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True to his word, Brooks was the first to visit. It was the Wednesday after the Nantucket Music Festival, three days after Aurora’s admittance and three days after she’d begun medication, which meant she was slightly groggy, her head filled with clouds. Still, when she saw him, she hugged him, closing her eyes to keep her tears in, and said, “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.”
Brooks and Aurora sat in the visitation area, holding hands. Facility employees milled about, trying to keep the peace. Based on Aurora’s memories of visiting her mother at places like this, families often brought out trauma and sorrow in patients who couldn’t yet handle themselves, which sometimes resulted in meltdowns and fights. It was often difficult for families to accept that someone they loved was so mentally ill.
Brooks asked her questions about how she felt, about how they were treating her, and Aurora heard herself say that she was all right, that she was trying out a new kind of medicine.
“They say the first few weeks on the medicine can be difficult,” she explained. “We won’t know if it’s the right dosage for a little while.”
“That sounds perfectly reasonable,” Brooks said.
“But I shouldn’t have to stay much longer,” Aurora said, her voice breaking.
“That’s great,” Brooks said. “Just wonderful.”
But Aurora wasn’t sure how wonderful it was. Although she’d only been there for three days, she’d begun to think of the facility is the safest place she’d been in years. Dr. Winston spoke with her kindly, often for an hour at a time, trying to get to the root of her trauma. Food was delivered on time and on a schedule. They asked that patients go to bed at a specific time and wake up at a specific time, all to generate a sense of normality and peace. She felt impossibly calm.
And Aurora was terrified that the moment they sent her on her merry way into the big, wide world, she would fall back into old patterns and allow her reckless mind to take over. She didn’t want another Nantucket Music Festival incident. She didn’t want to accuse Greta Copperfield of being a monster again. She didn’t want to be insane.
Brooks was only allowed a thirty-minute visitation. Apparently, Aurora had other guests. Brooks hugged her a final time and kissed her hand, then whispered, “You look good, Aurora,” before he went back through the door he’d entered from. Aurora knew better than to think she looked “good,” but she was grateful to hear it, anyway. If only a little, it made her feel like a woman worthy of a man’s love.
A moment later, Greta and Ella Copperfield appeared in the doorway, smiling nervously. Aurora stood and pulled her hair behind her ears, at a loss for what to say to these kind souls. They’d tried to give her everything in their power to allow her to succeed— and she’d fallen apart.
“Aurora! You look wonderful,” Ella said, reaching out to take Aurora’s hand.
Aurora’s voice wavered. “Thank you for coming. And— well. The doctor said you’re paying for my treatment here. And I just can’t thank you enough. I’ll pay you back as soon as possible.”
Aurora sat back down, sensing she spoke too quickly, as Greta and Ella sat across from her, their smiles never dropping.
“Please, don’t you worry yourself about that,” Greta assured her.
“Really. We just want you to feel better,” Ella said. “So that you can come back to the artist residency and continue your work.”
Aurora tilted her head, genuinely surprised. The residency was only supposed to go for a month, and she was more than halfway through.
“We would love it if you came back,” Greta continued. “Andy and Tom asked to stay another two weeks in July, and Barbie’s up for it, as well.”
“What about Felicity?”
“She’s young and in love with someone back home,” Ella said. “She wants to get back home to him.”
“We can all understand that, I’m sure,” Greta said, giving her a look that meant she’d seen Brooks, probably in the foyer, and knew that Aurora was well on her way to “true love.”
Aurora’s cheeks burned. “Well, I guess it comes as no surprise to hear that I have nowhere else to go after this. I’d love to come back to the residency and keep working.”
Ella and Greta exchanged joyful glances.
“You can stay with us as long as you want to,” Greta went on. “Back in the early days of the residency, it wasn’t uncommon to have our artists around for many months at a time. We’ve taken a special interest in your work— both in your visual arts and music. And we want to make sure you find viewers and listeners.”
“If that’s all right with you,” Ella said.
Aurora blinked back tears. But before she could think of something to say or the right way to thank them both, Greta removed a stack of old papers from her purse and placed them on her lap.
“Aurora, I know this is a delicate topic,” Greta began. “I spoke to your doctor prior to our meeting to make sure it was appropriate to show you these.”
Aurora frowned, her heart thudding.
“I’m sure you know that your mother, Delilah, had a stint at The Copperfield House many years ago,” Greta went on. “She was one of my favorite painters. I felt that she pushed boundaries in ways most of the great painters of the twentieth century simply hadn’t thought of. We helped her sell a few pieces over the years, but her name never really took off, unfortunately. It’s never clear why things happen the way they do.
