Page 32 of Nantucket Longing

“A few of my favorites were performed by a woman named Barbara Nowak,” Greta went on.“She was and still is a sensational pianist.She brings such personality and life to pieces that are two hundred years or more.I listened to her play for hours and hours and often turned the albums over to start them again.”Greta’s eyes were shiny with tears.

Madeline’s eyes closed.It’s happening, she thought then.Greta already knew.Had she known the entire time?

“I don’t know if you’ve seen her photograph,” Greta said quietly.

“I hadn’t until a few days ago.”Madeline pressed her lips together.“A man approached me in Paris.He mentioned Barbara’s name and showed me her photograph.I’d heard her name before, of course.She’s renowned and an incredible performer, and, you know, I was always eager to hear new renditions of songs I was practicing.But I didn’t know…”

“That you have the same face,” Greta finished.

“That she’s my grandmother,” Madeline said.

Greta leaned back in her chair and strung her arms tightly over her chest.It was a very long time before she was able to speak again, and when she did, all she said was, “I don’t know what to say.”Madeline guessed that was a rare thing for Greta Copperfield.

“She wants to meet me,” Madeline said.

Greta shook her head and adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose.“Of course she does.She must have heard about you.David said the quintet has been talked about in many different circles.He’s very pleased.And I imagine she’s so curious about what’s happened in your life and why you left the classical world and why you came back.”

Madeline let the silence hang before she said, “My mother never told me about her.”

“That is the strangest thing of all,” Greta said.

“She left Poland when she was nine years old,” Madeline said.“Her father brought her.I’d always assumed that my grandmother was dead.But all that time, she was alive and well and selling out thousand-plus concert venues.Meanwhile, we were so broke that my mother worked every conceivable job she could to put me through piano lessons and get me into competitions.”

Greta’s jaw was slack.She looked as though she couldn’t fathom it.“She still lives in Poland?”

“In Warsaw,” Madeline said because she’d looked it up.“She wants me to come next year.”

“And you’re going to go,” Greta said.

Madeline raised her shoulders.“Why should I?”

Greta cleared her throat and traced her fingers over the table.“You know that we Copperfields didn’t talk to one another for decades.”

“Yes.”Madeline knew it even though it was difficult to fathom.

“You know, it still breaks my heart,” Greta said, her voice breaking.She couldn’t look at Madeline.“We’ve forgiven each other, but I don’t know if any of us have forgiven ourselves.I hate that I didn’t pick up the phone, and I know they hate it, too.Meanwhile, Bernard was in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and we carried on without one another.In some ways, I don’t know how we could ever be so cruel.In other ways, we were doing what we had to do to survive.”

Madeline narrowed her eyes.She was pretty sure she understood where Greta was going with this, but it didn’t feel comfortable.She took a breath.

“I think if your grandmother wants to see you, wants to meet you, wants to be in your life,” Greta said, raising her shoulders, “then you owe it to yourself to try.More love is never a bad thing.”

Madeline closed her eyes and let the words flow through her.She panged with fear.

Finally, before she planned it, she said, “I’ve been thinking of leaving Paris and moving to LA to be with Henry.”

Greta tilted her head.She looked mildly disappointed.“I don’t know what the future holds for either of you,” she said.“But you know my stance.Career first.”

Madeline laughed sadly.She now saw the cracks in Greta’s logic.

“Regardless,” Greta said, “you owe it to yourself to meet the one and only Barbara Nowak.After that, you can decide—Paris or Los Angeles or something else entirely.Your life is your own.”

Madeline filled her lungs and realized she’d never fully thought that before.Her life belonged to her!It didn’t belong to the piano, or to her mother, or to her piano teacher.It didn’t belong to Henry, either.

“I hear you, Greta,” she whispered.

Suddenly, the timer rang, and Greta was on her feet, whipping the soufflé from the oven and placing it on the counter with a thrilled smile.“Not bad,” she said of what she’d created.“Not bad at all.”

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