living.
“Well, I can see what my mother’s cooking tonight if the four of you are interested?” Alana tried.
Alana stepped into the coolness of the house and found her mother in the downstairs study, writing in a journal. Alana explained the situation outside, which made Greta flip off her glasses excitedly.
“Why didn’t you invite them inside immediately?” Greta demanded.
From the doorway, Alana beckoned the four teenagers in. They walked single file, like a colony of ants, directly into the shadow of The Copperfield House. Alana was reminded of herself and her two sisters, those long-ago days when they’d piled into the house much like that.
Greta greeted the four of them warmly, saying their names with careful precision. “Sarah. Harlow. Nora. And Evie. Welcome to The Copperfield House.”
Julia came downstairs to find a particularly funny scene: four teenage girls chopping vegetables, browning duck, and listening to Greta’s favorite albums on her Bluetooth speaker. In the corner, Alana shrugged toward Julia and mouthed, “Greta has found her purpose again.”
As Greta showed the girls how to make Duck à l’Orange, her favorite dish, the girls found time to ask Alana what they could about her life of “exclusive parties” and celebrities. As island girls, they were fascinated with anything that wasn’t frigid Nantucket winters and blissful tourist-filled summers. They wanted images of a different life.
“And weren’t you an actress for a while?” Harlow asked, her jet-black hair catching the soft evening light as she chopped vegetables.
Alana blushed. “A little while. I did a few plays, some commercials.”
“She was the star at the Nantucket High School musical her senior year,” Julia interjected.
Alana cast her a dark look. “That was before I really knew what I was doing.”
“Oh, you were a star that weekend,” Greta affirmed. “Your father and I were ridiculously proud. Couldn’t get enough of it. We went to every single performance.”
“Oh, we were in the musical last year,” Harlow said, gesturing toward Nora. “Evie and Sarah refused to go out for it.”
Sarah shrugged, although Alana could guess why she hadn’t gone out for it.How could she control her eating habits if she had so many responsibilities?
The smells of browning meat and sizzling vegetables wafted through the large house. The sounds of laughter, too, spilled throughout the rooms. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise, then, that Bernard Copperfield eventually poked his head into the kitchen, curious.
