Page 23 of Nantucket Longing

Sandy laughed and winked.

Madeline struggled to know when to call Henry.She tried nights; she tried mornings.But impossibly, Henry’s work had ramped up a great deal, so much so that he usually passed out the minute he got home.Throughout the workday, he texted her, but by then, Madeline was often asleep.Over coffee, she responded to his texts as best as she could, feeling like a brokenhearted pen pal.But what other option did she have?She didn’t want to prove Greta right and give up on this.And her heart still beat boldly with her love for Henry.

HENRY: I miss you, I miss you, I can’t wait till Christmas when we can be together again.

MADELINE: Come to Paris with your grandparents and see me play?

HENRY: If only I could.I’ll be working here till the very last second before my flight.

MADELINE: Of course.I’m so proud of you.

HENRY: And I’m so proud of you, my love.

It went like that through September and October and finally through the doldrums of November and early December—months so dark that it felt like ink was spilled across the night sky over Paris.But although Madeline was sorrowful and missing Henry like crazy, she wasn’t bored in the least.Just as Greta had suspected she would, she had fully fallen in love with Paris.She had a favorite bakery and cheese place.Her French was getting better and better—going beyond hello and good morning to talking about weekend plans and what the jazz five-piece was working on for the show that night.Her piano playing at the jazz club was very well received, so much so that they sold tickets out weeks in advance.David said, “This didn't happen before we had Miss Madeline.She’s knocking their socks off!”

Madeline was initially frightened that the other musicians in the jazz band would be cagey and competitive with her, especially now that she’d come and stolen their thunder.But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.Unlike the pianists she’d competed against as a teenager, her current musician colleagues were floored by her talent, egging her on.They knew that the beautiful things she wrought on the keys involved them, called them to action, and they answered in kind, improvising and bringing the audience to their knees.

Madeline was written up in every Parisian newspaper, and in early December, she got a call from a Manhattan-based journalist wanting to interview her for a feature they sought to print by Christmas.Madeline was floored and agreed.She hadn’t been interviewed since she was seventeen, the last time she’d won a piano competition, and prior to that, her mother had demanded that they see all the questions the journalist wanted to ask beforehand.This time, Madeline wanted to go in blind and see what she came up with to say.It was improvisation and conversation combined.

The journalist was only a few years older than Madeline and based full-time in Manhattan.She appeared on Madeline’s computer wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, seated in a quaint Manhattan apartment.They exchanged pleasantries, and then the journalist said, “Shall we dive in?”

Madeline agreed and braced herself.

The first few questions were easy to answer.“How old were you when you started playing?When did someone first use the word ‘prodigy’ to describe you?Would you say that being a prodigy is a gift or a curse?”

Madeline thought for a moment before answering that last question.“I’ve never thought of it as anything but who I am,” she said.“But it’s true that it sort of cursed me later on.I blame the piano for my mother’s death.”

The journalist’s eyes bugged out of her head for just a split second as though she hadn’t expected such insights for a puff piece.“Why do you say that?”

“It’s a long story,” Madeline said, suddenly cursing herself for being so forthright.“Basically, my mother and I were completely entwined.Everything she did was for my career.I don’t even think she dated or had many friends, which makes me really sad in retrospect.Anyway, it was almost over for her.It was up to me to get through my Juilliard audition.”

Madeline had started to sweat.

The journalist tipped forward in her chair, nodding so as to push Madeline along.But it was only then that Madeline bit her tongue to stop herself.Was she really going to talk about the worst incident in her life for the first time with a woman she didn’t know?It felt morbid.

“Anyway, she passed away, and I moved to LA instead,” Madeline said, jumping to the end as quickly as she could.“I miss her all the time.”

The journalist looked deflated, as though she’d expected far more from Madeline’s story.Finally, she managed, “Do you think your mother would be proud of where you are now?”

Madeline’s eyes filled with tears that she blinked away.Would her mother be proud that she was a jazz musician in a speakeasy in Paris rather than playing a major stage with a symphony?She knew the answer to that.She knew it wasn’t anything that would feel comfortable to hear.

“I think she’d feel complicated about the directions my life has taken,” Madeline said.“But I wish I could tell her all my reasons.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”the journalist said sweetly.

But Madeline couldn’t go on.She had to cut the interview early.Afterward, she promptly poured herself a glass of water and went to the bathroom to cry.When she thought she would never stop, she bustled around her apartment, looking for her phone.She needed to talk to Henry so desperately.But it rang and rang and rang, and Henry didn’t pick up.She couldn’t stop shaking, so she drew a bath and sat in the water until it was cold.

After that, she did her makeup and walked to the jazz club.It was time for another performance.

ChapterThirteen

Diana

July 2015

Diana didn’t agree to go on another date with someone until the summer Madeline was thirteen.By that time, Madeline had been out of school for a while, away from “normal childhood,” entrenched in seven- or eight-hour days of practice and doing online math and language homework when she had the time.For her part, Diana felt as though she ate, slept, and dreamed of Madeline’s career.It was everything she was.For money, they of course had the cash that Madeline earned from competitions, and beyond that, Diana still worked the bar across the road, cleaned houses, and, sometimes, sold makeup door-to-door.She knew better than to ever ask the other piano moms if they wanted to buy from her.They already looked down on her and hated Madeline for her talent.Diana didn’t want to make it worse with a few lipsticks.

The man who asked Diana out on a date that summer was the half brother of Mrs.Everett, Madeline’s most recent piano teacher, the one Diana was sure would propel Madeline into the stratosphere and get her to Juilliard.Mrs.Everett’s brother Greg was staying with her that summer because his house had been destroyed in a forest fire in California, and he had nowhere else to go.The minute Diana saw him at Mrs.Everett’s place, her heart had dropped into her stomach.He was handsome with intense, actor-like features and thick eyebrows and broad shoulders.He played the piano, too, although Mrs.Everett liked to say he was more of a rock star than anything else.He sat on the bench and “performed” Elton John and Billy Joel songs that made Madeline laugh and swoon.Diana didn’t often let Madeline listen to pop or rock, but right then, Diana thought only of how exhilarating it was to listen to a handsome man play for them.Was this the kind of life she deserved?Why had she been alone for so long?

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