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“Fantastic!” Greta said, clasping her hands together. She then turned to speak to both Will and Ella. “I expect both of you back at the house, as well.” Her words were scary and final. There was no getting out of it.
Back in Ella’s station wagon, Ella groaned. “I guess tonight is as good a time as any to get to the bottom of this.”
“Let’s just celebrate Danny’s win, meet his new friends, and then see how we feel,” Will said coaxingly. “Nobody’s going to force you to have that conversation today. I understand how insane it must feel to go back.”
Ella blinked back tears, overwhelmed with how good Will was at handling her moods and her feelings. For the first time in many years, a thought sprung up in the back of her mind.I don’t deserve him.
Back at The Copperfield House, Greta had already lined nachos, quesadillas, chicken wings, spinach and artichoke dip, and a big vat of clam chowder across the back porch table. It was October, and a pregnant moon hung low in the night sky. Out on the closed porch, Greta, Alana, Julia, Ella, Will, Danny, and two of Danny’s friends from the football team remained warm, even as a Nantucket wind blasted against the glass. For the better part of the next two hours, Danny and his friends talked about the ins-and-outs of the game, how they’d managed to score the last few goals, approaching sectionals, followed by regionals, and their hope for state finals.
Throughout, a terrible tension existed between Ella and Greta. Ella could hardly look at her. She nibbled at the edge of a chicken wing and grew frightened at how angry she really felt. What could she do with that anger? It wasn’t useful. It just ate her up inside.
Danny and his friends left around eleven-thirty. Alana admitted to having a late-night date with Jeremy at his place, while Julia said she had to get some shut-eye if she wanted to do any editing the next day. After everyone said “goodnight” and “goodbye,” only Greta, Will, and Ella remained on the back porch, separated by mounds of leftover food.
“I’ll clean up,” Ella said suddenly, reaching for the big tray of nachos and heading inside. The tension made the air impossible to breathe.
“Ella, wait.” Greta grabbed the vat of clam chowder and headed in after her.
Ella reached the kitchen with both Greta and Will hot on her heels. Ella placed the nachos on the counter, crossed her arms, and began to head back toward the porch to continue to clean. But before she could, Greta screeched, “Won’t you please let me explain myself?”
Ella spun on her heel and gaped at the woman she’d always thought to be her mother— the woman she’d had to fight to keep alive back in her teenage years. “I don’t know if I have time for that,” Ella returned. “This family has been nothing but heartache for me for twenty-five years. And now, it turns out that you’re not my family at all? That my life has been a lie?”
Greta’s eyes glittered with sorrow. Slowly, she backed up to the kitchen table, where she grabbed a regular envelope that was yellowed with time. She then pointed toward the kitchen chairs and said, “Give me five minutes. Please.”
Ella lifted her eyes toward Will’s, terrified. She never should have come back here. Will placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her the same look he’d given her thousands of times before a concert. The look had always told her:It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this.
Ella and Will sat across from Greta, who fumbled with the unsealed top of the envelop and eventually removed a stack of old photographs. On the back, Greta’s beautiful calligraphy had scribed words that looked like:JONI B 1980. A cold shiver ran up and down Ella’s spine.
Greta passed the stack over to Ella. Quietly, Greta watched as Ella flipped through the photographs. Each featured a very young and very pregnant young woman with dark hair and clever eyes. In multiple photographs, Joni Blackwood strummed a guitar and sang with whoever sat around her, attractive men and women wearing seventies- and eighties-style clothing. In some, she was alone, often on the beach with her hand across her pregnant stomach.
The photographs were heartbreaking. They told a story of a woman who’d loved music with all her heart and mind, just as Ella always had. Ella found herself carving out a space in her heart for Joni Blackwood, even though she knew little more about her than these photographs.
“She came to The Copperfield House’s residency program when she was six months pregnant,” Greta began softly. “In her application, she hadn’t mentioned the pregnancy, so that was a bit of a surprise for your father and I when she arrived. She’d said that she was working on a folk album and wanted the space and time to do that somewhere. She’d also sent along a recording of her work, which your father and I loved. Gosh, she was talented. Her voice was raspy and soulful, and her guitar playing rivaled Jimi Hendrix’s, I swear.”
Ella and Will exchanged glances. The “past tense” in Greta’s words terrified Ella.
“I had three little kids at the time,” Greta continued. “Julia was almost one, and Alana and Quentin weren’t too much older than that. Because Joni was such a sweet soul, she often helped me around the house with the children. Through that, we became friends. When that friendship grew deeper, she broke down to tell me that she didn’t have enough money to care for her baby, that she still wanted to go after her music dreams, and that she hated that her baby didn’t have a father.”
Ella’s mouth was terribly dry. Will rubbed her lower back knowingly, trying to tell her that he was still there, supporting her.
“Eventually, Bernard and I talked over Joni’s situation,” Greta said. “We didn’t feel right about knowingly putting Joni out on the streets when she was so pregnant. We decided that she would have the baby on Nantucket, where we could help her get a job, help out with childcare, and eventually send her back into the world with more money, more experience, and a better grip on her music career.”
Greta’s voice cracked as she continued. “You were born on July 12th, 1980. I was there at the hospital, helping Joni through. It was a difficult labor. She was terribly exhausted afterward and slept for the better part of three or four days. Things were different back then; they didn’t diagnose things like Postpartum Depression. When she looked at you…”
Ella closed her eyes, unsure if she wanted to hear just how much her real mother hadn’t loved her.
“She looked at you with all the love in the world,” Greta finished. “But she admitted to me that she just couldn’t do it. Not then.” Greta swiped her hand across her cheek to mop up the tears. “After she left, she wrote letters for a little while. I managed to send her multiple photographs of you until her letters dried up, and I lost track of exactly where she was. I hoped she was still out there, making music. But I never heard about her or from her ever again.”
Outside, an angry Nantucket wind barrelled against the side of The Copperfield House. Exhausted like a small child, Ella leaned her head on Will’s shoulder and exhaled all the air from her lungs.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Greta continued. “Your father and I always meant to tell you. But suddenly, we got so wrapped up in our four children, our artist residency family, our friends, and our status in the community. It no longer seemed important that you weren’t actually a ‘Copperfield.’ You even looked like Alana and Julia, to us, at least.” Greta sniffed. “It felt like one of those lies you tell yourself until you believe it. And Ella…” Greta now looked stricken. “You were the only one of my babies who came back sometimes over the years. Even as Julia and Quentin stayed away with their families, I was allowed to know Laura and Danny. That was the most remarkable gift in the world! I can’t begin to thank you.”
Ella’s chin quivered with sorrow. Greta’s story was a tragic one. It seemed almost unreal.
“Nothing could ever bring me to stop loving you,” Greta blared then, finding more strength in her voice. “I hope you’ll find a way to forgive all these stupid lies. It’s like I keep telling your sisters. We have to find a way forward, with empathy and love.”
ChapterSeventeen
Sleep was the furthest thing from Ella’s mind. Back at the Nantucket Inn, she paced the little space between her and Will’s twin beds with her hands latched behind her back. In the bathroom, Will brushed his teeth, and the sound was reassuring— a sound Ella had heard countless nights. Will was fastidious about his teeth, which wasn’t exactly rock star behavior. It was, however, “father” behavior. Since becoming one, Will had become very much in tune with his body, saying, “I want to live as long as I can so that I can see my children and grandchildren grow up.”
