Page 49 of Nantucket Gala

“But Henry’s the brilliant writer who put it all together,” Greta said.

Madeline took a bite of brownie and studied Henry. “I would like to go to the gala.”

“We still have a few tickets,” Henry said, then cursed himself. “But I mean, you can come for free. If you want.”

“No. I want to support the mission,” Madeline said. “It’s an important cause. I think it’s spectacular.”

Henry felt as though he was levitating.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. Henry, Greta, Bernard, Madeline, and the artists turned to find Julia standing there. Dark bags were under her eyes.

This was a surprise. Henry had thought she’d gone home to Charlie.

“Mom?”

“Hey, bud. Hey, everyone. Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Henry got up and followed his mother to the shadowy living room. She didn’t bother to turn on any lights. Slowly, she tugged on her jean jacket and prepared to leave.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Oh, sure. Yes.” She sniffed. “It’s just, I was curious if you’ve read Sophia’s memoir yet?”

“I haven’t had a chance yet.” Sophia had finished her final draft last week and sent it in an email, but Henry had been weighted down with script edits and Nantucket Gala planning. “How is it?” he asked.

“Um? I mean, it’s good. She’s talented.” Julia wet her lips.

“It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ somewhere.”

Julia tried to smile. “No, I mean. I just have some questions. Especially if we’re going to release the film and memoir ataround the same time. I want them to inform each other. I want them to support each other’s artistic mission. You know?”

Henry said he did. “I’m sure Sophia will accept your edits. She’s a professional.”

Julia hesitated. It looked as though she had something else to say. But instead, she hugged her son, wished him good night, and hurried into the dark. Henry watched her go till she disappeared.

When he returned to the dining room, Madeline was gone. His heart ached at the sight of her empty chair. But he told himself he’d get to know her this summer. He told himself this was his chance.

Everything is happening right now, he said. I’m on the verge of greatness. I’m on the verge of love.

Chapter Eighteen

June 2025

Nantucket Island

It was the evening of the 2025 Nantucket Gala and the first-ever time Henry had ever worn anything that required insurance. The tuxedo Barry had selected felt starchy and stiff and was priced more than Henry had ever earned. Too terrified to drink anything but white wine, he walked nervously around The Hutton Hotel, watching Tara as she set everything into motion. In just forty minutes, they were set to begin with a series of speeches, small plays, musical acts, and anything else to enliven their guests and get them to donate more to their cause. Of course, Sophia Bianchi would be speaking first. She was the guest of honor.

Sophia entered the Nantucket Gala. She looked glamorous and fresh-faced, her hair cascading in beautiful rolls down her shoulders, and her arms and back toned from yoga. When she spotted Henry, she smiled and made a beeline straight for him. How many hours had Henry spent with Sophia at this point in their friendship? Hundreds, probably. She’d become a stand-in grandmother for him out in LA—but a cooler grandmother, one who didn’t hold anything back. He’d heard hundreds of her stories; he’d asked her question after question to get to the heart of her character, as well as Francis’s and Natalie’s. It was clear that Sophia thought Natalie and Francis really had been having an affair at the time of Natalie’s death. But it was also clear that Sophia had loved Natalie at one time. It gave the story a bit of juice and complication.

Nobody deserves what happened to Natalie. But that doesn’t mean Sophia ever has to fully forgive her.

“This is the night, Henry!” Sophia said. She looked on the verge of tears. Henry watched her eyes as they traced the courtyard, the white tablecloths, the servers, the stage. He wondered if it felt eerie to be back here again. He wondered if it felt like repeating a nightmare.

This was the final place Sophia had ever seen her husband. This was where her dream life had died.

But Sophia looked tremendously pleased. Perhaps the drama suited her.

“Is your mother coming? She said she’s halfway done with the memoir, and I’m so eager to hear what she has to say.”

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