Page 13 of Nantucket Longing

It was a Thursday and Diana’s second time cleaning house for the Hamiltons.Based on cleaning their place the first time, it seemed likely that they were hardly ever home, that the wealthy professional couple had had children purely for show and had sent them to boarding school so they didn’t have to deal with them.Diana went from room to room, picking things up and dusting, listening for any sound downstairs from Madeline.

And then, out of the blue, came the sound of a piano.

Diana practically fell down the steps with shock.She found Madeline upright on the piano bench with her fingers on the keys and her face rapt.Slowly, gently, with the air of someone painting a masterpiece, Madeline tickled the keys.It was nothing she’d ever done before.Diana wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen a piano before, and obviously, the song she produced was very simple, just a few notes and chords.But upon Madeline’s face was an expression like she was figuring something out, a language that, impossibly, she’d once known.And when Diana picked her up and put her on the floor again, Madeline burst into tears and hurried to clamber back up the bench.Diana realized it was no use.Madeline wanted to play, and there was no stopping her.

Diana left her on the bench and went back upstairs, thinking about her own mother and about the fact that, if the receptionist had ever given her Diana’s phone number, Barbara had never called.Diana decided to believe that Barbara had never gotten the number.It was easier to carry it in her heart like that.But what would Barbara think if she knew her granddaughter knew the piano deep in her toddler brain?What would she think if she knew her granddaughter was—maybe—a prodigy?

Upstairs, as Diana scrubbed the shower and listened to her daughter play around on the family instrument, gaining momentum, teaching herself, Diana wept until a smile filled her face.

What if this was their ticket out of here?

ChapterEight

Madeline

August 2025

It was the afternoon before Henry’s flight to Los Angeles.Madeline and Henry spent as much of the day together as they could, wrapped in each other’s arms, sailing across the Nantucket Sound, telling stories, kissing, and leaping in the water.Madeline begged the universe to let the day last forever, but she knew it was a losing game.When the air was tinted purple, Henry directed the sailboat back to the harbor, then they went back to the Copperfields, who were expecting the both of them for a goodbye dinner.Madeline wanted to cling to Henry as tightly as she could.

Right after he tied up the boat, he turned and placed his hands on either side of her head and gave her the kind of kiss that made her weak at the knees.When it broke, his lips were glistening.“You haven’t said if you’re coming out with me yet.”His eyes were urgent and filled with fear.

Madeline swallowed the lump in her throat.It had been the most perfect summer.

“You should go out and get settled,” she said.“It’s not like I’ll be able to come to set all the time.I’ll join you after.”

Henry let his hands drop to his sides.Although he was twenty-four years old, Madeline had the sense that he’d gotten taller, his muscles were bigger, and he’d become more of a man than he’d been that day on the airplane earlier this year.Did she look more like a woman?She was twenty-three and tanner than she’d ever been.She’d gained a little weight, maybe, from all the bonfires and barbecues, but in the mirror, she sensed it was a healthy weight, something that filled her out and made her look happier.Julia had said, “Honey, you’re glowing,” so many times that Madeline had taken a pregnancy test.It had come up negative.Madeline had been disappointed at first, and then she’d been surprised at her disappointment.Did she really want to “steal” Henry from Hollywood with a baby?

We could make it work!a voice in the back of her mind cried.

“Let’s talk about it later,” Madeline said now.“We have to get back.Your grandmother already hates me.I don’t want her to hate you, too.”

“She does not hate you,” Henry said.“She loves you.She demanded you come back to Nantucket.She brought you out here!”

But Madeline couldn’t be talked out of thinking that Greta was disappointed in her.Greta hadn’t stopped asking Madeline about her painting, her drawing, her writing, her music—but Madeline had drifted in and out of her studio like a wanton and daydreamy girl without a care in the world.Her main focus—for the first time ever—was love.And she knew that Greta thought she was wasting her time.

Once, in mid-July, Greta had cornered Madeline and said, “Love is a beautiful thing.But you have to remember to make time for yourself, for your art, for what you want.Back when I first fell in love with Bernard, you could hardly get me out of the pages of my novel.”

Madeline had wanted to say,You’re a better woman than I am!You’re a better artist!

Instead, she’d said, “I’m so uninspired, Greta.I wish I could pull it out of myself, but I just can’t.And you’d think a beautiful island like Nantucket would do the trick!”

The truth was, of course, that she hadn’t burned with such desire to play the piano in years.Her love for Henry swept through her like a forest fire, and her creativity pulsed without any direction to go.She couldn’t really paint.She couldn’t really write.And that beautiful grand piano waited downstairs, a hulking and expectant thing.But she hadn’t sat down at a piano in six years.She was sure that she couldn’t remember a thing, that she’d embarrass herself the minute she got in front of the keys.

But her nightmares or her dreams echoed with piano tunes.Sometimes, in the dreams, Madeline played as though she’d never stopped, and other times, it was her mother at the keys—which was a funny thing.As far as Madeline knew, Diana had never played the piano.When Madeline asked her to just try, Diana said simply, “You know I don’t play.”

Madeline had begged her mother to tell her why she had “chosen” the piano at such a young age; she’d begged her mother to make sense of it.“Why do I feel like I’ve always known how to play?”

But Diana had waved her hand and said in her Polish accent, “It’s just one of those things.You’re a prodigy.There’s no way to explain something like that.”

Rather than a bonfire and barbecue for Henry’s goodbye dinner, Greta had made an elaborate feast: lemon-garlic fish, buttery potatoes, green beans, and salads peppered with pomegranate and tangy with vinaigrette.Charlie and Henry’s Uncle Quentin hauled picnic tables to the beach outside and treated themselves to a beer while Alana, Juila, and Ella set the tables with plates and bowls and forks and knives.Madeline hurried to help, but Julia waved her away.“Go make sure Henry’s not up to any trouble.”Henry, of course, was already drinking beer with Scarlet and Laura, giggling as they played cards on the side porch.

Henry tugged Madeline’s hand until she sat on his lap and helped him with his hand.“That’s not a hand, Henry,” she teased him.“That’s a foot.You’re beyond help!”

They sat for dinner at seven thirty.Henry and Madeline were across from Henry’s mother and stepfather and directly next to Henry’s older sister Anna and younger sister Rachel, both of whom eyed their only brother with a mix of jealousy and pride.Bernard got up to give a small speech, after which both Greta and Julia said a few words about Henry’s commitment to his craft.

“Everyone knows how much I wanted Henry to give up on the LA thing,” Julia said, mocking herself.“I guess I was wrong about that, huh?”

The Copperfields laughed.Henry had told Madeline all about his mother suggesting he’d never make it out West, that she’d wanted him to join the publishing world instead.“But it’s not like publishing is any easier!”Henry had said with a laugh.“But she wanted to protect me.I get that.”

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