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“And with the power of croissants…” Alana suggested from the table. “You got through to her.”
Greta laughed. “I don’t know if it’s that simple. But I do feel she’s special, somehow. On the table beside her painting were all these notepads, filled to the brim with what looked like lyrics for songs. She might be the hardest worker this residency has ever seen. I just don’t know if she’ll show much of her work to us.”
“Which is okay,” Julia interjected. “Sometimes, people don’t want to share what they’ve done until they feel it’s ready.”
“Of course.” Greta nodded thoughtfully.
“But you should have seen her with that fisherman this morning, Ella,” Alana said.
“Brooks?” Ella asked.
“He came here with a huge bouquet of peonies, and she went outside with him. I watched them from the window,” Alana went on.
“I told her not to,” Greta said with a sigh. “That girl needs her privacy.”
“It was straight from a romance novel, I swear,” Alana went on, as though Greta hadn’t said anything. “They were kissing and laughing and crying. It went on for a while until Brooks led her around the side of the house.”
“Did they come back into the residency?” Ella asked.
“Not sure,” Alana said.
“I hope that girl got a little bit of sleep,” Greta said. “She’s not young anymore, although she seems to think she is.”
“I’d love to be thirty-five again,” Alana said wistfully. “That was so many Botox treatments ago!”
Greta gave Alana a look that reminded Ella of Greta’s constant refrain during their teenage years: that they were worth so much more than what they looked like. Alana, of course, had gone on to be a model, refuting everything Greta had stood for.
“I know, Mom,” Alana said. “I’m worth so much more than that. But you have to admit, a little bit of Botox goes a long way in the self-care department.”
Greta ignored Alana and turned back to Ella. “How’s it going with your band?”
“It’s been fantastic,” Ella said. “More than anything, I love sitting around, recounting stories from our touring years. It’s like going back in time.”
“Wonderful. And the music?”
“They really like the new songs,” Ella said. “And they’ve even added a bit of their own individual flair to each— something Will and I appreciate. We’re always writing songs in a vacuum, and it’s nice to bring them out into the world and see what they make of them.”
Greta shook her head, laughing. “It’s the opposite of my heavy writing days. I never wanted anyone to give me advice on what to write or edit. I figured everything I wrote was uniquely mine and couldn’t be touched by anyone else! And then, a bit later, I went on to open an artist residency, where the whole point is to be communicative about the editing process. It’s just funny how your arrogance around your work fades over the years. I think that’s when you open yourself to actually getting better.”
Dinner was set for seven. Ella and Julia carried heavy stacks of plates to the outdoor table, chatting about their weeks. Scarlet joined them with the silverware not long afterward, as did Anna, who’d begun to look a bit pregnant. The girls seemed thick as thieves these days, frequently attending beach parties and chatting with locals. Scarlet kept good track of Anna to ensure that they upheld her and the baby’s health above everything. “But it’s your last summer before motherhood, and you’ve had one hell of a year,” Ella had heard Scarlet say to Anna once. “I think you deserve a little fun.”
It was often hard for Ella to imagine the devastation that Anna had gone through. All alone in the wilderness, her new fiancé had fallen to his death. By comparison, Ella had been lucky her entire life— she’d been allowed to love Will, have his children, and travel all over the world with her band. Watching Anna pick herself up after that horror had been incredible, but Ella knew it would be a long road till Anna felt any kind of normality. Perhaps it would never come.
One after another, the artists came out from the residency wide-eyed, wearing loose grins. Andy and Tom were in the midst of a difficult discussion about their combined project, an experimental film with an experimental music soundtrack, and when they greeted the Copperfields, it was like they were in another world. Barbie and Felicity fell into step with one another, chatting about Felicity’s photograph project.
“Hi there!” Barbie sat down and smiled at Ella. “I was counting down the hours till dinner today. I had extreme writer’s block!”
“Well, I imagine the heat in the house didn’t help you at all,” Greta suggested as she breezed toward the table. “As I said, the air condition repairman will be here tomorrow. I hope you can manage till then?”
Barbie waved her hand. “Writer’s block is a part of the process.”
“It’s easier for me when I get stuck,” Felicity said as she sat across from Barbie. “I just take my camera out and force myself to take as many photographs as I can. One or two of them usually turn out okay, and then at least, I feel like I’ve done something.”
“That was not so during the early days of this residency,” Greta remembered. “We had a few photography students over the years, of course, but they had to have real film, and we had to rent them space at a dark room downtown. They had to be much more selective about what they shot.”
“I count my blessings for technology,” Felicity assured her.
After that, the rest of the Copperfield family hurried down the back steps, sunglasses flashing, long-limbed and tan. Will walked with Danny, discussing the tennis match they’d had earlier that day— one that had, apparently, wound up pretty heated.
