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Ella nodded. She placed her hand over his on her shoulder and breathed, “Everything will be fine.” She said it because it had to be fine. There was no other way.
Julia led Ella and Quentin back across Main Street, walking out toward Nantucket Harbor. Around them, Nantucketers roamed with ice cream cones and hot dogs, wearing baseball hats and t-shirts that said:THE HEART OF NANTUCKET 1822. Ella and Stephanie had arranged that all the revenue for the baseball hats and t-shirts would go toward charity.
“Let’s sit over there,” Ella said, pointing toward a free picnic table alongside a natural wine stand.
Quentin sat, his face stoic and domineering. Julia and Ella waited in line to grab them all drinks, watching as several Nantucketers approached Quentin to shake his hand.
“We watch you every night of the week,” a woman in her fifties told him.
“My wife says that you’re the only news anchor she trusts,” a man said, his eyes reflecting a mix of jealousy and euphoria.
“He’s really something, isn’t he?” Julia muttered under her breath.
“I can’t believe he came all this way to yell at me,” Ella offered. “Or, then again, it’s Quentin. Of course, I can believe that.”
Julia groaned and checked her phone. “Alana should be here in a few minutes. Maybe she can talk some sense into him.”
“He always respected her more because of Asher,” Ella muttered.
“You think he’ll still respect her now that they’re getting divorced?” Julia whispered.
“I don’t know. To be honest, I’ve never understood Quentin. I’ve never understood his motivations, his thought processes, or any of his decisions. I don’t think today will be any different,” Ella returned.
By the time Alana arrived, Ella, Julia, and Quentin sat at the picnic table, each with a glass of still-untouched natural wine. Alana dropped a kiss on Quentin’s cheek (something leftover from her European past) and sat down beside him. Quentin looked uncomfortable, as though he was accustomed to “lording over” other people due to his fame but had just remembered he couldn’t do that very well with his sisters.
“Thanks for this,” Alana said, breaking through the silence as she lifted the glass they’d gotten her. She then studied Quentin’s profile, sipped the wine, and said, “So, Quentin. What’s up?”
Quentin barked, “I’ve come here to take our mother back to the city once and for all. Obviously, you three can’t care for her properly.”
“Wait just a minute,” Ella demanded, her anger growing.
“Right. Ella seems to think she has some information that I don’t have,” Quentin offered, rolling his eyes. “Out with it, Ella. What can you tell me to change my mind about your horrendous actions toward our mother? What could possibly excuse five phone calls from Greta Copperfield, all of which eventually led to her bursting into tears?”
Ella set her jaw. She just needed to come out with it and tell Quentin about the biggest event in her recent life as though she spoke about nothing at all, like the weather. In front of Quentin, she’d always wanted to seem stronger than she actually was. Today was no different.
“Greta and Bernard aren’t my real parents. They never told me.” Against her best wishes of confidence and strength, Ella’s vision was suddenly blurry with tears. “I recently found out the truth, and I’ve needed time away from Greta to figure out what it means that she and Bernard lied to me for forty-two years.”
As Ella spoke, Quentin’s face was transformed. His sharp edges softened, his eyes dampened, and his shoulders slumped forward, proving him to be much less arrogant than he liked to appear. After a long moment, he whispered, “That’s impossible.”
“It’s not,” Ella said. “Greta confirmed it.”
Quentin glanced toward Julia and Alana, who nodded in affirmation.
“My mother was staying at The Copperfield House in 1980,” Ella continued, wanting to fill in the blanks. “She was a musician and terribly unprepared to be a mother. Greta said she would care for me just for a little while until my mother got on her feet. Unfortunately, she never heard from my mother again.”
“And the lie got bigger and bigger,” Quentin finished, understanding the weight of what his parents had done.
Quentin hung his head, his eyes closed. Alana placed a tender hand on his upper back and whispered, “We’ve told Ella over and over again that she’s our sister, through and through.”
“She’s our sister,” Quentin affirmed, his voice raspy. “There’s no question in my mind about that. But dammit, I can understand how painful it feels to learn that your life is not what you always assumed it to be.”
Ella was taken aback at Quentin’s sudden softness. She’d expected to have to fight him tooth and nail. Tentatively, she sipped her glass of wine and steadied her breath, grateful for this moment of calm.
“I have no intention of leaving Nantucket,” Ella said suddenly, surprising herself. “And I have no intention of leaving Mom. Back when I was a teenager, Mom was my entire world. I did everything to make sure she ate and slept and kept herself alive. I also came back to Nantucket frequently over the years, so much so that Greta has always had something of a relationship with my children.”
Quentin’s eyes darkened with sorrow. After a dramatic pause, he muttered, “I know that Julia and I can’t say the same about our children.”
Ella lifted a shoulder. “I don’t say this to pin the blame on anyone. On top of it all, hearing that our mother has called you sobbing all week tears me apart inside.”
