Page 17 of Nantucket Longing

Diana knew that the diner sounded pathetic when compared to Adam and his ex-wife’s symphony orchestra in Cincinnati.But she didn’t want to build a new relationship on a batch of lies, so she said, “I was working at a restaurant.I was really young.My dad had just been diagnosed with cancer.”

Immediately after she said it, she felt as though she’d ripped herself open.

Adam’s face fell, and he looked down at his glass of wine nervously.

“I’m sorry,” Diana sputtered.

“No!No.I asked,” Adam said, trying to rebound.“What kind of cancer did he have?”

“Lung,” she said.“He always worked in terrible conditions.And he smoked.But everyone in Poland smoked.”

“Everyone used to smoke here in the States, too,” Adam said.“You go back to 1960, and pregnant women were smoking!”

Diana’s eyes bugged out.“I know.I can’t imagine it.”

Had her mother smoked when she was pregnant with Diana?It was the first time Diana had really thought about that.But, she supposed, things were different in Poland.

Was that why she wasn’t a good pianist?

Diana’s heart was beating too quickly.She steadied herself with her palms on the table.

“Times change quickly, I guess,” Adam said.

It felt as though Diana had pulled all the air out of their conversation.So she drank faster, trying to find that old spark.She talked in circles about her relationship with Allen, talking about his alcoholism and how little money they’d had.She thought,Adam wants me to open up.I can open up!That’s what dating is all about!But after Diana drank her third glass of wine, she realized she’d taken it too far.Adam couldn’t look her in the eye any longer.He was looking past her and hardly engaging with anything she said.Diana moved things around on her plate, unable to eat.She asked him a question about himself, something about where he lived in Grand Rapids, and she prayed that he would invite her over after this.She still wanted to sit on his sofa and kiss him.She still wanted to see what it would be like to live inside his life.

She wanted him to help her with Madeline’s career.She wanted him to love her.

But when the bill came, Adam paid and got up and said, “I’m beat!”

“Me too,” Diana said.

In reality, she’d never been more awake in her life.

When Adam dropped her off at her dilapidated house, Diana went upstairs to find Madeline already asleep in bed.She looked adorable and beautiful and serene.Diana sat at the edge of her daughter’s bed as tears spilled down her cheeks.She wondered what was wrong with her, then remembered that Madeline was very nearly perfect, which meant that something about Diana had to be okay.

But the next day, when Madeline messed around on the piano and didn’t practice as well or as hard as Diana felt was necessary, Diana heard herself screaming at her daughter.“Do you know what I put up with for you?For your piano?For your career?”Diana cried.“Get back to the bench and stay there until you have that piece memorized!Or else!”

Madeline limped back to the piano.Her sobs echoed through the house.

Scrubbing the kitchen counters and listening, knowing that Adam would never call again, Diana reminded herself it was all for Madeline.It was all for their future.

It had to be enough.

ChapterTen

Madeline

August 2025

It didn’t take long for Greta and Bernard Copperfield to reveal themselves as important people for Madeline to know.Just five days after Henry left for Los Angeles, Bernard appeared at the breakfast table with Greta and Madeline and said his friend David was going to be in town in two days, that he was a jazz musician based in Paris who had expressed “real interest” to meet Madeline Willis.“I wouldn’t introduce you if I felt the two of you wouldn’t connect,” Bernard said, rubbing an apple on the collar of his shirt.

Madeline swallowed her toast too soon and coughed into her hand.Greta and Bernard were looking at her like,This is your big opportunity.Aren’t you going to take it?So Madeline heard herself say, “Wow.That’s incredible.I’d love to meet him.”

When was the last time she’d spent any time with a “real” musician?Back in Los Angeles, she’d seen plenty of them milling around East Los Angeles, their guitars strapped to their shoulders, their trunks stuffed with drum sets, their eyes alight with creativity.Because Madeline had been born and raised a classical music snob, she struggled to understand how these people managed to write their own music.Back when she’d been practicing eight, nine, ten hours a day, she’d never given herself time to figure that out.

Would David look down at her for never writing her own stuff?

Did she have to tell him everything about her backstory?

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