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Violet knocked back half of her beer in one gulp and smiled dreamily. Julia wasn’t sure she’d heard the question. She twirled her wedding band around her finger and continued looking around the bar. As Jeremy brought up Ella and Will’s “new sound,” a stranger in his fifties approached with a James Bond swagger. He sidled up next to Violet and said, “Can I get you another beer?”
Violet’s eyes were illuminated with surprise. She looked like a teenager who’d just been embarrassed in front of her friends at school. “Oh. I don’t know,” she stuttered, staring into her beer.
“She’s married,” Alana said after a strange moment of silence.
The fifty-something man raised his hands and laughed. “I should have known. But you can’t fault a man for trying, can you? Have a good night.”
Violet giggled sadly to herself and sipped her beer. Alana and Julia locked eyes over the table. Julia wagged her eyebrows, trying to tell Alana wordlessly that Violet was, in fact, single. That their suspicions had been correct. But Alana just furrowed her brow and mouthed, “What?”
“If only Larry could see this,” Violet said softly, her glass of beer raised. “He always wanted me to be someone like this. A woman of the world.” She closed her eyes, and her shoulders shook. It was difficult to tell if she was laughing or crying. “You know, he begged me to move to a bigger city after we had Dean. He was so sure we’d be happier. That we’d be giving Dean more opportunities. But I was terrified he would meet someone else in the city. I was scared he’d leave me.” Violet opened her eyes again, and they were blotchy and red. “Isn’t that funny?”
Julia wasn’t sure what was funny about that. It seemed as though Violet was having an out-loud conversation with herself, falling through amorphous memories that were gradually turning into swords.
“You’re here now, babe,” Alana recited, clinking her glass with Violet’s. “And you know what? They don’t tell women in their forties this. But you can do whatever you want.”
Violet’s smile faded, and she looked at Alana as though she’d never seen her before.
“Seriously,” Alana went on. “Look at me? I completely changed my life a few years ago, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I was absolutely miserable. For years! And now, Jeremy and I have really built something.” Alana wrapped her hand around Jeremy’s bicep as Jeremy smiled adoringly.
“We all changed our lives,” Julia reminded Violet.
“Nothing will ever remain the same,” Alana continued. “And it’s best if you take the reins.”
Violet looked thoughtful, tilting her head. The speakers blared eighties dance music from Julia’s childhood. It gave her funny images of Greta dancing in the kitchen with a wooden spoon.
And then, she said, “I think we should go dancing. Who’s with me?”
Violet raised her hands in the air and cried out, “Me!”
“I guess we’d better follow her lead,” Alana quipped. “But I have to get on her level. Who’s up for a shot?”
The next day, Julia drove back to Nantucket with a thunderous headache—one for the record books. It put some of her hangovers in college to shame. In the back seat, the other Copperfields, Charlie, Jeremy, and Violet were quiet. Julia suspected they were all trying not to throw up.
Violet pulled her suitcase from the trunk and made her way inside. Julia followed her upstairs, where she disappeared into her own bedroom. She suspected she wouldn’t pester Anna all afternoon and into the evening. She’d had one of the biggest nights of her life. And now, she was paying for it.
When Julia reached her bedroom, she received a ping on her phone. It was a reminder she’d written herself a week ago: Meeting with Smith at 5 p.m. That was in half an hour. She cursed herself and padded downstairs to make a pot of coffee. She should have had the foresight to cancel.
Smith arrived just on time. He slipped the folder of his newly written pages onto the desk, sat in the chair beside her, and placed his hand on Luka’s head. Luka wagged his tail and peered up at Julia hopefully, as though he’d contributed to Smith’s pages and just wanted her assurance that they were good.
Smith and Julia weren’t bothered by small talk. Julia dove into the pages immediately, reading about how Smith’s mother had once been in the midst of a bipolar attack and had “accidentally or on purpose, it was unclear,” burned him with a hot skillet. The story made her blood run cold. When she finished, she blinked up at him and set the stack of pages back on the desk.
“Smith,” she breathed. “I just want to say. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
Smith waved his hand. “I’ve dealt with it.”
Julia wasn’t sure how anyone could conceivably deal with something like that.
Julia swallowed. “We’re nearing the end of the book. I can hardly believe it.”
Smith remained quiet.
“I’m curious,” she went on, “about the ending. How do you finish things with your mother?”
Smith rubbed his neck and looked out the window. Julia followed his gaze to find a cardinal on a nearby tree branch, whose dark eyes seemed to peg them.
“I mean,” Julia continued, “where is your mother now?”
Smith seemed unwilling to answer such a forward question. He swallowed, his eyes still on the cardinal.
