AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Slightly frustrated,” Julia admitted, lowering her voice as she entered the kitchen. “He said on the drive over here that he hasn’t left Brooklyn in more than three years. And I think he got into some kind of argument with a ferry worker.”
Greta wrinkled her nose but remained quiet. Anna remembered that Greta had hardly left The Copperfield House during the twenty-five years Bernard had been locked away in prison. Maybe she felt a kinship with Smith. Or maybe she just thought he was ungrateful. It was hard to say.
“We don’t put up with attitude like that in The Copperfield House,” Greta reminded them. “You remember what happened a few months back?”
Anna did. Greta had kicked out a promising young writer who’d made it his mission to mess with the hearts of the two young female writers who lived on his floor. Greta had done it swiftly, righting wrongs in the span of just a few minutes. Anna admired her grandmother for that. She still remembered what Dean said about her when he’d come to Nantucket to meet her family. “Your grandmother is unlike any person I’ve ever met in my life.”
One after another, members of the Copperfield family retreated to their bedrooms to sleep. They rubbed their eyes and whispered thanks to Greta, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas as they limped up the staircase. Not wanting to be left behind, Anna joined them, brushing her teeth and locking herself away in her bedroom. But when she sat on the edge of the bed, her baby stirred and kicked, and her thoughts raced. Sleep seemed further than ever.
Still wearing her pajamas, Anna tiptoed downstairs, made a mug of tea, and sat on the enclosed back porch, which was just warm enough for late-night rendezvous. Anna should know. She ended up there about three times a week when her mind got ahead of itself, and her fears simmered.
The heavy snow on the beach glinted with the light from a fresh moon. The clouds had spread out and disintegrated for now, but the air was wet, proof that more would come soon. Already, Anna’s phone projected eight more inches tomorrow, and the ferries had already been canceled for the next two days.
Nobody could get off the island, even if they wanted to. And nobody could come to the island either. This made Anna feel as though they were living in a snow globe, separated from the rest of the world.
As Anna gazed into the inky night, a figure appeared in her periphery. Anna sat bolt upright, watching as the figure ambled through the snow. He looked to be about six feet, with scraggly hair. He could have been anyone. But a moment later, a golden retriever shot into view, dancing in the snow drifts and gazing up at his companion.
It was Smith and Luka.
Smith didn’t know Anna was just twenty feet away, watching him. The idea of being a spy thrilled her, if only because so much of her life was not so thrilling these days. Anna stood and strolled toward the window, watching as Luka licked snow from Smith’s fingers as Smith laughed down upon him. The light in his eyes seemed different from the “attitude” her mother had reported earlier. Clearly, Smith was out of his element, in a strange place, and up against a tremendous task. Anna had never written a book before, let alone a memoir. And she had to think memoir was the more difficult of the two. It demanded that you reveal your soul.
Smith paused on his snowy walk to gaze up at the moon. Anna ached to know what was on his mind and if The Copperfield House was as romantic as Julia had promised him. Although all her cousins and siblings were at The Copperfield House for the holidays, Anna couldn’t help but feel incredibly lonely, up against motherhood. And she felt her loneliness echoing across Smith’s face.
Julia hadn’t told Anna much about Smith’s life or his memoir. She’d insinuated that he’d been through a lot, that he’d nearly fallen apart with grief, and that grief was the topic of his new book. What could it be?
Anna was suddenly filled with the desire to go into the snow and introduce herself. She didn’t want Smith to feel lonely here. She wanted him to know he had her; he had people. Nobody wanted his misery to continue.
Anna pressed against the porch door and walked into the darkness. The door springs screamed, and Luka barked out across the night. Smith’s eyes were upon her, studying her, and Anna felt exposed.
But as Anna stepped down the stairs that led to the snow-covered sand below, her foot skidded against a patch of ice. All at once, she tumbled, smashing her tailbone against an icy embankment. A scream burst from her throat. That was followed by terror for her baby’s health. Why had she been so stupid?
Anna gasped for breath, suddenly petrified. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Luka bounded through the snow. His fat pink tongue was upon her, lapping up her tears, and her heart rate calmed for a moment, allowing her to close her eyes as she steadied herself. A split second later, Smith’s footsteps came through the snow. He knelt beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Hey. Hey, are you all right?”
Anna told herself to act normal, to breathe. Slowly, she opened her eyes again and peered into his gorgeous blue ones, suddenly overwhelmed. She could smell the chill from the air on his hair and something else—bad coffee from the ferry. She had the sudden instinct to draw her arms around him and burrow her face in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Anna said, although she wasn’t sure who she was talking to. Perhaps herself. Perhaps her baby. Perhaps Smith.
Before Smith could say anything else, the porch door screeched open again to reveal Bernard, Anna’s grandfather. With a pipe between his lips, he stared down at Anna in surprise. He was on his knees in a flash, helping her to her feet.
“Goodness gracious,” Bernard said. “What happened here?”
The light in Smith’s eyes dimmed, and he stumbled back and cleaned his knees of snow.
“I was being stupid,” Anna explained timidly.
Bernard and Smith were speechless. They gaped at her. Anna wanted to make a joke, but everything fell flat in her mind.
“Is everything okay?” Smith asked, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone was completely different, as though he didn’t want her grandfather to know he cared.
Anna thought that was curious. Why wouldn’t Smith want others to perceive his empathy? Did he see it as a sign of weakness? And did that have something to do with the topic of his memoir?
She hated to admit he’d piqued her interest. It had been a long time since she felt curious about the world. Great-aunt Eloise had said her curiosity would come back one of these days—that it would flow like a rushing stream when the time was right. But Anna hadn’t imagined her curiosity would return on the snow-filled night of Christmas.
“I’d better be going,” Smith said, turning on his heel and guiding his dog to the side entrance of the house.
