Page 40 of Nantucket Reflections
Perhaps Lucia was accustomed to the dying people on her rotation offering her advice on how to live. Maybe that got annoying for her. Alessandra reminded herself to be kinder to Lucia. She seemed like she didn’t really have any friends, but Alessandra couldn’t say why.
As the weeks went by, Alessandra and Lucia developed a little rapport, at least when Alessandra wasn’t too weak to talk. Lucia told her bits and pieces of her past, how terribly she’d failed at art school, how much her mother needed her, how little money she had. She hinted that Ivan was not kind to her, that she needed to find a way out of the relationship, but that she didn’t know how. Alessandra was a listening ear, someone Lucia could trust, if only because Alessandra had no more than six to ten weeks to live. That was what the doctor said, at least.
Alessandra wanted Lucia to know that there was so much love in the world that she needed to go find it. She wanted Lucia to know that it was never too late.
But more than anything, she wanted to translate these facts to her daughter.
Elena spent a lot of time in Alessandra’s room, drawing or talking about school, or telling her mother stories. These were some of Alessandra’s favorite times, because they pulsated with Elena’s excitement for the future, a future that Alessandra wouldn’t know but could feel. Alessandra didn’t want to say anything like, “I’ll be with you wherever you go,” because she didn’t want to say anything cheesy. But she said, “I love you,” a lot. Elena always said it back.
When Alessandra became delirious one afternoon, Lucia left the room to find Federico, who was usually the only person who could really calm her down. Alessandra held Federico’s face with her hands and gazed into his eyes, speaking nonsensically. She was feverish and cold at the same time.
She could hardly understand herself as she said, “You can’t let anyone know. It’s my legacy. I mean, it’s her. It’s CAT. Please don’t let anyone know! I don’t want my name in the news! I don’t want anyone to see me like this! Please!”
Federico put a washcloth on her forehead and kissed her fingers and promised her, in whispered words, that he would never let anyone know her identity. He would carry it for the rest of his life.
“Not even Elena,” Alessandra said, probably too loud, but she’d forgotten there were people in the house. She’d forgotten that it was possible to give yourself away in the safety of your own home.
Her chest seized, and suddenly she returned to herself. She kissed Federico and held him as tightly as her stringy arms could. He got into bed with her and cuddled her. They gazed out the window, where it was nearly autumn and everything was burnt red and dark green. Alessandra couldn’t believe that she’d never go for a walk with her husband again. She couldn’t believe she’d never paint another mural. She couldn’t believe she wouldn’t be at her daughter’s wedding. She couldn’t believe any of it.
She told Federico, “You made me happier than any person ever could have. I love you. I love you. I don’t know what my life would have been without you, but it would have been meaningless.”
She wondered if she made any sense.
But Federico told her that he loved her. That he wouldn’t have understood life without her. That she gave his life meaning.
It was then that they both noticed the shadow lurking near the doorway. Federico lurched up, calling out, “Elena?”
But it was Lucia, who ducked in to say, “I’m just checking in. Do you need anything from me?”
Alessandra smiled at the woman, a woman who’d become her friend over the past few weeks. It didn’t occur to her that Lucia had eavesdropped on anything she’d said. Alessandra didn’t think that she would ever use all the stories Alessandra had told her to manipulate thousands into thinking that Lucia, in fact, was CAT, the famous muralist.
Federico was too distraught to consider it himself.
Lucia returned down the hall, her head awash with information she would soon tell Ivan.
Three weeks later, after saying goodbye to all the people she’d ever deeply loved, Alessandra passed away, holding Elena’s and Federico’s hands. Sophia and Marius were just down the road, on their way with a big pan of lasagna, hoping to get Alessandra to eat a few more nutrients, a few more forkfuls of cheese.
ChapterTwenty-One
August 2025
Nantucket Island
Julia and Charlie had returned from Europe five weeks ago, and still, there was no word from Elena, nor any sign from Lucia Colombo. Together with Nicole, Julia had tackled PR for the publishing house and had even signed several brand-new writers who could boost her revenue and keep the house alive into the new year. That said, it would be touch-and-go, probably for many years. If only Elena had come through.
Julia was on the porch of The Copperfield House with her mother, Alana, and Ella, drinking wine and watching the sailboats stream along the horizon line. Already, she’d recounted nearly every story from her trip to Europe, including what she and Charlie had eaten in Paris and Italy and which pubs they’d tried out in London. She’d showered Alana with gifts and thank yous for all the accommodations she’d arranged for them. And she’d told them what she suspected about the identity of CAT: that the famous muralist was Elena’s beautiful mother, a painter who’d passed away from cancer in 2022. It was a tragic story, one that touched all of them.
Greta understood why Alessandra didn’t want her identity to be revealed, even in death. “It wasn’t about that for her,” she said, taking a sip of wine.
“We aren’t supposed to know about the cancer,” Alana agreed, her eyes to the water.
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Ella breathed.
They held the silence, thinking about Elena, the love she had for her mother, and about Sophia and Marius, wondering if they knew their daughter’s famous identity. They thought about Federico, who they’d looked up online. They’d learned that his online profiles all still listed him as married to Alessandra, and that her photographs were featured prominently on his pages. It seemed unlikely that he’d ever move on.
Of course, Julia knew that the heart was a wonderful and complex thing, that it could create new rooms for new loves, if you wanted that. Charlie had certainly allowed her to come back into his life after the death of his wife. She was grateful for that.
It had changed her life.
