It had been a few days since he’d emerged from his study. His beard was grizzled, and a pencil was tucked behind his ear, proof that he was hard at work on the edits and rewrites for his manuscript. Julia greeted him with a soft kiss on the cheek and whispered something in his ear. Alana’s heart felt bruised with jealousy.How could she build a better relationship with her father? Was it too late?
“Hi, there.” Bernard sounded nervous. “What a full kitchen we have!”
Greta waved a wooden spoon around in greeting. Her eyes glowed. “We’ve made some new friends if you can believe it.”
Bernard smiled timidly and twirled his mustache around his finger. “Welcome to our home, ladies. I see that Greta’s making her famous dish.”
“We’re all making it together,” Greta corrected. “I hope you’ll be ready to eat in a little while.”
Bernard seemed surprised to be invited. He stuttered and said, “It would be my pleasure to join you.” He then hovered in the doorway for another moment, unsure of where to put his large frame.
Alana had to find a way to bridge the divide between this man who’d missed so much and the teenage girls who had no idea who he was.
“The girls were just telling us about how much they like to act,” Alana tried. “And Mom reminded me of the musical from my senior year. I must have looked like such a clown.”
Bernard’s face cracked open joyously. “You were no clown, Alana Copperfield. You were a joy to behold. Everyone was captivated by your performance. It’s no mystery to me that you went on to pursue modeling and acting.” His soft, kind eyes studied the teenage girls across his kitchen. “What sort of acting have you girls done?”
Harlow explained that she and Nora had had mid-tier parts in the musical, while Sarah and Evie had both acted in the autumn play several times.
“You must show us your acting chops,” Bernard said suddenly and very seriously.
Greta chuckled. “Don’t make the girls do anything they don’t want to do, Bernard.”
But Bernard bent his head forward, building intensity. “You girls should know that Greta here is a whole lot more than a brilliant cook.”
“Bernard…” Greta warned.
“No. I’m serious.” Bernard tugged at his beard. “Greta used to write some of the most incredible short stories and plays.”
“Bernard, nobody wants to hear about that,” Greta said, trying out a laugh.
“Greta, don’t you remember that one play you wrote? It was set on Nantucket and talked about in the historical women of Nantucket Island.” Bernard’s frown deepened. “As I remember it, there were four roles in that play, weren’t there?”
Alana’s throat tightened. It was miraculous that, after twenty-five years of prison, Bernard could still shuffle through the files of his mind and come up with the play his wife had written years ago.
Greta blushed. “I’m surprised you remember that.”
Sarah glanced toward Alana, looking mischievous. “Do you know where that play is?”
“She’s read my mind,” Bernard said, his smile wide.
“Oh, gosh. It must be somewhere in the downstairs study.” Greta suddenly recalled with a wave of her hand.
“Mom, go find it!” Julia pleaded.
Greta looked exasperated. She gestured toward the duck, as though to leave it meant dinner would fail. But Sarah leaped forward, explaining that she could handle it until Greta got back.
“Come on, Mom,” Alana pleaded. “Everyone wants to experience your talent.”
About ten minutes later, Greta returned with a thirty-page script about the historical women of Nantucket Island, many of whom assisted in the growth of feminism throughout the 1800s.
“The play, which I calledNantucket Dreams, imagines a world where all of these important women from Nantucket actually knew one another,” Greta explained. “They live side-by-side and fight for the betterment of all Nantucketers, not just women. I’ve always believed that women’s rights are people’s rights. And…” Greta eyed Bernard. “I was lucky enough to have a partner who believed that, as well.”
Alana’s heart nearly burst.
Greta and Bernard obviously still loved one another.
But perhaps too much time had passed.