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“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Anna breathed. “Did you ever see your family again?”
Eloise shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, trying to smile. “It was a long time ago. Suffice it to say, I’ve missed the ocean. I’m looking forward to walking a few of my favorite beaches again.”
Anna allowed them to return to a comfortable silence. On the television screen, a local news anchor spoke in front of a brand-new frozen yogurt shop, which would be opened to the public in time for the beautiful spring day. It all seemed so frivolous after what Eloise had just told her. Anna wondered what it was like to carry the severity of your father’s actions so deep into your sixties, as Eloise had. It was suffocating to think about.
ChapterSeven
It had been a day and a half of driving east. Throughout the journey, Eloise had fallen into a deep and comfortable spell, allowing herself to know Anna, to ask her questions, and to allow Anna to get to know bits and pieces of herself. It had been a long time since Eloise had shown her personality to anyone, especially anyone new, and the result was both terrifying and heart-opening.
At the Hyannis Ferry, Eloise parked outside the ticket office and hurried inside to purchase tickets for both herself and Anna, who slept soundly in the front seat. When Eloise returned to the truck, she tried her best to close the door tenderly, but the truck shook slightly and woke Anna.
“Oh, shoot,” Eloise sighed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Anna rubbed the sleep from her eyes and smeared black makeup across her cheeks.
“I think you really needed to sleep,” Eloise said.
Anna groaned and opened the mirror over the top of the seat. “I look rough.”
“You don’t,” Eloise assured her. She reached for her purse in the backseat and removed a package of Kleenex, which Anna then used to mop up her face.
“How long have I been asleep?” Anna asked.
“Maybe three hours?”
“Really?” Anna’s eyes widened, as though the concept of sleeping three hours during a horrific time like this was beyond any comprehension.
Eloise reversed the truck, curved around the office, and got in line behind fifteen other vehicles as they entered the large ferry. After she drove up onto the ramp, a worker in a bright vest directed her this way, then that way, scooping through the beast of a ferry until, finally, she was able to park between two small cars and behind a van.
“Nice driving,” Anna complimented her as she opened the passenger door carefully. “This truck doesn’t seem like the easiest thing to maneuver.”
“I love the power of it,” Eloise confessed.
Anna laughed with near joy as they headed up the staircase and toward the cafe on the second story of the ferry, where they purchased coffees and then found a place near the window. Eloise sat, sipped her coffee, and shivered with recognition as a clear memory of being on the ferry with her father came to her. She hadn’t considered the memory in years— hadn’t remembered that they’d bought ice cream cones and laughed together, father and daughter, so many years before the fateful day he’d kicked her off the island. The memory was sun-dappled and nearly impossible, yet she was one hundred percent sure it was real.
“Where are you staying on the island?” Anna asked suddenly. This brought Eloise from her reverie.
“Oh. I have somewhere,” Eloise said with a wave of her hand. This was obviously a lie.
Anna furrowed her brow. “Well, I want to invite you to The Copperfield House tonight for dinner. I insist on it.”
Eloise’s heart shattered. This was everything she wanted in the world.
“I don’t think so, Anna,” Eloise said tenderly.
“I won’t take no for an answer. You’d love it there, anyway. It’s this beautiful Victorian home that my grandparents purchased back in the seventies and ultimately transformed into an artist residency. For many years, artists from all backgrounds came to the residency to make music, films, books, and paintings.”
“It sounds so magical,” Eloise whispered, as though this was the first time she’d ever heard of the place. In actuality, she knew just about everything there was to know about The Copperfield House. She’d even watched the documentary that a previous resident had made about the place. She’d cried the entire time.
“And my grandmother is an incredible cook,” Anna continued, pushing it. “She spent a few years in Paris, where she learned how to cook French cuisine.”
“Your grandmother sounds like an impressive woman,” Eloise said, her voice wavering.
“She would love you,” Anna assured her. “Everyone would. I mean, you went out of your way to drive me all the way here from Ohio, of all places. They’ll welcome you like a member of the family.”
Eloise’s eyes filled with tears, which she quickly blinked away.
“Say you’ll come,” Anna urged her.
