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Alana and Julia nodded knowingly. After a long pause, Julia insisted, “Just because you aren’t making music with Will…”
“I know. I’ll find a way to make music for myself again,” Ella breathed as her eyes watched the swirling wine in her glass. “But right now, as I pick up the pieces of my broken life, I don’t feel even a glimmer of creativity. I feel washed up and tired. And that’s the scariest feeling of all, you know? Because I worry that I won’t be able to find the music within myself again.”
Both Julia and Alana’s eyes were consoling, even if Ella felt they couldn’t fully understand.
But before Ella or Julia figured out quite what to say to fill the silence, Alana switched the song to Shania’s 1995 hit, “Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?” Suddenly, overwhelmed with a mix of emotion and vitality, Ella, Julia, and Alana sang along to the lyrics, dancing gently as Shania swung her southern voice through the playful yet heartbreaking song.
“Ella! You know all the lyrics!” Alana howled.
“Yeah! Because you literally played it one thousand times in the year 1995!” Ella cried.
Alana and Julia tossed their heads back, shaking with laughter. Ella couldn’t help but feel, for the briefest of moments, that perhaps everything would be all right. And maybe Alana was right in that sometimes, music didn’t have to be so serious. Sometimes, it was all about opening yourself up to the varied experience of being alive.
ChapterEight
On the morning of Danny’s first day of senior year at Nantucket High, Ella’s jitters led her to the kitchen table by five-thirty. She sat with a glass of water and a cracker and stared at the waves as they rolled onto the beach, gradually morphing from blacks to soft grays to blues as the light shimmered into the brand-new day. Since they’d packed their bags and “officially” moved into The Copperfield House, Danny had hardly glanced her way. He would make her pay for this decision in the classic “teenage” style: ignoring her. It was the last nail in the coffin of her broken heart.
Ella had decided she would wake Danny up by seven for the eight o’clock start time. Back in Brooklyn, Danny had always been the last to wake up, usually dragging his feet until the very last second, at which point he sprinted out the door like an Olympian. When Ella and Will had asked Laura, “Why is it so easy for you and so hard for him?” Laura had simply said, “I think boys’ brains take longer to develop.”
This had been a “good” day in Will and Ella’s relationship. After Laura’s comment, she’d whisked out the door and left Ella and Will to laugh at Laura’s “shade,” which was another word that their children had taught them. “Laura just basically said ‘girls rule and boys drool,’” Ella had said to Will. “What about that?” To this, Will had said, “I don’t have enough brain power to handle both you and a teenage girl. I’m going back to bed.”
Ella poured coffee grounds into a filter, added water, and watched as the black liquid strung into the glass pot. Immediately, the soul-warming smell of morning coffee filled the kitchen. Upstairs, footfalls came across the hallway. It was difficult to tell who they belonged to, especially given that there were now six people living in The Copperfield House. Six! That was the original number back in the old days. Outside, a bird squawked with foreboding, as though the first day of school was cause for him to lean into the coming autumn.
“Hey, Mom.” Danny appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. He wore a flannel button-down and a pair of nice jeans. He’d showered and wore a hint of cologne. The kind Will had picked out for Danny last Christmas.
The clock on the wall still read six-forty-seven in the morning.
“Danny!” Ella sounded too excited. This was the first time Danny had decided to treat her like a person in many days. “You look really good.”
Danny palmed the back of his neck and sat at the kitchen table. The coffee maker continued to gurgle. “I have a meeting with my advisor this morning at seven-thirty,” he explained.
In all the chaos of her mind, Ella had forgotten that email several days back, explaining the process of Danny’s first day of school. That morning, he would meet with an advisor and select the classes that he felt best aligned with his previous three years of high school and set him up well for college. As far as Ella knew, Danny didn’t know what he wanted to do in college— but that was pretty standard amongst seventeen-year-olds. Right?
“Do you have an idea of how you want this year to go?” Ella asked timidly, continuing to stare at the coffee.
“Not really. I mean, I wasn’t that bad at Algebra and Geometry. Biology and Chemistry were fun. Maybe I want to go in that direction?” Danny sounded confident and open to anything. Perhaps he’d come to the conclusion that he couldn’t very well run off to Brooklyn on his own. The rent was too expensive.
Ella smiled and finally turned her eyes toward her son.
“What?” Danny demanded.
“I don’t know. You’re just so different from your dad and I.”
“Grandpa says that he has scientists on his side of the family,” Danny explained.
Ella’s eyes widened with surprise. Had Danny spent more time with Bernard beyond that first night of his book release? “Your grandfather is an insanely intelligent person,” Ella said instead of asking.
“That’s obvious,” Danny said, not unkindly.
What had they talked about? Ella burned to know. The coffee pot finished its brewing, and she poured them two mugs of coffee and sat across the table. After Danny took his first sip, he said, “And I’ve been reading Grandpa’s book. The one he wrote in prison.”
“Oh. And what do you think of it?” Ella had to admit that the idea had hardly crossed her mind. Julia and Alana had pored over the manuscript countless times for “clues” on the hunt for anything that Bernard’s unconscious mind had revealed in the text. Perhaps more and more, Julia was coming around to the fact that it was a work of fiction. Ella thought that was probably healthy.
“His prose is fantastic,” Danny said, using a word Ella had never heard him use. “But more than that, I can feel the insane pain he had while he was in prison. The main character talks about sending letters to his wife and not receiving an answer. I mean, that’s so devastating. Don’t you think? Especially when you think about the fact that he didn’t commit the crime.”
Ella dropped her gaze to the table, remembering all the letters that had come that she hadn’t given to Greta. At the time, she’d needed to protect Greta from tremendous pain. She hadn’t considered the pain that had caused Bernard. Back then, he’d been her enemy, the man who’d destroyed her family and left her all alone.
“Are you really sure that he didn’t do it?” Ella asked, her voice breathless.
