Page 20 of Nantucket Longing

Greta and Bernard ordered more wine and watched Madeline like two foreboding hawks until she finally agreed to play with David.“Just once.”

But Madeline was surprised to find that she did not hate playing with David.

The afternoon that Madeline and David improvised together—Madeline on the grand piano and David on his saxophone—they played for three, then four, then five hours, chasing each other down each line of musical thought until they were exhausted and starving.When they were finished, Greta had dinner ready for them, and she and Scarlet and Julia and Bernard beamed across the table at Madeline and David as though they’d just discovered something sensational that nobody else in the world knew about yet.

Madeline was surprised at how at ease she already felt with David.Now that they’d improvised for so many hours, she found herself cracking jokes and teasing him the way she might have teased a father figure (not that she’d ever had one before).When Henry called during dinner, Madeline didn’t hear the phone, and when she tried to call him after they were finished, he didn’t answer.But her heart was too full to care.Over a nightcap, sitting on the back screened-in porch and watching a storm roll toward the island, David told her he needed a pianist in his five-piece jazz band back in Paris.“Jefferson was the pianist I’ve worked with the past, oh, fifteen years?And he recently moved to Tokyo to form a new project.His wife is Japanese, and she couldn’t take the French anymore,” David said, his voice lilting.“But for as long as I’ve played with Jefferson, and as much as I love what we’ve made together, I have a hunch about you, Madeline Willis.You’re the real deal.It’s hard to believe you haven’t played in six years.”David tugged at his black-and-gray hair and laughed at himself.“I’m sorry to embarrass you like this.”

Madeline’s blush was so enflamed that she guessed she was cherry red.But she had to admit to herself she was enjoying the compliments almost as much as she’d enjoyed playing for so long, throwing her ego away in pursuit of beautiful music.

“I’m nervous,” Madeline admitted.“Paris is so different, you know?”

“Of course,” he said.“We could do a trial run?Let’s say, September through Christmas?After that, you could re-assess how you want your career to go.And I’ll introduce you to all the right people, you can be sure of that.Maybe you’ll have opportunities in Asia or South America or somewhere else in Europe.Or maybe you’ll be called back to Manhattan.That’s where the real money is.”

Madeline’s chest opened up.She pictured herself like a sultry jazz pianist in a shadowy bar, wearing all black, her hair in curls down her back.She pictured newspaper headlines and articles talking about America’s next big talent.She thought of Henry, so many thousand miles away from here, throwing himself through the obstacle course called Hollywood.What if, in becoming this “brilliant jazz pianist in Paris,” she could show Henry that she was, in fact, good enough not only for him but for Hollywood itself?What if it was her destiny to return to the piano?And, if it was her destiny, hadn’t she sat down at the Copperfield piano for a reason—to show them what her heart was actually made of?

“Tell me what else you want to do with your life,” David asked when she didn’t answer.“If not this, how will you fill your time?”

The only answer Madeline truly had ready involved flying to Los Angeles and moving in with Henry, then waiting around till he had time for her.But that idea had never really fit.

Madeline smiled shyly and laughed at herself.“I don’t have any other plan.”

David clapped his thigh.“Then what are you waiting for, girl?Let’s make you a star.”

ChapterEleven

Madeline

September 2025

It was the afternoon before Madeline’s flight to Paris.Madeline’s single suitcase was packed, and her passport—which had had to be rushed with Greta’s help—sat on the top of it, expectant and featuring a fresh photograph of Madeline, taken ten days ago at the Nantucket post office.Madeline left her room to grab a glass of water from the residency kitchen, where the others greeted her with half-jealous and half-friendly smiles and wished her well.They, too, were on their way out of The Copperfield House: Monty back to Marseilles and Benedict to a writing retreat in East London.They wouldn’t be far from Madeline at all—which was funny, given that Madeline had spent most of their time at the residency ignoring them and pursuing Henry instead.Even so, both of them had promised to call Madeline if they were in Paris; they promised to pop into the jazz club to hear her play.Benedict said, “I imagine we’ll see your name in headlines soon!”They were much kinder than Madeline had anticipated, and it brought tears to her eyes.

Madeline went downstairs to practice at the grand piano for an hour and a half: arpeggios, scales, a memorized piece or three, plus a good chunk of time during which she improvised whatever came to her head while she imagined herself on stage with David and the other jazz musicians, all of whom she’d met via video chat.They were kind and anywhere between thirty-five and sixty-two—lifelong musicians, as Madeline was.They were excited to meet her.There was a dinner planned for the night she arrived.

When Madeline finished practicing, Greta called her into the kitchen for a cup of tea.A big vat of soup bubbled on the stovetop, and outside, a violent rainstorm swirled over the Nantucket Sound, tinting the sky purple.Greta was wrapped up in shawls and a robe, and on the table were pages and pages of her novel, which she again was marking with a red pen.Madeline had read a few pages a couple of days ago, and she’d gushed with love for them and told Greta she didn’t have any notes.“You need to learn to be more critical!Especially with your friends!”Greta had said.

“You sounded good today,” Greta said to Madeline now.

Madeline blushed and went to the boiling kettle to pour the water.“I’m nervous to meet the others,” she said.But what she really wanted to say was that she was nervous to move to Paris by herself.She was worried she’d get depressed there.All year, she’d avoided being depressed because she’d been here at The Copperfield House, hiding from her problems and falling in love.What if all my problems are waiting for me in Paris?What if Henry never sees me again?

It seemed as though Greta could hear the stirrings of Madeline’s anxious mind.She put down her pen and stood.“Let’s go to the porch,” she said, carrying the mugs and guiding Madeline down the hall.They sat side by side and watched the rain cut across the beach and blast along the wooden slats of the docks.Madeline filled her mouth with hot tea and tried to make her heart slow down but couldn’t.

“I told you early on that I met Bernard in Paris,” Greta said.

“You did.”Madeline remembered how romantic their time in the City of Light had sounded to her.As Greta had recounted their story, she remembered that they’d been sitting in Los Angeles, sweating from the California heat.

Greta eyed her now.“You deserve to have a beautiful life in Paris, the way we did.”

“I hope I do,” Madeline said, although she doubted she was capable of building her own happiness like that.

“You haven’t talked about your past much,” Greta went on.“You haven’t told us why you quit the piano, and I don’t want to probe any deeper than you want to say.”She pressed her lips together.“Is it possible that what happened before could happen to you again?”

“It won’t happen again,” Madeline affirmed because it was impossible.

Greta looked relieved.

“But that doesn’t mean something else might happen,” Madeline was quick to add.“I don’t know.”How could she describe to Greta that she’d felt cursed since she was a little girl—that her mother Diana had told her of old Polish curses, magic as ancient as the soil beneath them?Of course, Madeline didn’t believe in any of that.

“It’s best not to think like that,” Greta said.“It’s best not to imagine all the bad things that will happen rather than the good.The mind is a powerful thing.”

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