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“It’s crazy that I met you only, what, twelve days ago?” Brooks said. “I feel like I’ve known you all my life.”
Aurora shivered.
“But then again, I don’t feel like we’ve told each other very much about our lives,” Brooks went on. “Would you be up for that?”
“Maybe,” Aurora said, although really, she thought:I can’t tell him anything. He would leave me if he knew how terribly my life has gone.To deflect, she asked a question, hoping he would stay in his story for a while and forget that he had asked about hers. “Why did you become a fisherman?”
“My dad was a fisherman before me,” Brooks answered. “I was pretty sure it sounded like the coolest job in the world. He was out on the boat all day, singing songs with his friends. It’s definitely not as idyllic as I thought it would be, but it’s a fine living in this part of the world.” Brooks paused and swallowed as a jolt of pain came over his eyes. “My dad was really sick when I was younger. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally. I think alcohol was mostly to blame. That and money. I guess it’s a classic story. But he used to beat my mother and I, sometimes within the span of the same day. I was young, and I was pretty sure I deserved it. But when I was thirteen, I finally fought back, and he looked at me with so much fear in his eyes. He never hit me again after that. But then again, he didn’t live much longer.”
The story was horrific, yet it seemed a cousin to Aurora’s own pain. She wet her lips and dared herself to say something real— something that grounded her in Brooks’ reality a little bit.Wasn’t he opening his heart to her? Shouldn’t she learn to do the same?
“My mom was sick, too,” Aurora said.
“Alcohol?”
“No. I mean, she didn’t drink often. More like she was pretty out of it a lot. She didn’t always know who I was and would accuse me of breaking into the house. I don’t know.” Aurora shook her head, trying to dispel the images.
“Where is she now?” Brooks asked.
“She died,” Aurora said, forcing her eyes to Brooks’. “Earlier this year, actually.”
Brooks nodded and took her hand. “I’m so sorry, Aurora. I don’t even know what to say.”
Aurora blinked back tears. For a long moment, she stuttered, feeling strange, unsure that, now that Brooks knew about her mother, she could trust him to keep the information safe. It was as though she’d betrayed her mother by talking about her. She’d never done that before.
When Aurora didn’t speak for a while, Brooks grew antsy. “What was she like? Your mother, I mean.”
Aurora gave Brooks a look, one meant to translate just how nosy she felt he was being. A horrible voice in the back of her mind told her that these weren’t necessary questions, that Brooks was trying to steal not only hers but her mother’s talents. Although her mother was dead, some of her art still existed in the world— often in the form of other people’s pieces, the techniques stolen.
“Naw,” Aurora said, unable to look at Brooks anymore. “I don’t feel up to it.”
“Aurora, I’m sorry,” Brooks said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. We don’t have to talk about this anymore. Okay?”
Aurora remained quiet, her hands clasped. Clearly worried and at a loss, Brooks wrapped her in a hug for a little while and kissed her cheek. But when Aurora didn’t return his warmth, he got up and pulled up the anchor.
“I can take you back,” he said, his voice wavering. “If that’s what you want.”
Aurora nodded, stepping up to grip the railing. A part of her, deep inside, screamed, cried, and ached to be held longer, to be asked more about her mother and their relationship. But a much bigger part of her ensured she kept her mouth shut, that she drew a deeper boundary between herself and Brooks. She couldn’t give him anything. She couldn’t let him know her secrets. Maybe the love she’d imagined between them was just his manipulation tactic— something she knew men were unreasonably good at. Her mother had told her. Her mother had always been right.
ChapterFourteen
Although that Saturday’s Nantucket Music Festival had been Ella and Will’s brainchild, the true champion of the event was Stephanie, the bassist from Ella’s very first band— and one of her dearest, lifelong friends. Ella met Stephanie in downtown Nantucket the morning of the festival to find her overseeing the construction of all four music festival stages positioned across town. In her little visor and her tennis skirt, she looked responsible and athletic, the woman with all the answers.
“There she is! Our prized musician.” Stephanie’s tone shifted as she turned to hug Ella right before she jumped back around and said, “For the last time, Joshua, that isn’t how you put that together.”
“Do you have eyes in the back of your head?” Ella joked.
“I had to have them installed to make sure nothing goes wrong today,” Stephanie said, then rubbed her temples. “You want a coffee? I need another coffee.”
Ella followed Stephanie to a little red tent, where staff and volunteers ate snacks and drank coffee, plotting out their schedule for the day. In a tent next door, musicians checked in, some of them lugging guitar cases around, looking “cool” in leather jackets that were probably way too hot for that morning.
“That’s another reason I’m glad I never pursued the music thing,” Stephanie said, as though she’d read Ella’s mind. “I just couldn’t take having to look cool all the time. It would drive me nuts.”
Ella gestured toward her jeans and Nirvana t-shirt combo, which wasn’t exactly super cool, but Stephanie waved her hand.
“You always look cool, Ella Copperfield. You exude it. You always have.”
Ella rolled her eyes, blushing. Secretly, she adored the compliment. After so many years in the music business, she struggled with the concept of her own aging, wanting to be twenty-five in skinny jeans forever.
