Page 47 of Nantucket Gala

Sophia felt as though she was about to cry. But were they tears of joy? Anger that he’d stolen her story? Fear of what people would think? She didn’t know.

“The story deviates from your life quite a bit,” he explains. “In it, fake-Francis is put in prison for his crimes, and the woman based on you, Sophia, goes on to have an incrediblescreenwriting and filmmaking career. It’s revisionist history. But I didn’t write it to spite you or make fun of you. I wrote it because, well, that’s the way it should have gone. And maybe in a way that’s what films should be. Dreams played out on screen.”

Sophia leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. The first thought she had wasI need to stop this. But the next one wasThis kid has guts.

“We can’t move forward with the script without your approval,” Henry admitted.

The way he looked at her reminded her of the way Quentin, Alana, Julia, and Ella had looked up at Greta at The Copperfield House in the early eighties. They relied on her for everything.

Something in Sophia’s chest stirred with longing.

“I should say no,” she offered.

Henry bowed his head as though prepared to take her rejection.

“But I don’t want to,” Sophia stated. “Yet.”

Henry raised his eyebrows.

“I want to read it first,” Sophia said. “It’s the only way to know for sure if I’m on board.”

Henry inhaled sharply. “Of course! Of course. I’ll send you the PDF now.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, clicked thrice, and a ding came in through Sophia’s phone. Just like that.

There wasn’t much to say after that. Awkwardness permeated the air. Henry made light small talk and tried to ask Sophia a few questions about her life post-Francis, but Sophia was no longer in the mood to talk. Very soon, he admitted he had to go, and Sophia walked him to the door, where she gave him a loose hug.

“Good luck, Henry,” she said as he walked to his car.

Henry gave her a look that made her think of injured animals.

Would it really hurt to let him do this?

She wondered if Henry was any better than those paparazzi who used to follow her from place to place. She supposed that remained to be seen.

Slowly, she filled a glass with red wine and sat in the buttercream light of the evening. She put the PDF on her e-reader, and she prepared herself to read.

Chapter Seventeen

June 2025

Nantucket Island

It was a rare thing indeed for Henry to be with his family. But here they were together at The Fish Market, seated on the veranda in the soft light and warm breeze: Jackson, Julia, Rachel, Anna, and Henry—the original Crawfords, coming together to celebrate their life accomplishments. Rachel had just graduated from the University of Michigan, Jackson had just finished a hard-hitting news story, and Henry was, of course, on the verge of filming his first feature—aptly titledThe Most Brutal Horizon.

“I have to admit,” Jackson said, filling his fork with mashed potatoes, “this island really does something to you.”

“Right? I can’t imagine living anywhere else. You should spend more time here, Dad.” Anna tilted her head, then blushed. “Silly me. I keep looking for the baby, thinking I’m needed.” But Anna’s boyfriend was watching the baby so they could have a night out, just the five of them, without toddler-screaming and thrown food.

“It’ll be even weirder when you realize you’re not needed at all,” Julia said, wincing. She reached over to squeeze Rachel’s hand. “My baby is all grown up and graduated!”

Rachel blushed crimson. “Trust me. I still need plenty of help.”

Julia laughed. “Me too. Thank goodness for Greta and Bernard.”

Jackson pressed his napkin on his mouth and turned his attention to Henry. “Nantucket Gala on Saturday, huh?”

Henry’s gut stirred with anxiety. “You think it’s a bad idea? We’re asking for trouble?”

Jackson laughed. “The last Nantucket Gala didn’t exactly end well.”

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