Page 11 of Nantucket Reflections
Alessandra laughed.
But Federico was a remarkable help that night. Because it was winter, the streets were clear by one thirty or so, and they worked diligently, setting up a rented ladder and outlining Alessandra’s vision until Alessandra was ready to fill in the gaps. The painting was about motherhood, about the love of a child for their mother, about what was lost in translation between a mother and child despite trying from both sides. Alessandra felt that, with this mural, she was revealing herself to be a female artist, and for this she was glad. She was tired of the Banksy comparisons. Banksy was a dude artist in every way. She was not.
By four thirty that morning, she and Federico scurried back to the hotel, showered, and got into bed, and by nine thirty, five hours later, the headlines were filled with CAT’s name. Federico and Alessandra read them aloud to each other in their stunted English and French, as well as Italian. Parisians were incredibly pleased that CAT had graced them with her first non-Italian mural. Alessandra was giddy. Federico covered her with kisses and ran out of the hotel to get pastries. “We’re going to eat everything I can find!”
Alessandra remained in bed, watching the winter sunlight come in through the glass. She felt like she was floating. She ignored a few phone calls from her mother until, finally, she texted.
Mom: Isn’t it crazy that CAT is in Paris with you at the very same time! I wonder if it’s someone we know!
She smiled to herself and wrote back.
Alessandra: Maybe it’s one of our neighbors! I can’t believe it!
She realized that people always believe what they want to believe. Everyone wanted to think Alessandra was one thing, but she contained multitudes. Everyone did.
Federico returned with an enormous bag of pastries, more pastries than two people should ever eat at once. He was euphoric. She was thrilled that she’d brought him into her world, into this secret.
“What are your next plans?” he asked, taking a bite of something cream-filled. “Tell me how I can help!”
Alessandra smiled. How could she tell him that she hadn’t known she could hope for a next round? She hadn’t been sure the chemotherapy would work again.
“I don’t always need help,” she told him tentatively, “but I think I will for the bigger stuff.”
“The bigger stuff is what’s going to make you the next Banksy,” he said, which was true, she guessed.
“I don’t want to be Banksy. I want to be better than Banksy.”
Federico grinned and kissed her again. “You’re just like you were back in art school. You’ve got the same energy. I hope it rubs off on me.”
Alessandra took a bite of pastry and said, “I got so tired of being an artist like everyone else. Making the same paintings that everyone else makes and selling them.”
“I think I’m tired of it too,” he said. “I thought it was the only way.”
“There is never just one way forward,” she said. “We have to be creative. It’s the only way I want to live.”
Federico’s eyes swelled. He asked her to promise she’d tell him when and where she wanted to do her next mural, but she told him she’d only update him when she felt it necessary. “I want you in on this,” she said, “but it’s still my thing, my heart, my soul.” Some things had to remain private, she knew. Some things were sacred.
But publicly, CAT’s persona exploded. Cities around the world wrote about CAT, begging her to paint her murals on their walls and “bless” them with her messages. Of course, what the world didn’t know was that Alessandra had responsibilities at home. She had people waiting for her. She couldn’t gallivant around the world, although she so often wanted to.
ChapterSeven
Summer 2025
Nantucket Island
For the next several hours that night at The Copperfield House, Julia, Alana, Ella, and their husbands stayed awake, researching everything they could find about the newest CAT mural. Like the Parisian mural made back in January of 2016, it had a mother-child theme, illustrating the love a mother has for her child and vice versa, a love that transcends time and space and can hardly be described with words. Everything about the mural indicated it was a true CAT original, therefore debunking the CAT Julia had supposedly booked for the night’s launch. Julia was reeling. Guilt and shame whirled.
When the news of the mural had initially broken, she’d called Lucia Colombo immediately, eager to hear how she wanted to cover her tracks on this. But Lucia didn’t answer. Julia called her hotel and even drove over there with Charlie, only to be told that Lucia had checked out earlier that evening. It was by then too late to call her lawyer, Susan Sheridan, but Nicole was wide awake and on high alert, saying exactly what Julia was thinking—that this was proof they could sue Lucia and get some of their money back. But they had to find Lucia first. They didn’t want to admit that this seemed harder than it should be.
When Julia finally got up the nerve to head home for the night, supposedly to get some rest, Alana and Ella scooped her into a big hug and told her everything would be fine.
“Hold on tight,” Ella said. “It’s going to be uphill from here.”
“But we’ll be with you every step of the way,” Alana reminded her.
“And me,” Charlie said, smiling as he opened the door for her, ready to drive her home.
Julia slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning until she got up and researched more about the brand-new CAT mural in Paris. It was located just a few blocks from where the original CAT mural still stood, and it overwhelmed so many imaginations around the world. Articles were being published everywhere, speculating. Headlines read:Proof that the Real CAT Doesn’t Approve of the Fake Memoir? Why Has CAT Been Quiet for Three Years? Where is CAT? Is CAT Ready to Come Forward?Numerous outlets were offering CAT hundreds of thousands to reveal her true self and tell her side of the story. But there wasn’t a peep out of CAT herself, wherever she was. Was she still in Paris? Did she always take off after painting a mural?
