Page 21 of Nantucket Gala

But it was better this way, she decided. Maybe it meant her life had been worth something.

Maybe finally, people would understand what she’d kept under wraps all this time: her commitment to artistry, her love of words.

Out of nowhere, she heard Francis’s voice in her head.“You broke your promise, Sophia. You’re going to pay for this. Mark my words.”

She shook it out and wondered when Francis would stop tearing her apart.

Chapter Seven

January 2025

Flights from Los Angeles to Boston that January were forty percent cheaper than during the holiday season. Through late nights of writing and editing and researching, Henry watched their dip nervously, his heart aching, until he finally took the plunge and bought a one-way ticket back East. His reason? He needed to return to the scene of Francis’s supposed crime. He needed to talk to his grandmother—and anyone else who might have been at the Nantucket Gala. It was all for the sake of his script.

He’d begun to believe this script was his ticket into the big leagues. He’d begun to think meeting Sophia Bianchi was the single greatest gift he’d ever received.

On the plane, Henry pulled out his laptop and read over the most recent scene he’d written. In it, the director (a fictionalized version of Francis Bianchi) and his wife (a fictionalized version of Sophia) were arguing a piazza in Rome. During the argument, fake-Sophia accused him of stealing all her ideas, and fake-Francis told her that nobody would have ever paid attentionto her ideas if it weren’t for him and his fame. Around them, Italians watched without understanding what they were saying. A few took photographs. This caused fake-Francis to take fake-Sophia in his arms and kiss her. He knew people were watching and wanted to give them a show. The Italians cheered.

Henry shivered. Already, the script was shaping up to be one of the best things he’d ever written. Meeting Sophia had captivated him.

He wondered what it was like for her to hide her creativity from the public eye while her husband took all the credit.

A flight attendant came by with drinks and snacks. Henry bought a ham-and-cheese sandwich and a small beer and chatted with her for a moment, feeling like a real writer on the road, writing wherever he could.

“Are you working?” the flight attendant asked because the flight was only half full, and she had time to kill.

“I’m writing a movie,” he said.

The flight attendant’s eyes sparkled. “What kind of movie?”

“It’s a thriller of sorts,” he said.

“Oh, wow. Is there a murder?”

Henry smiled and nodded.

“I knew it. Is the husband the killer?” the flight attendant asked.

Henry laughed. “Isn’t he always?”

The flight attendant handed him his beer and sandwich and put her hands on her hips. “Make sure it’s different from all the other thrillers. Make sure it has something new to say.”

Henry’s smile waned. Had that flight attendant taken a scriptwriting course or something? Or did she sense that he was stealing someone else’s life?

He always thought that women had that capability. They could read people’s minds better than men could. He’d had two sisters growing up, so he knew better than most.

Henry’s excitement faded. He stuffed his laptop back into his backpack and ate his sandwich. Some turbulence bounced them over the Rocky Mountains, and he allowed himself a few moments of panic. A baby was crying in the back of the plane.

Maybe one day I can fly first class, he thought.Perhaps if I sell this script. When I sell the script.

The plane landed in Boston at five in the afternoon. Henry waited for his luggage and hauled it into the swirling snow outside. The balm of California was a thing of the past. He was frigid. Suddenly, he spotted his mother’s car in the swarm, and he hurried over, threw his bag in the trunk, and swung into the passenger seat. Julia had the heat on full blast. She crashed into him, hugging him as tears filled her eyes.

“You’re home!”

Henry didn’t feel that the East Coast was really home. Chicago would always be home.

But he didn’t want to kill the magic. So he hugged her tighter and said, “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Any time, kid.” Julia fell back and looked at him for a hard moment.

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