Page 29 of Nantucket Reflections
July 2025
Positano
It was the first day of July, yet another in the never-ending saga of Julia’s publishing house versus the public, a public who continued to cancel preorders and demonize Julia and all her decisions. Online that morning, Julia skimmed through PR Nicole’s interviews with various literary magazines, wherein she geniusly described the publishing house’s mission to uplift people like CAT, that the mix-up with Lucia Colombo had come from a good place, and that, based on what Julia had discovered through an art expert, they had very real reason to believe that Lucia was NOT who she said she was. “It’s legal evidence that we will use in a court of law,” Nicole said. She was a professional, but it was clear she was at the end of her rope. Julia prayed she’d hold on a little bit longer before she abandoned the publishing house altogether.
Nicole also cited the Eastern European man who’d been arrested in Nantucket just yesterday, but the article hadn’t had time to dig deeper into that mystery. Not yet.
Additionally, one of the magazines went on to cite the newest CAT mural in Paris, but Nicole chose not to comment on it, which Julia appreciated. In an email, Julia explained that Gregor didn’t think the mural was by the real CAT at all, but rather a really good copycat.
Everything felt twisted up.
Henry returned to Nantucket that morning, Eastern Time, and called Julia. Julia was on a walk with Charlie, a rocky hike that might have required hiking boots, if only she’d remembered to pack them. Henry explained that he was heading for the police station immediately.
Julia stopped for breath, her eyes scanning the landscape before her. “Thank you for doing this, honey,” she said.
“He tried to punch me!” Henry reminded her. “And I didn’t like the look of what he was up to. I’ll do anything to help.”
Julia told him she’d be waiting to hear what happened.
When she hung up, she turned to find Charlie, bent over and watching a snake slide through the grass. He looked mesmerized, as though he was in another world. She kissed his temple. “Did you make a new friend?”
Charlie laughed and straightened his spine. “I can’t help but feel amazed by this place. I know it’s all stressful for you, though.”
“It’s good to be away from my computer for a while,” Julia said.
When they returned to their hotel, they received a message from Alana, stating that another one of her friends was vacating a holiday home in Positano, directly adjacent to the old and beautiful church at its center. “Go! Stay there!” Alana ordered. “Seriously, it’s going to be empty otherwise.”
“That’s crazy,” Julia told her. “How do you know all these people?”
“I had quite a life. And I insist,” Alana said.
Luckily, Julia and Charlie hadn’t yet paid for another night at the hotel, so they packed up their things and headed a little way down the cliff to the apartment, where another maid showed them in and helped them get situated. She didn’t speak a word of English, but Julia and Charlie covered her with grazias and tipped her well. When they moved in, they collapsed on the ultra-comfortable bed and took an accidental nap.
By the time they woke up, Henry had called three times.
Julia called him back right away.
“Hey!” he said. It sounded like he was driving home. “I identified the guy. It isn’t the one who punched me, but he was there that night. For sure. He got picked up for speeding.”
“Did they say anything about Lucia?” Julia asked.
“They haven’t been able to figure out where he’s staying,” Henry said. “Apparently, he doesn’t speak English.”
“Does he speak Italian?” Julia asked.
“Maybe I can ask the cops,” Henry said thoughtfully. “But I don’t know anyone on Nantucket who speaks Italian. Also, I have a hunch that he can really speak English and is just pretending not to. You can’t legally force someone to speak it, I guess.”
Julia exhaled deeply, trying to figure out a way through this. She hated the wriggling feeling in her gut that told her that Lucia, whoever she was, was in trouble. These men were bad news. “Can you send me a photograph of the guys?” she asked. “A few screenshots from the video you took?”
“Sure,” Henry said.
He said he was heading to The Copperfield House now, that Greta had a soup on the stove for him since it was chillier than it should have been in July. “I’m going to put on a sweater, eat some soup, and relax. Madeline, too,” he said. “Grandma’s orders.”
Julia smiled into the phone and said she loved him. They hung up, and a moment later, he sent several screenshots of the Eastern Europeans. The images were somewhat grainy but mostly clear. When she showed them to Charlie, they both had the same idea at the same time. That was what happened when you grew up together and were soulmates.
They’d bring the photographs to the server who’d spoken about Lucia’s storied past, about how often she’d stolen from tourists and messed around. Maybe they knew something about her friends. Perhaps they’d seen them before.
Certainly, Lucia’s mother knew them, even if she refused to say how.
