LOST DREAMS

THE WHITMORE SERIES

KATIE WINTERS

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Copyright © 2026 by Katie Winters

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Katie Winters holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

1

Lorelei and her husband, Roberto, landed in Boston six days before the opening party at the White Oak Lodge. Lorelei had been asleep for much of the flight, drifting through dreams that seemed all the stranger because they occurred at such an altitude. Sometimes human flight seemed illogical. Sometimes she wanted to ask, "Are you sure we belong off the ground?" 

Beside her, Roberto had his arms crossed, and his dark eyes were alert, peering out at the flat expanse of concrete that made up the airfield. Lorelei couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken, nor what they’d spoken about. But there was a comfort in seeing her husband of twenty-five years beside her on the plane. There was a comfort in knowing they’d just traveled halfway around the world together. 

She loved him, after all. She told herself he still loved her too. 

At customs, despite Lorelei having both an Italian and an American passport, they stayed in line together. Roberto was a born-and-raised Italian, whereas Lorelei’s story was much more complicated. Forty-nine years ago, she was born on Nantucket Island, a beautiful historical island off the coast of Massachusetts. But when she was in her early twenties back in 1998, a fire had engulfed her family’s hotel, sending their future into a tailspin. For terrifying reasons that were now clearer, if not totally understandable, her father and brother had faked their own deaths, and her mother, Francesca, had led the charge to her native Italy, bringing Lorelei and her sisters Allegra and Charlotte along with her. Their little sister Nina had moved to Michigan to live with their Great-Aunt Genevieve—all because, as it turned out, Nina wasn’t really Francesca’s daughter and therefore not really Italian. 

All at once, their family had been split up. 

Together in Italy, Lorelei, her mother Francesca, and her sister Allegra had made a life for themselves. Charlotte had lived there for a little while before making her way back to New York to be a documentarian. 

Now, so many years after leaving the United States for Italy, so many years after the fire had broken out on that fateful Fourth of July night, the White Oak Lodge was reopening. All the Whitmores would be in attendance, and—incredibly—Roberto had agreed to be the chef for the night. He’d told Lorelei, “I want to play a part in your family’s dramatic history.” There had been passion in his eyes as he’d said it.

But by the time they’d gotten into the rental car and driven themselves to the ferry that would take them to Nantucket Island, Lorelei was beginning to think Roberto regretted his decision. She was driving, which left him to field phone calls from their three different restaurants across Italy. They had the one in Rome, their first, plus another in Sardinia and another in Sicily. The Sardinian and Sicilian ones were on the newer side and had numerous problems. The Sicilian one, for example, had struggled last year with the local Mafia, who hadn’t wanted to accept a Roman-born owner. Southern Italians could be protective in this way. There was a lot of dramatic history there. And the Sardinian restaurant had gone through three different chefs in as many months. 

“I hired you as manager because I thought you could deal with this,” Roberto said over the phone now, the heel of his hand smashing against his forehead. “Now, I’m in America. I can’t just come to Sardinia and fix all your problems. Figure this out, or it’s over for you!” 

Roberto hung up the phone and let out a horrible sigh. Lorelei reached for his shoulder and rubbed at the tense muscle, but Roberto shook her hand off and looked out the window. She sensed that he now thought agreeing to be the White Oak Lodge’s chef for the party had been a mistake. Maybe it had been. She wondered if he would say it aloud. 

On the drive from the Boston airport to Hyannis Port, they passed numerous fast-food restaurants and gas stations. It all looked remarkably American—obviously—and filled Lorelei with a funny yearning that reminded her of childhood. But Roberto thought the sights were trashy. “I can’t believe you lived in America all year long,” he said gruffly. 

“You know I had to,” Lorelei said. Her mother, Francesca, had been battling cancer for the past several months, and she and Allegra had lived with her in a gorgeous beach house on Nantucket Island, helping to make her comfortable and reconnecting with their roots. After Francesca’s treatments had finished, Lorelei had briefly returned to Rome to find her husband reeling, disorganized, and quite angry that she’d been gone so long. 

They hadn’t discussed it much. Lorelei suspected it would blow over soon. They’d hardly remember it next year. Wasn’t that what marriage was? An agreement to let things go, to move forward together, despite heartache and disappointments? 

“But still,” Roberto said, “when you’re used to Rome, how can you possibly stand for this kind of view? All these trashy restaurants? All these dollar burgers?” 

“It’s beautiful on Nantucket,” she said, although he’d been there before. He’d come for Christmas. 

“It’s not Rome,” he said. “It’s not Sardinia.”

“It’s my home,” Lorelei said quietly. 

“Not really. Not anymore,” Roberto pointed out. 

Lorelei wet her lips. She considered asking him about the menu he’d planned for the party, a topic he’d previously loved discussing in detail, or if he was excited to spend more time with her family. But his sour mood was apparent. What he needed was food and plenty of sleep. After that, maybe he would treat her like another human being. Perhaps he’d offer a bit of respect. 

He’s just in one of his moods, she reminded herself. She had her own moods, too. 

The first person they saw upon entering the refurbished White Oak Lodge was Francesca Whitmore. She stood grandly behind the front desk, her perfect wig shining beneath the ornate vintage light fixture they’d hung on high. She was every bit the classic beauty she’d always been. The chemotherapy had hardly touched that, miraculously. 

Lorelei knew her mother was too vain to let even cancer get in the way of her beauty. In a funny way, Lorelei was grateful for that. It meant her mother would never stop trying to be herself. 

Francesca swept around the front desk. In a flurry of rapid Italian, she welcomed them, saying, “I can’t believe it! My beautiful Lorelei, you’re back with me! And Roberto, you’re looking as handsome as ever. But so tired! Goodness, you must eat something. That awful plane food will not do. Come. Let’s go to the kitchen and make something divine for you both.” 

Lorelei hadn’t seen her mother since Tio Angelo had been put behind bars for setting fire to the White Oak Lodge on top of his involvement in a massive drug ring. According to her siblings, Francesca had gone to see Tio Angelo in jail. It was hard for Lorelei to imagine such a terrifying exchange. But at her core, Lorelei knew that her mother still loved her brother. She’d never wanted to believe that he was a “bad apple.” 

Francesca ordered them to take their bags up to the third-floor suite. Lorelei knew this was one of the better suites, that back in the old days of the Lodge’s fame, celebrities and politicians had usually booked that space. 

“Are you sure?” Lorelei asked, taken aback. 

Francesca smiled. “Roberto has offered us his remarkable chef’s talent on our first night back! It’s the least we can give in return. And we want you both to be comfortable.” 

Lorelei and Roberto took the elevator to the third floor, where they used the vintage yet shining golden key to enter the suite. Lorelei was amazed at the work they’d done on it. She’d seen it months before, back when their refurbishment ideas had been ideas only. Now, walking into the suite was a little like falling back through time—while keeping all the modern amenities that made hotel living comfortable in the twenty-first century. There was a kitchenette, a fridge, a washer-dryer, a shower, a separate claw-foot bathtub, and a king-sized bed. It was big enough that they could live comfortably all summer long, if they wanted to. The view out the back window was of the glorious Nantucket Sound, upon which were dotted sterling-white sailboats. Lorelei let out a little sigh. 

“How can you say that isn’t beautiful?” she asked Roberto, slipping her fingers into his. 

But his eyes seemed to be a great distance away. It was like he couldn’t see the view, nor hear her. She let her hand drop from his. 

Roberto walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, and Lorelei sat at the edge of the bed and tried not to think about how tired she was. She practiced her smile. 

Downstairs, they found Francesca in the kitchen, speaking a funny mix of Italian and English with the others. At first, Lorelei thought they were only Alexander’s kids—Gwen, Conor, and Xander, all of whom now lived and went to high school here on the island. 

“It’s so good to see you all again!” Lorelei said, speaking English for the first time in several hours. 

And then, she realized someone else was in the kitchen, someone who absolutely shouldn’t have been there. 

“Aurora?” Lorelei’s jaw dropped. Here she was, Lorelei and Roberto’s eldest daughter and their middle child, the twenty-two-year-old Aurora. Her dark hair hung in a glossy curtain down her back, and she wore jean shorts and a tube top that made her look endlessly American. Of course, her features were all Italian, as was the olive tint of her skin. 

Aurora smiled and said in English, “Surprise?” 

Roberto’s face echoed just as much shock as Lorelei felt. In Italian, he said, “What are you doing here?” Everything had been arranged. Their plan was that Aurora would travel in three days, that she’d fly with her brother, Pino, and sister, Nadia, and arrive just in time for the reopening party. 

Aurora responded in English again, as though she wanted to throw English in her father’s face. “I wanted to come early.” She shrugged. “I loved our trip at Christmastime, and I wanted to spend more time with Grandma.” 

“But what about university?” Roberto asked. 

“I finished the semester early,” Aurora said. “I turned in my paper and decided to change my flight.”

“But why didn’t you tell us?” A wrinkle formed between Roberto’s eyebrows.

Francesca raised her arms. “It doesn’t matter! We’ve had a lovely time, haven’t we, darling?” 

“We really have,” Aurora said, smiling beautifully. It was apparent how much she looked like her grandmother. 

Roberto continued to frown, as though he couldn’t figure his daughter out. “And you passed all your classes?”

“Yes, Papa.” Aurora rolled her eyes. “Of course I did.”

“And you’re still on track to graduate in the fall?” Roberto continued.

Lorelei put a hand on Roberto’s back, praying he’d lighten up. It was clear that Aurora was fine, that she was flourishing here at the White Oak Lodge with her family. Roberto probably didn’t love that Aurora embraced her American roots so exuberantly. This was a rather new thing, something that Aurora was experimenting with. Privately, Lorelei thought it was sweet. It was like Aurora wanted to act out the American films she’d grown up watching. 

Aurora left the kitchen with her cousins, leaving Francesca to cook and Roberto and Lorelei to sit on stools at the counter, sipping a wonderful red wine. Again, Francesca consoled Roberto, telling him, “Aurora was endlessly curious about this whole scandal with Tio Angelo and, of course, Jack’s return. She has a very creative mind. She wants to be in the mess of everything and figure it all out herself.” 

Roberto rolled his shoulders back and glanced at Lorelei. “We’ve had many problems with her so-called creative mind over the years, Francesca. You know that.” 

“She’s twenty-two,” Francesca told him. “She’s going to do what she wants to do, now. That’s the way it works.” 

But Roberto looked troubled and gray-faced. 

It didn’t do any good to explain this to Francesca, but the plan had already been set in stone, as far as Roberto was concerned. After Aurora’s final semester at business school, she would take over at the Sardinia restaurant, stepping into all managerial roles and ensuring that the place got off the ground and finally made the family some money. Finally made Roberto some money. Aurora had always been flighty and weightless and entirely too “free-spirited” for her own good, and Roberto was certain that business school and a powerful position at the restaurant would help. 

Lorelei wasn’t so sure, but she never said so. Not to Roberto. Not to anyone. 

After eating enormous platters of pasta complete with Francesca Whitmore’s should-have-been-world-famous sauce, Roberto went back to the suite to rest, leaving Lorelei alone with her mother. Lorelei knew better than to ever admit to her mother that Roberto was secretly jealous of Francesca’s cooking despite his years of training all over the world at various culinary institutions. It was true, though, that Lorelei preferred her mother’s cooking and always would. Lorelei cleaned the dishes, then poured them both second glasses of wine. Together, they went to the veranda, where they could see the sparkling ocean, the newly refurbished horse barn, the sweeping lawn, and more of the cousins, who were on the beach, bundled up against the sixty-degree temperatures. Aurora was with them, of course. Summer was coming up quickly, but Massachusetts still held tightly to its colder air. 

“How are you feeling, Mama?” Lorelei asked, her heart ballooning with love for this woman. It had truly been harrowing to watch her get so sick. 

Francesca’s smile waned the slightest bit. “It’s true what they’re saying,” she offered. “The cancer is gone from my body. I’m healed, or as healed as I can be for now. They’ll check back every six months or so. Nonstop tests, maybe for the rest of my life. Goodness.” She paused. “But it’s been a trying time for me. I’m sure you know I went to see my brother.” 

Lorelei nodded and reached for her mother’s hand. 

Francesca’s face was filled with shadows. “It is Angelo’s fault that I lost my family. It is his fault that Jack was forced to leave, that Benjamin left me, that we lost so much time…” She sighed. “Sometimes I don’t know how to carry all that heartache. So many years of it! And now.” She gestured toward the mighty White Oak Lodge behind her. “Now, we’re reopening. I can’t help but think it might be a mistake. What if this old place is cursed? What on earth can happen to the Whitmores next?”

“No,” Lorelei said firmly. “Angelo is a very troubled man. The family isn’t cursed, and none of it is your fault. It isn’t Grandma and Grandpa’s fault either. Angelo made many, many mistakes. He became the sort of person nobody could trust. That isn’t bad luck. That’s just one person.”

But Francesca gave Lorelei a look that meant she didn’t believe her. Lorelei knew that Francesca was deeply superstitious, that she believed that spilling salt was dangerous, and that the number seventeen was unlucky, as it was the Italian version of unlucky thirteen. Her superstitions came from her Italian childhood. They were ingrained, set there by generations of superstitious Italians. Believing all those things was quaint and fun, sort of, until it got in the way of living your actual life. Until practicality was thrown out the window. 

And then, when her mother didn’t say anything else, Lorelei’s eyes flickered back to her daughter, who was gazing out at the water, her expression difficult to read. Lorelei breathed, “Do you really think Aurora’s all right?” 

Francesca’s eyes widened with excitement. “Aurora is better than any of us. Her spirit is pure light.” 

Lorelei smiled. She still couldn’t fathom why Aurora had come all this way early without telling them a thing. But she knew Aurora liked to keep them guessing. She was slippery like that.

2

There was a great deal about her life that Aurora couldn’t tell her parents, nor anyone. Of late, the most incredible thing she’d done that she couldn’t tell most people about was hitchhiking from the airport to Hyannis Port and then again from Nantucket’s harbor to the White Oak Lodge. Twenty-two-year-old women were certainly not supposed to hitchhike, especially not in the United States. She’d seen enough movies to know that. 

But she was in the mood to be reckless, if only because she felt older than twenty-two. She felt she’d been through too much. 

The first ride, which she’d secured in the arrivals line at the airport after reaching the US, had been with a couple in their mid-fifties who’d taken one look at Aurora and decided to pity her. “Isn’t someone supposed to pick you up, honey?” the woman had asked, furrowing her brow. She was sweet in a way that felt entirely American. 

“I can’t get a hold of them,” Aurora had said, trying to keep her Italian accent at bay so as not to frighten them with how different she was. 

“Oh, that’s just terrible,” the woman said, turning to look at her husband. 

Aurora was grateful that she didn’t sound overly Italian. Maybe she sounded vaguely foreign but unplaceable, as English was her mother tongue. Back in Rome, her mother, Lorelei, had spoken to the children in English some of the time. Still, they’d usually fallen back on Italian, as it was the language of the country, and Father didn’t always enjoy speaking English. It meant that Aurora was really good at English, but she spoke with a slight accent, and she had trouble mentally sorting out some grammar rules. 

She hoped that a bit of extra time in the United States would help her fix that. 

In any case, the fifty-something couple suggested that she throw her suitcase in their trunk and ride to Hyannis with them. As it happened, they were heading that way, although they weren’t going as far as Nantucket Island. Aurora was grateful for her luck. 

“That’s okay,” Aurora said, smiling her best and most beautiful smile. “I have people in Hyannis. I’ll figure it out from there!” 

The couple was remarkably naive yet very curious about both Aurora and the world. When Aurora told them that she’d been born and raised in Rome, the man asked, “Have you ever been to the Akropolis?” Aurora didn’t want to tell him that the Akropolis was in Athens, not Rome, so she said simply, “Yes, I have. It’s beautiful.” This was the truth. When the woman asked her if Italy was really dangerous, and if she’d ever been attacked in Rome, she had to bite her tongue to keep from getting angry. “Rome is safe!” she assured them both. “If you ever come, let me know, and I’ll show you around.” 

“Now, I don’t care for pizza,” the man said. “I guess that would color my experience of your country.” 

His wife cackled and glanced back at Aurora. “See what I have to deal with? No pizza! For thirty years! Not one we can share, in any case. Imagine having to sneak around to get a slice of pizza in a marriage!” 

“That’s terrible,” Aurora said, smiling. She couldn’t imagine not liking pizza. Had he ever had a good one? Maybe if her father, Roberto, ever made one for him, he’d change his mind. Roberto still made the best pizza of anyone she knew, although she hadn’t had one of his in quite a while. 

Sometimes just thinking of her father’s pizza, she felt an ache in her gut. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d sat down together, just the two of them, and shared a pizza. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d gotten along. 

If only she’d been able to reach out to him recently. If only he’d been there for her. 

A little later during the ride to Hyannis, she learned from the couple that they had a daughter, too, but that they were no longer speaking. Aurora’s heart surged with sorrow for them. But they spoke about her as though she were someone they’d once met along the road of life rather than someone they’d brought into it. 

Parents and children, Aurora thought. It was one of the strangest relationships of all. 

How did anyone maintain good relationships through so many years of life? 

After saying goodbye, Aurora hopped a ferry to Nantucket, where she watched her mother’s island home come toward her across the water. Ever since Aurora was a girl, she’d been endlessly fascinated with her mother’s past. Unlike all of her friends’ parents, Aurora’s mother was from the United States, where all the movies they watched were set. It was where all the music they listened to was from. There seemed to be no end to Italians’ love of American culture, so Aurora made a point of telling everyone she met that she was half American. Not everyone believed her, especially when they met her mother, Lorelei, who seemed in every way Italian. 

The ride that Aurora hitched from Nantucket port to the White Oak Lodge was, incidentally, with Amos, her Aunt Nina’s boyfriend. Aurora recognized him from Christmastime and raised a hand when she saw him on the sidewalk, standing opposite the harbor exit. He blinked, as though he couldn’t quite place her. And then he called out, “I thought you wouldn’t be here for another week!” 

Aurora laughed and hurried to hug him. Amos was warm and loving and terribly funny. She’d heard that Nina’s first husband, some anthropologist guy named Daniel, had been demoralizing and cruel to Aunt Nina. It made her like Amos all the more, knowing he was her second chance at love and hope. 

“How were you going to get to the Lodge?” Amos asked when they got into his truck.

“I was going to figure something out,” Aurora said, grinning. 

Amos cackled. “I’ll keep that to myself. I’m sure they don’t want you running around, searching for rides.” He gave her a pointed look, then said, “Of course, I did my share of that when I was your age.” 

Aurora thanked him for keeping her secrets. When he asked her why she’d decided to fly over early, she said, “Rome was stifling. I had to get out of there.” She’d decided to tell everyone a different version of the truth. 

Now, three days before she was supposed to arrive yet nearly a week after she’d actually shown up to the White Oak Lodge unannounced, her parents, Lorelei and Roberto, were here too. From the looks of things, her father was just as frantic and sweaty and unhealthy as he’d been back in Rome. Lorelei looked nervous and antsy, always glancing at Roberto as though she wanted to gauge his moods. Aurora knew her parents’ marriage hadn’t always been like this, with her mother walking on eggshells and her father dominating everything. But it had certainly been like that for the better part of a year.

No wonder Lorelei had wanted to stay in the United States all year, helping Grandma through chemotherapy. No wonder she’d wanted distance from Roberto. 

Now, after a rocky opening with her parents, Aurora was with her cousins Xander, Gwen, and Conor, the children of her Uncle Alexander. They were out on the beach, feeling the Nantucket winds whip around them. They’d made a bonfire that threatened to go out in the chilly winds. Behind them, far behind, was the veranda upon which Lorelei and Francesca sat drinking wine. Aurora had half a mind to join them. But just before she started back, she spotted a figure in the shadows behind the barn door. 

Something told her to investigate. 

When Aurora reached the barn door, she peered inside to find two men in their mid-twenties, sweeping the ground and filling the horses’ feed troughs. Aurora had spotted them before: a blond guy with broad shoulders and a light beard, and a guy with curly dark hair and a mysterious look in his eyes that made Aurora think of black holes and tidal waves, endlessly dangerous parts of nature. She hadn’t met all the newly hired staff at the White Oak Lodge, but she knew these were two of the stable boys. Stable men, rather. She couldn’t remember their names. 

She decided to go full Italian on them to see what happened. 

“Ciao,” she sang, entering the stables, moving her hips so that she had to grab her crop top before it dropped too far down. (She’d bought the crop top in downtown Nantucket, shopping with her Grandma Francesca the other day. Francesca had said, “You look like an American movie star!” Already, Aurora knew that her parents hated the choice in clothing.) 

The two men stopped working abruptly and straightened up to look at her. It occurred to her, now, that they’d been talking about something, or someone. She put the pieces together and realized that they’d been talking about her great-grandfather, Francesca’s father. He was a world-famous film director, someone Aurora respected above all other artists she knew. 

“Are you talking about my great-grandfather?” Aurora asked, smiling shyly, although she didn’t feel shy. 

The blond man broke the silence. “Ah, of course. You’re Francesca’s granddaughter.” He extended his hand and turned to look at the dark-haired man, telling him with his eyes, Hey, we have to be nice to her. She’s the granddaughter of our bosses. 

“Aurora,” she said, shaking his hand. Shaking hands felt endlessly American and funny to her. Nobody kissed anyone on the cheek here, save for her grandmother, who clung to Italian niceties. 

“I’m Oren,” the blond-haired guy said. “And that’s Kenny.”

“Nice to meet you, Kenny and Oren,” Aurora said. “What were you saying about my great-grandfather?” 

Oren and Kenny exchanged another glance. 

“We, um. We think he’s brilliant, is all,” Oren said. He seemed to be the spokesperson of the two. 

“Isn’t he?” Aurora arched one of her eyebrows. 

“I mean, he’s only one of the most boundary-breaking auteurs of the twentieth century,” Oren said, laughing. 

A beat of silence passed. Aurora quite liked the idea that they didn’t know what to make of her and felt they needed to be on their best behavior. They weren’t much older than she was, and she could feel that they found her attractive—even as they knew that they could not pursue that attraction, given who she was and what she could maybe do to their careers here in the stables. 

It wasn’t that Aurora really had power here at the White Oak Lodge, of course. But it was nice to pretend—especially given how powerless she’d been over the previous few months, back in Rome. Especially given all that had happened to her. 

But it was better not to think about that now. 

In the silence, Aurora walked over to the nearest horse, a black beauty with a star on his forehead. His nose was soft against the palm of her hand. 

“So beautiful,” she breathed. And then she asked the boys, “Have you both worked in stables all your life?” 

Kenny looked annoyed and turned his back slightly to her, while Oren kept up that superb smile and said, “We grew up around horses back in Kansas, actually.” 

“Kansas. Wow.” Aurora wasn’t entirely sure where Kansas was, as her American geography wasn’t so stellar, but she knew it was far away from Nantucket and maybe quite flat and away from water. “Quite different from around here.” 

“Worlds away,” Oren agreed. “But we went to film school in New York.”

“Ah. New York is a place I know about,” Aurora said, laughing. It now made sense to her why they’d been talking about her great-grandfather. They’d maybe learned about him at film school. Perhaps they’d been passionate about his films before studying film in the first place. 

“Is that why you’re working at the Lodge, then?” she asked. “Because of my great-grandfather?” 

Oren laughed. “We couldn’t get jobs in film, not in the city. It’s too competitive,” he said. “We thought a summer on Nantucket Island would clean out the cobwebs and help us figure out what to make next. We were thinking about documentary work.” 

Kenny remained quiet. Aurora suddenly found it difficult to look at him, as though his intensity would suck her in. 

“My Aunt Charlotte makes documentaries,” she remembered. 

“We’ve seen some of them,” Oren said, still speaking for them both. “She’s good.” 

Kenny crossed his arms. Aurora didn’t know what to make of him. Did he hate Charlotte’s films? Or did he hate Aurora for bothering them during work?

Just then, her cousin Gwen, who was sixteen or so, appeared in the doorway, flipping her hair behind her shoulders. Ever since Aurora’s arrival last week, Gwen had acted sort of as Aurora’s shadow, following her around to see what kind of mischief she got up to while causing as much mischief of her own as she dared. “What a beautiful horse,” Gwen said, pressing both hands against her chest and eyeing the black beauty beside Aurora. “I’ve been dying to go riding all spring long.” 

“Do you want to go now?” Aurora asked Gwen. She wanted to seem spontaneous and good-willed, especially in front of these guys. She didn’t know why. 

Kenny made a terrible sound in his throat, as though he wanted to block this outrageous idea but didn’t know how. 

“I’d like that very much!” Gwen said. 

Aurora turned to smile at Oren. “Just a short one? For cousin Gwen?” 

Oren’s forehead was slick with sweat. He raised his shoulders. “You can ride him outside the stables for a little bit if you want to,” he said. “But we’re done with work in about an hour. We need to make sure everything’s put away and cleaned up.”

“I only want to ride for a few minutes,” Gwen promised. 

“Just a few minutes,” Aurora said sweetly. “We promise we’ll get out of your hair pronto.” She’d learned this English expression to “get out of one’s hair” a few days ago from her cousin Xander, and she’d found herself using it endlessly. She rather liked the poetry of it. 

When she returned to Rome—in some amorphous future—she imagined that she’d show off this American dialect and impress her friends. 

But the thought of returning to Rome just now turned her stomach. 

Having ridden horses back in Italy at her grandmother’s estate, Aurora was able to ready the horse for Gwen’s ride, so that Oren and Kenny could keep working. She helped Gwen select a helmet that fit her head perfectly, then put her hands down in a kind of scoop so that Gwen could first step on Aurora’s hands before throwing her leg over the horse’s back. It was clear that Gwen didn’t know what she was doing, not really. The horse let out an awful grunt, then threw his head back, ruffling his hair. A shiver of fear went down Aurora’s back. Gwen, too, looked frightened. 

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you? Like back in California?” Aurora asked Gwen. There was a terrible fear in her voice, which she knew wouldn’t help Gwen get her head around what she was doing. 

“Maybe she should get down,” Kenny said darkly. “We have things to do. We have to clean up.” 

“I’m fine,” Gwen said in a meek voice. 

“She’s fine!” Aurora parroted, although her fear felt thick around her, like a cloud. 

All at once, everything changed. The horse, overwhelmed and overworked and maybe too hot for whatever this was, threw his front hooves into the air and tossed Gwen from his back. Gwen fell like a bag of potatoes. Aurora heard a terrible and sharp crunch. Kenny threw himself at the horse, taking his reins and guiding him out of the barn and into the fresh air to calm down. Aurora and Oren fell to their knees beside Gwen, who was holding her wrist and crying quietly. Her eyes were rimmed with red. 

From the looks of her arm, which hung limply, she’d broken a bone. 

“Oh, Gwen,” Aurora breathed, hating herself, hating how frantic and outrageous she could sometimes be. “Oh, Gwen. I’m so sorry.”

3

The opening of the White Oak Lodge was three days later. Dressed in a lilac gown, Lorelei moved through the vibrant crowd, her heart in her throat. The hotel had returned to its former glory. All the paint had dried, and every suite was perfectly decorated, and all the staff were in place, wearing their sophisticated uniforms. It was hard not to think about nearly thirty years ago, when the White Oak Lodge had burned to the ground. 

Everything was virtually the same as it had been in the nineties. Some of the island’s most prestigious artists and writers and filmmakers were dressed to the nines, lounging across the grounds and the various verandas, drinking expensive cocktails and talking languidly. Because it was already a beautiful day in the low eighties, which was warm for May, gorgeous, suntanned individuals were either in the pool or sunning around it, and caterers walked around carrying appetizers, most of which had been invented by Roberto. 

Lorelei paused on the veranda and peered out, searching for more of her family members. Her mother and father, Francesca and Benjamin Whitmore, were playing happy hosts, greeting old friends with cheek kisses and gesturing for them to take free glasses of champagne and celebrate. Not far from where Lorelei stood was Alexander, her older brother, who’d worked as a pilot until recent events had brought him to Nantucket. 

Lorelei went over to Alexander and bumped him with the tip of her elbow. “Hey, Big Brother,” she said, offering a smile. “Happy grand opening party.” She knew he wasn’t happy about Gwen’s broken arm, but she knew Gwen hadn’t thrown Aurora under the bus for the incident. Gwen had owned up to it, telling her father that it had been her idea and hers alone. Lorelei would not be the one to tell Alexander that accidents seemed to follow Aurora around. She wouldn’t tell him that their own mother suggested that the White Oak Lodge was cursed. 

“Can’t believe it,” Alexander said after a pause. “It’s like it’s 1998 all over again.”

“I keep feeling that way, too.” Lorelei traced a line from Alexander over to her sister Allegra, who was chatting with her daughter Tatiana. Allegra and Tatiana both lived in Rome and had been active members of Lorelei’s life for many, many years. By comparison, Alexander was a stranger. She didn’t like to think that way, but it was true. 

“Mama and Dad are in their element,” Alexander offered. 

“I know, right? It’s hard to believe. Do you think they’re really…?” Lorelei trailed off. 

“Back together? I don’t know. I’m too afraid to guess.” 

Lorelei laughed gently. “Where’s Janie?” 

Alexander pointed across the wide green lawn at his wife, who stood with Conor, Gwen, and Xander, eating appetizers and chatting. Gwen was wearing an arm cast already covered in designs made by members of the Whitmore family. 

“Roberto is a brilliant chef, sis,” Alexander said now, reaching for another parmesan-and-oregano-covered appetizer. “It’s a little taste of Italy right here in Nantucket. You said he went to culinary school?” 

“All over the world,” she said. “Tokyo. London. New York.” She felt a swell of pride, which surprised her. It had been ages since she’d felt anything but fear and reticence about her husband. She hated to admit that. “I’d better check on him, actually. I’ll catch you later?” 

Lorelei made her way past Allegra and Tatiana, smiling hello, before moving past the pool. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Aurora, who seemed deep in conversation with the two men who worked in the stables. Lorelei knew that Oren and Kenny had been instrumental in making sure Gwen’s pain was minimal, and it had been Oren, Kenny, and Aurora who’d ultimately driven Gwen to the hospital, where they’d met Janie and Alexander. 

By the looks of things, Aurora had already captivated both Oren and Kenny. Oren was more garrulous, moving his arms around as he spoke, while Kenny hung back, looking a little moodier, a little less convinced of the situation.

It had been ages since Aurora had had a proper boyfriend, Lorelei knew. Lorelei knew Aurora deserved love, that she was a beautiful, free-spirited human who could make someone’s life complex, interesting and happy. But Lorelei knew, too, that Aurora’s past would make it difficult for Aurora to find true and everlasting love with someone. 

Lorelei felt a spasm of regret. They should have forced her into therapy after everything that happened. They should have explained to her how incredibly important her feelings were. 

As it happened, all they’d done was help her get into business school. 

Lorelei was no longer sure that had been the right move. In fact, it seemed increasingly clear that it wasn’t. But Roberto had sounded so certain. “She needs solid ground. She needs a plan.” 

All Lorelei knew for sure was that she’d spent the majority of her parenting life worrying about Aurora. For whatever reason, Pino and Nadia were easier. They didn’t make messes. They moved through the world with ease. 

What Lorelei would never admit, of course, was that Aurora reminded her far more of herself than either of her other children. She wondered if Roberto sensed that, too. 

In the kitchen, she found Roberto and a team of sous chefs, making platter after platter of appetizers and boiling pounds of pasta, all in preparation for tonight’s dinner. Roberto was red-faced and sweating, and he frequently barked a mix of Italian and English orders across the room, despite the sous chefs being American. Lorelei hesitated, wondering if she should bother him at all. But before she could leave the kitchen, he spotted her and came over. 

“Ciao,” he said, pulling his fingers through his sweaty hair. “Shoot,” he muttered, because now he would have to wash his hands yet again. “How are you? How are people responding to the food?” 

“Everyone adores it,” Lorelei said. She was sensitive to his feelings and knew she had to say the right thing.

“But specifically,” Roberto asked. “What are they saying specifically?” 

Lorelei knew that saying everyone thought the food was “delicious” wouldn’t cut it. So, she spent a bit of time telling him that her mother loved the spices he used, that Alexander had loved the textures, that her father had said the sauce was “exquisite and sophisticated.” She used enough superb language to calm Roberto until he seemed recharged and ready for a few more hours in the kitchen. But throughout her descriptions, Roberto’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Texts kept pinging in. 

“Do you need to take care of something?” she asked finally, annoyed. 

Roberto grunted and turned his phone on silent. “It’s just restaurant stuff back home,” he explained. 

Lorelei’s heart pumped with what felt like doubt. This had been happening frequently lately. Roberto seemed unwilling to answer the texts and calls he got when Lorelei was around. It felt like he was hiding something. 

She knew she needed to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

She knew that was what a good wife would do. 

She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips, then whispered, “Good luck.” She turned on her heel and left the sweltering kitchen, returning to the pastel lights of the early evening. Just as soon as she’d filled her lungs, she nearly ran headfirst into Jack, her little brother, the one who’d been missing, the one who’d called himself Seth Green. 

Jack wore a sloppy, happy smile. Aurora guessed that he was thrilled not to be living a double life anymore. Often, she wanted to pester him for details about his past, about the difficulties of hiding everything from his wife. Now, she wondered what Jack would say about Roberto’s strange and secretive phone calls and texts. Would Jack say that Roberto had a double life, too? 

“Happy opening party!” Lorelei said, hating how stringlike her voice sounded. 

Jack raised his beer bottle. “Can’t believe it.” 

“I hope you won’t go missing after this one wraps up?” Lorelei said, immediately hating herself after saying it. She was on edge.

But Jack took it in stride. “I think we’re in the clear,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. The kids and Addison love Nantucket. I’ll probably grow old and gray here.” He sipped his beer, then added, “I guess there’s no use in trying to get you and Roberto to move over here?” 

“We have three restaurants to take care of,” Lorelei said, her stomach twisting. It was true that she’d fantasized about living part-time in Nantucket, if only to reconnect more with her family. There were so many wounds to mend. It was like they’d gotten a second shot. 

“I’d love to get over there and see them,” Jack said. “I hope you’ll tell Roberto how much I love this food. Almost as good as Mama’s.”

Lorelei laughed. “Please, don’t tell him that last part.” 

“Nobody can beat Mama’s,” Jack said, winking. 

“I know,” Lorelei whispered, smiling. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Jack said, snapping his fingers. “Do you still play?” 

Lorelei’s ears rang with surprise. By play he meant play the piano, and no, of course she didn’t. “I mean, I’m married. I have three kids.” She shrugged. “It’s taken all my strength to make that work.”

Jack nodded. “I get it. But I wanted to tell you. Back when I was Seth Green, back when I was traveling all over and hiding myself away, I used to listen to your performances. There was that one you did at the Barbican Center in London. It brought me to my knees, Lorelei. Honestly, I remembered listening to you practice when I was a kid. It was like you were this icon. I didn’t know anybody better at music than you. I still don’t!” 

Lorelei’s eyes smarted, but she told herself not to cry—not at her loss of music, and not at the image of poor Seth Green, all alone and listening to her piano performance. She remembered that London performance as though it were yesterday. She’d worn that Dior dress, which had cost far more than even her wedding dress. She’d wanted to be seen. She’d wanted to be respected. 

“I guess I thought that would be my life forever,” she said. 

“Life has other plans,” Jack said. 

After Jack went off to help Addison with something, Lorelei grabbed a glass of champagne and stepped into the ornate ballroom, where she saw the grand piano—the Steinway. The original grand piano that had sat in the ballroom had been a Fazioli. Still, this one, in Lorelei’s opinion, was far nicer, with a grander and bolder and more decadent sound. Since the piano movers had brought it in, Lorelei hadn’t sat down on the bench. She hadn’t dared. 

She knew that her family members had been half-waiting for her to do it. They’d been watching her like hawks, eager for her to reconnect with that glorious instrument. After all, they’d all been forced to take piano lessons at a young age, but only Lorelei had pursued it. Only Lorelei had gone on to be “someone great,” at least for a little while. 

What were you supposed to do with your “greatness” when it existed so long ago? How could Lorelei even reckon with the fact that that had once been her? 

Sometimes Lorelei wondered what Aurora would think about her past when she was older. She wondered how Aurora would think about the time of her life a few years ago, back when she’d wanted to be so independent, back when she’d been so sure that she didn’t need her parents. She’d left home and told them, “I’m going to Berlin to be an artist.”

And then, they’d gotten the call. 

Suddenly, Lorelei found herself sitting at the grand piano. She put the tips of her fingers on the glowing white keys but didn’t dare press down. What if she’d forgotten everything she’d ever known about music? What if she had nothing left to give?

4

Twenty-Seven Years Ago

Things in Lorelei’s piano career didn’t fully take off till she left the United States. Despite her clear talent and future in the arts, back in Nantucket, she’d been locked into the White Oak Lodge, spending all her time that she wasn’t practicing the piano at the front desk, helping her parents. But once she moved to Tuscany, she met the iconic classical music agent Raffaello Donatello, who told her, point-blank, “I will make you a star. But you must help me help you.” 

It sounded easy. It was anything but. 

Of course, Lorelei was connected to Raffaello through her grandfather, her mother’s famous director father, who knew just about everyone in the arts in Italy. This was an advantage that she knew didn’t come to everyone. But she also knew that Raffaello was cutthroat, that he wouldn’t have signed her on his label if he didn’t truly believe in her. In the weeks that followed, she practiced piano with a new intensity, barely ever raising her head from the keys. Sometimes Allegra could drag her out, maybe for a little dance or a half glass of wine. But usually, Lorelei told herself, This is your only shot. Don’t mess it up. 

Over the following months after signing with Raffaello, miraculously, things moved very quickly. Lorelei performed piano concertos all over Europe. She found herself in major concert halls in Paris, Athens, Rome, Berlin, and Brussels, after which she was introduced to film stars and politicians, people who’d been told about the “iconic Lorelei Whitmore, the Italian American piano prodigy.” She saw her mother less and less and eventually took an apartment in Rome, where she could work more closely with a piano teacher Raffaello had introduced her to. Bit by bit, she became entirely absorbed in music and performance. 

It was a relief to know she’d become something more than what she’d been in the United States. 

More than anything, she found that this newfound career in the arts helped her to avoid thoughts of the White Oak Lodge and everything she’d lost. Her American heritage and identity felt further and further away as time passed. She was only just beginning to come to terms with the fact that her father and brother were presumed dead, and that the hotel where she’d grown up and celebrated life and swam in the ocean was now charred-out and no longer available to her. It was as though her entire childhood had been ripped out of time. 

This was enough of a reason to begin again, she felt. 

Late one night in her apartment in Rome, she called Allegra. By that time, Allegra was still in Florence, dating a guy whom she was thinking of breaking up with and dealing with her own sense of loss in the wake of the fire. Although they usually began their phone calls in Italian, Lorelei switched quickly to English, then burst into tears that surprised her. It was as though the English language had reminded her too much of their father, Benjamin, the only non-Italian in their family—save for Nina. She didn’t like to think about Nina, either. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about home a lot. I’ve been thinking about Nantucket, about that beach we used to swim at… the one we thought was a secret. I’ve been thinking about everything we lost. It’s like we never had it. It’s like we’ll never get it back.”

Allegra was soft-spoken when, in conversation, they returned to the past. “I miss it, too. I’ve been having dreams about it. About the people, too. Like, randomly, that postal worker who always had candy for us? You remember him? Sometimes I wonder what would have happened to us if we’d stayed in Nantucket. Would we have married those silly high school boyfriends of ours? Would we have become islanders forever? But I suppose, well. I suppose you wouldn’t have had this career if we’d stayed. So maybe it’s for the best?” 

Lorelei knew her sister was right. But still, it felt like an extraordinary price to pay: fame in exchange for her beloved childhood on Nantucket Island. 

At the end of that first incredibly successful year, Raffaello took Lorelei out to a five-star restaurant in Rome. Lorelei was exhausted, but she couldn’t let her face show it. She smiled and laughed at everything Raffaello said, wanting to seem just as grateful as she was. She was twenty-two years old, but her soul felt as though it was aging faster than it should have. It had been through too much. 

At the restaurant, they joined two other music agents, plus the man who owned the Sydney Opera House in Australia, and a woman who sang in that opera. After they sat, the opera singer left for the bathroom, and Raffaello leaned over to whisper into Lorelei’s ear. He told her that the opera singer and the owner of the Sydney Opera House had been having an affair for more than ten years, and that soon the owner would fire the opera singer, his top star at the House, and start anew with someone else. “It’s a cutthroat business,” Raffaello told Lorelei, whose heart shook with shock. 

Of course, she knew better than to show her fear that someday, Raffaello would get rid of her the same way the Sydney Opera House guy would get rid of his opera singer. She knew that she wouldn’t be a young and beautiful prodigy forever. Her days were numbered. 

She told herself not to think about that, not now. 

The dinner was a six-course menu. The flavors were exquisite and precise, each bite launching Lorelei back through time to her mother’s dinner table. She had to fight her instinct to call her mother to tell her about this restaurant. She also had to fight her instinct to eat quickly. She knew that she needed to be ladylike. 

She picked up her white napkin and dotted it tentatively across her lips. She laughed at a joke the Sydney Opera House guy told, although a moment later she couldn’t remember what it had been about. 

“I think it’s time we meet the chef,” the Sydney Opera House guy said to the opera singer, smiling grandly. It was clear he liked being the kind of guy who could snap his fingers and produce the chef at whatever restaurant he was at. 

“I think you’re right about that,” Raffaello said. “This must be the best restaurant in Roma right now. Don’t you agree, Lorelei?” 

Lorelei nodded and blushed. She wondered if she’d been eating quicker than she should have been. Maybe Raffaello had noticed. He noticed almost everything. 

After learning they wanted to meet the chef, the server left and returned with a man in his mid-to-late twenties, a handsome and charming and slightly shy Italian man who introduced himself as Roberto Russo. Lorelei felt her stomach flip over, especially when Roberto reached for her hand. 

“You must sit with us,” Raffaello said to Roberto. 

“Yes,” said the Sydney Opera House owner. “I had no idea you’d be so young! We must learn everything about you.”

The opera singer smiled, but Lorelei felt it was false. She wondered if the opera singer knew that she was going to be let go—not only from her professional position but also from her romance. 

“I suppose I can sit for a bit,” Roberto acquiesced. 

“Bring a chair for him,” Raffaello ordered the server. “Set it up here, directly beside our beautiful piano prodigy.” He grinned, as though he were playing a prank on Lorelei. 

Roberto sat beside Lorelei, and the server brought him a wineglass so that he could have some of the very expensive Primitivo red wine that he’d ordered earlier. Roberto raised a glass. His movements were awkward, as though he was unaccustomed to sitting at a nice table in his own restaurant. Lorelei sensed he would have preferred to be back in the kitchen with the kitchen crew. 

“Thank you very much for your generosity,” Roberto said. 

“And thank you for your exquisite talents,” the Sydney Opera House man said. 

For a little while, Lorelei observed without speaking. She was nervous to say anything stupid, especially in front of Raffaello, so she sipped her wine and listened. Roberto explained that he’d begun working at this restaurant four months ago and had completely refurbished the menu himself. 

“Last I was here, it was that other chef,” Raffaello said thoughtfully. “I thought the menu seemed dried-out and dull. I told friends that we shouldn’t return here. Oh, but you’ve breathed new life into it!” Raffaello smiled over at Lorelei, then hesitated, as though something had just occurred to him. 

Time seemed to stand still as his eyes clicked from Lorelei to Roberto, and back again. 

“Look at these young people,” he said finally, breathily. “Look at how remarkable they look together. They’re the new generation of artists. Goodness, it’s like looking at the world’s future.”

Lorelei thought Raffaello was being sarcastic. Her cheeks were hot. 

Roberto turned to look at her. Lorelei could hardly bring herself to meet his gaze for fear that he would make fun of her, too. 

“I’ve been talking nonstop about myself,” Roberto said. “What about you? I have heard about your piano performances, but I admit, I haven’t seen any myself.” 

“You absolutely must!” Raffaello said. “We’ll get you tickets the next time she performs in Rome. Front-row seats so that you can see the concentration in her eyes. It’s simply incredible. She’s unlike anyone else.” 

Lorelei smiled nervously.

“What’s it like up there?” Roberto asked. “When I ‘perform,’ I’m hiding away in my kitchen and able to concentrate because nobody is watching me. I can’t imagine how terrifying it must be on stage.”

“Yes,” Lorelei said. “It’s scary. But I try to channel that energy into my performance. I try to let the nervousness become excitement, if that makes sense.” 

Raffaello clapped his hands. “Look at them!” he cried. “They’re simply the most beautiful pair of twenty-something artists in all of Rome.”

“Let’s not get carried away, Raffaello,” the man who owned the opera house said, raising his glass. 

Happily, the conversation soon shifted to something else beyond Lorelei’s talent and beauty, and she sat silently, waiting for the night to end. When Raffaello stood and said he was going to go home, Lorelei again felt Roberto’s eyes on her. 

“Oh, dear me,” Raffaello said, sounding exhausted. “I see what’s happening. Go on, Roberto. Ask her if she’d like to go dancing with you, or whatever it is you young people do these days. But please, I beg you, have her home at a decent hour. Every day, she must practice eight to ten hours. She must compete with the crème de la crème.”

At first, Lorelei thought Roberto would say that he wasn’t planning on asking her. Maybe Raffaello had already scared him away. But Roberto seemed unafraid of Raffaello’s whole performance. He tilted his head and said quietly to Lorelei, as Raffaello put on his leather coat, “What do you say? I know a wonderful place to dance.” 

In the years that followed, Lorelei would call this the best night of her life. 

Roberto went back to the kitchen, leaving Lorelei bubbly and excited. She sipped more of her wine and said goodbye to the people she’d dined with, grateful to see the back of the Sydney Opera House owner’s head. Then, just as she’d convinced herself that Roberto had forgotten about her, he returned wearing all black, his energy electric. 

“Those people,” he said, shaking his head. “How do you stand them?” 

Lorelei laughed. “They’ve given me my life,” she said. 

“I think you should take it back from them,” he said. 

Roberto and Lorelei stepped into the frigid night. It was December, and a light snow was falling. This was a rarity for Rome, but not for Nantucket, and Lorelei felt launched into the past, into her childhood. She remembered making snowmen with Allegra and Alexander. She remembered throwing snowballs against the White Oak Lodge and watching them explode. 

“Are you all right, Lorelei?” Roberto asked. 

“Of course,” Lorelei lied. “I’m always all right.”

And for the course of the night, Lorelei truly was. 

For hours, they danced. Lorelei felt her body pulsing next to Roberto’s. She watched the flicker of his muscles in the light and the sweep of his hair as he brushed it from his face. 

The truth was, she hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Nantucket Island. Her high school boyfriend Carter Johnson—a name that seemed taken from an American sitcom—was now deeply entrenched in her past, so much so that the tragic story of their love seemed to belong to someone else. 

Could she start over with Roberto? Did she even have time, given her intense schedule? 

The better question was whether he even had time, given his intense schedule. 

But all of a sudden, they were kissing. Lorelei’s eyes were closed. She felt drawn into his warm embrace, his thick arms, his pillow-like lips. 

They kissed for ages, so long that eventually, the club closed, and Roberto and Lorelei found themselves leaning against the antique wall outside. Around them, Rome was black with night, and everyone had hurried inside to protect themselves from the cold. All Lorelei and Roberto needed were one another. 

Eventually, they found a little bar for a nightcap, one where only three other people sat alone, watching the snow. Lorelei and Roberto couldn’t stop laughing and talking. They couldn’t get enough of each other, nor of telling one another their plans for the future. They were both endlessly driven and creative. 

“I want to own restaurants all over the world,” Roberto said, spreading his fingers out. “I don’t just want to be the chef. I want to call all the shots. I want to plan every menu.” 

“First Rome?” she asked. 

“And then maybe Sicily,” he said. “I have family down there, and I’ve always loved it.”

“What about Sardinia?” Lorelei asked. She’d recently played a show in Cagliari and been fascinated by its beauty. 

“If you say Sardinia, we’ll make Sardinia happen as well,” Roberto said, kissing the tip of her nose. 

After that, Lorelei explained her plans, too. She told him about wanting to play at every performance hall, from Carnegie to the Royal Albert Hall to the Elbphilharmonie. She watched their future, glowing in his dark eyes. She wondered, too, if in the midst of all this chaotic success they’d actually find a way to grow together. She wondered if their dreams were too powerful for anything as “mundane” as love to come into the equation. 

Then again, she already felt it—love or something like it, bubbling up from the depths of herself. She already felt that she would follow Roberto to the ends of the earth, if he let her.

5

Present Day

It was eleven at night, the tail end of the opening party for the White Oak Lodge. Aurora, her siblings, her cousins, and the stable boys were on the beach in their swimsuits, some of them covered up in sweatshirts against the May evening, watching as fireworks exploded over the hotel. Gwen’s cast was now fully decorated in artworks, many of them from Aurora herself. Once upon a time, long before her parents had pushed her to do business school, Aurora had fancied herself an artist. Was that in the past now? 

Kenny and Oren were off to the side, away from the Whitmore cousins, talking among themselves. Ever since Gwen’s accident, Aurora had felt a strange pull toward both of them, although her attraction felt firmly planted in Kenny, the moodier and more secretive of the two. What on earth was he thinking about? She knew he would never tell, which made everything all the more exciting. 

She knew, too, that the two of them were trying to find a topic for their documentary, which they planned to start filming sooner rather than later. Over the previous few days, Aurora had been privy to several of their conversations, during which they’d tossed various historical Nantucket facts at one another. Many of those facts concerned shipwrecks and whaling. Sometimes they looked at Aurora, hoping that she could supply them with something, anything. But Aurora had just laughed and said, “I’m Italian. I don’t know anything about this island.” Although she desperately wished she did. 

The island seemed endlessly fascinating and foreign to her. 

Aurora’s older brother, Pino, and younger sister, Nadia, were sitting to Aurora’s left, both sipping wine and watching the fireworks reflect over the waves. Just as had been planned, on the appropriate day, Pino and Nadia had met at the airport in Rome, where they’d promptly blown up Aurora’s phone, looking for her. Aurora had written back simply: I’m already here. 

Now, Nadia turned to look at Aurora. “Papa won’t stop asking me if you dropped out of business school or something,” she said. 

Aurora’s breathing stalled. “Why would I drop out of business school?” 

Nadia shrugged. “That’s what I told him. You’ve already put so many years into it. And you have, what, one semester left before you graduate?” 

Aurora nodded and smiled a fake smile. “One more semester till I’m a fully-formed business-minded soulless cog in the machine.” 

Pino rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how anyone half as dramatic as you gets through business school.” 

At this, Gwen and Xander turned and looked at Aurora. 

“You’re in business school?” Gwen asked, surprised. 

Aurora rolled her eyes. “It’s just something to do with my time. It’s like, an experiment.” 

Pino snorted. Aurora knew he didn’t always take kindly to Aurora’s lies. Then again, her siblings knew what had happened to her when she was nineteen. They knew why she’d had to come back to Rome and “make something of herself” so that she didn’t go insane. 

She was grateful that Oren and Kenny seemed too immersed in their artistic conversations to hear about Aurora’s work in the business world. She didn’t want to destroy her cred. 

Suddenly tired of her siblings’ probing questions, Aurora got up and went back to the main house, where she spotted her mother and Aunt Allegra off to the side, talking in low tones, gripping glasses of wine. Her grandma and grandpa were nowhere to be found, and Aurora wondered if they’d snuck off to bed, exhausted after a long day. The fireworks had begun to peter out, and several members of the catering staff were off to the side, grabbing cigarettes or sipping wine of their own. The most beautiful and wealthiest of the guests had already returned home or gone to their White Oak Lodge suites. 

It had been a successful party. Aurora could feel the hum in the air that suggested it. All of the Whitmores were pleased. After all, it had been a very long road to get them here. 

Just before Aurora disappeared into the Lodge, into the old family apartment portion of the hotel, where her mother and her siblings had been raised before the fire, Lorelei turned to look at her. Her eyes burned, as though she could see all the way through to Aurora’s soul. Aurora raised a hand and mouthed, “Good night,” before ducking into the house and shutting the door behind her. 

She knew she needed to keep her distance from her mother and father. She couldn’t admit to them what she’d done. She couldn’t disappoint them, not again. 

The following afternoon, Aurora, Pino, and Nadia rode with Uncle Jack to downtown Nantucket, the old historic district. Jack was meeting an old friend from high school, and Aurora and her siblings wanted to get out of the White Oak Lodge, where their parents seemed incapable of doing anything but bicker in Italian. 

None of them wanted to talk about how terrible their parents’ relationship had been lately. None of them wanted to admit what they all felt coming. 

Once in the historic district, the three of them walked slowly, taking in as much of the scenery as they could. It was truly extraordinary, like an American movie set, with a massive pier lined with gorgeous sailboats, American flags flapping in all directions, and ornate sports cars parked in front of cute coffee shops and wine bars. It was nothing like Italy. 

After five minutes, though, Pino dropped the news that he hated it here. “It’s so, ugh, American,” he said snootily, in Italian, avoiding talking badly about the place in its own language. 

Nadia, who always agreed with their older brother, nodded. “I know what you mean.” 

Aurora switched back to English, if only to prove something. “Are you kidding? It’s glorious. Do you feel that breeze off the ocean? Do you see how beautiful these houses are?” 

Pino and Nadia rolled their eyes. 

“What?” Aurora asked.

“You’ve always been obsessed with America,” Pino said. “We know that.” 

“I have not been,” Aurora said. “I mean, everyone was. Back in school?”

“I don’t know,” Nadia said.

“Mom’s American,” Aurora reminded them. “We’re American.” 

Pino raised his shoulders. “Don’t you think it’s weird? The Whitmores didn’t talk to each other for almost thirty years, and now, they’re just going to forgive each other and move on?” 

“It’s weird, yeah,” Aurora agreed. “But it’s weird in an interesting way. It’s a great story! And you’ve seen the way Grandma and Grandpa look at each other…” 

Nadia and Pino agreed that there was a lot of love between their grandparents, which was something they couldn’t really fathom. Back in Italy, they’d known Francesca’s longtime partner Jeffrey Albright. They’d loved him as though he was their grandfather, and even still did, although he’d died of COVID back in 2020. It was mind-boggling to spend time with their actual grandfather, a man they’d thought was dead. Benjamin Whitmore. Even his name felt like something out of a book. 

“I just don’t get why you had to do that, Aurora,” Nadia said, seemingly out of nowhere. “Why did you have to get here early? Now, Mama and Papa think there’s something wrong with you, and they can’t stop fighting about it.” 

She didn’t say it, but Aurora sensed she wanted to say the word “again.” Something wrong with you again. 

Aurora stopped short, narrowing her eyes as she looked at her brother and sister. How she loved them! And now, now that so much had happened to her, now that so much was happening to her yet again, she found that she was incapable of sharing her heart with them. It was clear that they’d decided she was overly dramatic, the problem child, the reason for their parents’ fighting. 

Aurora took a breath. “I’m going to stay in Nantucket for a while,” she said. 

Nadia and Pino glared at her. 

“Don’t do this,” Pino said, exasperated. 

“Papa won’t like this,” Nadia whined. “And what about business school?” 

Pino glared at her. “You’re supposed to take over the restaurant in Sardinia, right?” 

“Apparently,” Aurora said, rolling her eyes. “Why don’t you take it over if it matters to you so much?” 

“You know I’m a scientist,” Pino said. 

“Yeah? Well, I’m an artist. I’m not made to work in an office,” Aurora said. 

Nadia and Pino exchanged another look that nearly blinded Aurora with fury. It was clear they’d talked about Aurora all the way here on the plane. But there was still so little they understood. 

Aurora knew they hadn’t earned their right to her honesty. 

Suddenly, a man’s voice called, “Aurora! Hey!” 

Aurora turned to find Oren and Kenny coming toward her. They wore jeans and white T-shirts. Their White Oak Lodge stable outfits were nowhere in sight. 

“Come on, Nadia,” Pino said in Italian. “Aurora’s boyfriends are here.” 

Aurora let her brother and sister go. She hurried over to find Oren grinning flirtatiously at her. Kenny hung back a little, looking at her as though he didn’t trust her. Her heart skipped. 

“What are you guys doing?” Aurora asked, her smile so big that it hurt her face. 

Kenny adjusted his camera bag on his shoulder. “We’re filming today.” 

“Yeah, do you want to help?” Oren asked. He sounded greedy. 

Aurora didn’t want to seem too eager for fear it would chase them off. “You guys have an idea for a doc?” 

“Sort of,” Oren said. “We heard about this woman whose dad nearly drowned in a big shipwreck off the coast of Nantucket. Like in 1927 or something.” 

“It was 1928,” Kenny corrected. 

“Sure. Whatever. But we’re going to interview her and then head out to the cove where the ship sank,” Oren declared. “You should come. If you want.” 

The guys led Aurora down a side street and up the porch steps to a quaint stone home that Aurora didn’t think she would have even noticed if she’d walked past. It was far smaller than most Nantucket houses, as though all the generational wealth that had rained down on this island had missed this poor woman. 

The woman who opened the door was not the older woman in question. At sixty-something, this woman was much younger than their target. “She’s ready for you,” the woman said, before introducing herself as Mary. “I’m Marybelle’s daughter,” she said. “Stephen was my grandfather.” 

Aurora took this to mean that the man who’d drowned in the shipwreck was Stephen. 

“She can’t talk long,” Mary explained as she led them through the shadowy halls back to where her mother, Marybelle, apparently spent most of her numbered days. “She sleeps most of the day away, but her brain is as sharp as ever when she’s awake. Remember, she’s one hundred and four years old.” 

Aurora took a staggered breath. One hundred and four? She did a quick calculation and realized that Marybelle had been born in 1921 or 1922, depending on when her birthday fell. Oren seemed jocular and slightly arrogant, as though Marybelle’s age meant nothing to him, but if Aurora could read Kenny at all, she guessed that he was similarly in awe. 

In the living room, they found the tiniest older woman Aurora had ever seen. She was bony, with glowing white hair that curled rather beautifully around her ears. She wore all black, and her veined hands rested gently on her lap. “Good afternoon, young directors,” she said, her voice light and airy. 

Aurora felt a shiver down her back. 

“Hi there,” Oren said. “I’m Oren. This is my artist partner, Kenny. And this here is Aurora. She’s from Rome.”

“Oh.” Marybelle turned her head slowly to look at Aurora. “You are quite striking, my dear.” 

Aurora knew that her beauty was the least-interesting fact of herself, but she smiled anyway. “You are, too,” she said. 

Marybelle laughed a twinkling laugh. But Aurora wanted to tell Marybelle it was true. Not only was the older woman striking, but she was gorgeous. Old age and beauty went together, Aurora felt. 

Maybe because Marybelle knew she would be exhausted soon, she launched quickly into the story of her father’s shipwreck. “I was six years old,” she said. “Nearly seven when it happened, which means I remember a great deal. The storms that night were outrageous. I thought our house was going to fall apart.” Marybelle gestured to indicate that this was the very house where she’d lived as a little girl of six, which felt even more insane than anything else. 

Oren, Kenny, and Aurora looked down at her from the other side of the camera, and Kenny pointed at her. Aurora felt that Marybelle was being appropriately cinematic. She should have been a movie star. 

She went on to describe her memories. How she had heard the splitting sound of wood, although it was improbable that Marybelle had heard the shipwreck from where she slept in her bed. She described going out to the cove the following day and seeing the boat's tip above the water. Her mother had wept for weeks on end. “I was so small, but I had to take care of myself and my siblings after that,” Marybelle said, her face growing shadowed. “But losing men to the Nantucket Sound was not a rare occurrence. For hundreds of years, the ocean took and took and took our people. It was expected, even as it was heartbreaking.” 

For a little less than an hour, they interviewed Marybelle. Eventually, Oren ran out of questions, and Kenny and Aurora took over. Aurora felt she couldn’t get enough of this woman’s stories. She was a window into the past of this glorious island, an island Aurora had decided to make her home. I can’t go back to Rome, she thought, as she, Kenny, and Oren packed up the camera and sound equipment, thanked Marybelle, and turned to go. 

Once outside, they made their way to Oren’s truck, the same truck that had taken Gwen to the hospital to fix her broken arm. They loaded everything up, then took off for the cove where the shipwreck had occurred in 1928. As they went, Aurora couldn’t help but think of the hundreds of devastating events of the previous centuries on Nantucket. One of those events, she knew, was the burning of the White Oak Lodge. 

Without the burning of the Lodge, of course, Aurora herself never would have been born. 

“That was killer, guys,” Oren said, smacking the steering wheel. “It felt great.” 

Kenny was more effusive than he’d been before. He smiled, quoted Marybelle, and suggested how the interview could be woven into a broader narrative about Nantucket and its history. Oren and Kenny laughed together, and Aurora felt as though she were a part of a dynamic story, their story as they rose to the top of the filmmaking world. 

Abstractly, she wondered how she would work into their story, then she told herself it didn’t matter. She was with them as a friend. She was with them to kill time, to distract herself from everything that had been happening in her world, and to hide from her father, who, she was beginning to think, didn’t trust her at all. 

At the cove where, nearly one hundred years ago, a ship sank, Oren, Kenny, and Aurora got out of the truck and headed for the sand. Maybe because it was eighty-two degrees, but they were all wearing swimsuits beneath their clothes. Without speaking, they stripped to their suits, then walked into the glistening waves. Aurora felt the rush of chilly water up to her thighs, and then she felt a freedom she’d never known. 

Oren swam out farther than Aurora and Kenny, his limbs wild, proof that he wasn’t a terribly strong swimmer. When he reached where they thought the ship probably was, he put on his goggles and dropped beneath the waves, hoping to spot something. 

Aurora and Kenny were up to their necks, their feet still on the sand. They watched for Oren’s head, wondering what he saw down there. 

Then Aurora felt fingers sliding through her fingers. She sucked in her breath but didn’t dare look over. She could feel Kenny’s body just a few inches from hers. She could feel her desire for him churning in her chest. They stood like that, hands latched as the waves sloshed against them until, all at once, Oren splashed to the surface and cried out, “I think I can see something! You guys have to come check it out!” 

Aurora’s and Kenny’s hands jerked apart. Aurora took off, swimming faster than Kenny and reaching Oren first. She put on the goggles and dropped into the depths, where she swam down, down, down until she could make out the very tip-top of an old wooden ship. Bubbles popped out from between her lips, and her heart pounded. 

Down there, faced with all that history, all she could think about was Kenny up above, his legs swishing back and forth to keep him above the surface, to keep him breathing.

6

It was nearly a week after the reopening of the White Oak Lodge. To Lorelei’s surprise, the reopening party and the subsequent opening days had gone smoothly, with nary a hiccup. Maybe the old hotel wasn’t cursed after all. 

As it turned out, the Whitmores had marketed the reopening perfectly, and wealthy East and West Coasters plus a variety of Midwesterners had come to check out the suites and celebrate into the summer months. Some of the families and couples had even arranged to stay at the White Oak Lodge for multiple weeks, which reminded Lorelei of the old days of the Lodge, back when people used to stay for months. In fact, that was how Francesca had first met Benjamin. Right here, when she’d spent summers at the White Oak Lodge, together with her father, the famous director, the man everyone had wanted to know. 

A young couple appeared at the front desk, smiling brightly. They had the air of honeymooners. The woman wore a white halter-top dress, and the man wore a linen button-down and a pair of slacks, often looking down at his wife to make sure she was all right. It was almost as though he expected her to disappear. 

“Welcome to the White Oak Lodge,” Lorelei said. “Are you checking in?” 

“We are,” the husband said. “Reginald and Stacy Hopkins.”

Lorelei checked the computer to see that, yes, the newly-married couple were staying in the honeymoon suite, just down the hall from where she and Roberto were staying—and hardly speaking to one another. 

“We’re so pleased to have you here,” Lorelei said. 

“I read about it,” the woman named Stacy said breathily. “I can’t believe it has all this history! And the buried treasure beneath the hotel itself! It thrills me.”

“She’s an adventure-seeker,” her husband said, grinning. 

Lorelei knew they were still in that newlywed phase when everything the other did was endlessly fascinating. She still remembered those first few years with Roberto, when it had seemed as though he was the cleverest, the most talented, the most charming, and the handsomest. She’d felt so lucky to be chosen by him. She couldn’t believe he’d wanted to marry her. 

Lorelei managed to keep it together throughout check-in. She handed the couple their keys, then asked one of the bellhops to take them up to their honeymoon suite. After that, she kept a stiff smile on her face, performing a few more logistical tasks, before Allegra appeared beside her at the desk. The sight of her sister and best friend, there at the same mahogany desk where they’d worked countless hours as teenagers, was too much for Lorelei. 

“How are things going?” Allegra asked brightly. “It’s so lovely here, isn’t it? I can’t believe I’m heading back to Rome so soon.” 

“Yeah,” Lorelei breathed. “It’s hard to wrap my mind around it.” Her thoughts raced, and suddenly, she burst into tears and put her forehead on Allegra’s shoulder.

“Oh, honey!” Allegra said, drawing her arms around her. 

By this point in their relationship, Allegra could practically read Lorelei’s mind. She could probably sense this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill breakdown. Allegra waved down one of the other bellhops, setting him up at the counter. “You remember how everything works, don’t you?” He said he did. 

Allegra led Lorelei down the long hallway to the dining room, which was empty save for one of the cleaning staff, who was shining the silverware and listening to something through her big earphones. Lorelei dropped into a chair by the window and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled to her sister. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me, honey,” Allegra assured her. She disappeared and returned with two mugs of green tea. Allegra sat across from Lorelei and reached for her hand. “What’s all this about?” 

Lorelei took a sip of the hot tea and closed her eyes. “I don’t know how to talk about it.”

“Just try,” Allegra whispered. “It’s a safe space.”

Lorelei wanted to remind Allegra that the White Oak Lodge was, in fact, not a safe space. Once upon a time, it had been the site of their uncle’s criminal activity. It had hidden buried treasure. It had once burned down. 

“I think Roberto might be having an affair,” Lorelei said, then snapped both of her hands over her mouth. She couldn’t believe she’d said it aloud.

“That’s impossible,” Allegra said. “He loves you more than anything, Lorelei. We all know that to be true.” 

Lorelei shook her head sadly. Once upon a time, she knew, Roberto had adored Lorelei more than any other human. He’d only had eyes for her. But for months and months, Lorelei had been here in Nantucket, helping her mother through chemotherapy and, admittedly, hiding from her husband. Why had she done that? The answer was simple. She thought their love was drying up. 

“Marriage is never that easy, I guess,” Lorelei whispered. “But last year, I felt like he was drifting. The stress of all these restaurants can be too much on his shoulders, and he often didn’t come home.”

Allegra rubbed her temples. “And you thought it would be nice to come here for a while, I guess.” 

“Yes,” Lorelei said. “I thought it would be easier. I thought maybe we would miss each other and find a way back to one another. But now, I wonder if I just gave him an opening to have an affair.” 

Allegra was quiet and contemplative. It made Lorelei all the more anxious. 

“And you know Italian men cheat,” Lorelei breathed. “Even when they love their wives, they feel like they’re owed more romance, more spectacle. It’s practically written into the Italian constitution.” 

Allegra snorted. “It is not.” 

But Lorelei could see the truth of it in Allegra’s eyes. Allegra knew, just as well as Lorelei did, that Italian men often cheated. Why would Roberto—a handsome man who owned numerous restaurants and had once been lauded as a singular talent in the chef world—be any different? Especially when his wife was spending so much time in America. Especially when their daughter Aurora was so difficult to manage, casting a shadow over their family life. 

“And look at Mama and Dad,” Lorelei added. 

Allegra crossed her arms over her chest. “They’re a different breed.”

“They cheated on each other,” Lorelei asserted. 

“Yes, but…” Allegra stopped abruptly, then fixed her face into a smile. “Oh hi, Mama!” 

Lorelei turned to watch as first Francesca, then Benjamin came into the dining room. They were holding hands loosely, as though they couldn’t stop touching each other. 

“What are you two doing in here?” their father asked. 

“We’re just taking a break,” Allegra said. “Lorelei’s been at the front desk all day.”

“Thank you again, Lorelei,” their father said, beaming. “It’s just like old times, isn’t it? I love walking by that big bay window and seeing you at the front desk.” 

“Yes. It’s like time travel,” Lorelei offered meekly. 

Francesca and Benjamin remained standing over their table, smiling down at them. Lorelei felt on the spot, as though she were meant to perform. 

“Why don’t we take a break for the day?” Francesca suggested. “Your father and I wanted to try out that new wine bar by Madaket Beach. Alexander and Jack can’t come, but Charlotte and Nina are on their way over there. Please, join us!” 

Twenty minutes later, Lorelei found herself seated on a beachside table overlooking the shining Nantucket Sound. Charlotte and Nina chatted happily about the menu, while Francesca and Benjamin spoke in low tones, holding hands under the table. Lorelei looked at Allegra, wondering how Mama and Dad were more in love than ever. How was it possible? Allegra shrugged, as though she understood exactly what Lorelei meant. 

She and her sister had been as thick as thieves for years. Maybe they could read each other’s minds. 

They ordered two bottles of wine, one natural orange and another classic Austrian white. When their glasses were filled, Benjamin suggested a toast and beamed out at all of them. 

“I can’t believe I’m here with all four of our daughters,” he said. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.” 

For a little while, Lorelei was quiet, sipping her wine and analyzing her parents. It was fascinating how eager they were to laugh at one another’s jokes and finish one another’s sentences. It reminded Lorelei of that first night she’d spent with Roberto in Rome and how they’d wanted to swallow each other up. From the looks of things, Charlotte, Nina, and Allegra were just as captivated with their parents as she was. Where had all this love come from? 

Were they performing, just as she felt she had to perform? Or was this love a pure, beautiful, natural thing? 

When a platter of cheese, meats, pickled vegetables, and fruits came out with a bowl of sourdough bread, and when Benjamin stood to refill everyone’s glasses, Lorelei couldn’t help herself. Rather than allow herself to go completely insane, she had to ask. 

“Mama? Dad?”

Francesca stopped laughing abruptly and turned her attention to Lorelei. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Lorelei felt her sisters’ and her father’s eyes upon her, as well, waiting. 

In the intense silence, Lorelei realized that she couldn’t ask what she really wanted to ask, that she was too frightened. So she asked, “How are you feeling?” 

Francesca’s smile widened. “I feel better than I have in ages. I’m still waiting for my hair to grow back, of course. But in the meantime, these wigs are really something, aren’t they? And it’s nice not to have to deal with dyeing my hair over and over again. Maybe I’m a wig convert for life. And I’m happy! Goodness, I’m happy. I never imagined that having the answers to all our family’s questions would clear up so much space in my heart. But now, all our cards are on the table. All the secrets are out.” 

Charlotte and Nina shifted in their chairs, as though heavy with questions of their own. Without meaning to, Lorelei considered Tio Angelo, sitting in a prison cell somewhere. What a strange family this was, she thought. Yet for the thousandth time since returning, she felt the urgent desire to stay here in Nantucket, not to abandon them again. 

If she left, what would she miss? 

“I think your mother is more beautiful than the day I met her,” Benjamin said, breaking the silence. 

Francesca swatted him on the shoulder. “He’s saying his pretty lines again. Oh, but even if they’re lies, how can I resist them?” She put her head on Benjamin’s shoulder. 

Just then, Lorelei’s phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a call from Roberto, one that she knew better than to ignore. Ignoring his calls usually made him more irate and difficult to deal with later on. 

“I have to take this,” she said, standing up and hurrying down the beach, away from the tables of white cloth and glinting wineglasses. “Ciao?” she answered the phone, sounding breathless. 

“You won’t believe this,” Roberto started in without saying hello. “Apparently our daughter wants to stay in Nantucket all summer long.” 

Lorelei grimaced. She knew he was talking about Aurora again. They never spoke about their daughter Nadia in these terms. 

“We can’t let her stay here, Lorelei,” Roberto said. “She’s so close to graduating from business school. She’s so close to being on the right track.” 

Lorelei closed her eyes, thinking back to that day three years ago when they’d discovered that their daughter’s life was different from their other children’s. Roberto and Lorelei had promised one another to do everything in their power to “save her.” But what did saving Aurora even mean? 

“We need to take her with us to the airport next week and physically put her on the plane,” Roberto continued. “It’s the only way.” 

“I don’t want to force my twenty-two-year-old daughter to get on a plane,” Lorelei said. 

At this, Roberto scoffed. “Do you hear yourself?”

Lorelei watched as, out across the water, seagulls drifted forward and scooped through the air. “Roberto, Aurora is old enough to make her own decisions. We can’t always step in.” 

“She’s obviously not old enough to make her own decisions,” Roberto shot back. “If you were paying attention at all, you’d see that our daughter is fumbling. She’s a lost lamb.” 

Before Lorelei could answer, Roberto hung up the phone, leaving her alone on the beach. She turned back to watch as her parents cackled together while Charlotte, Nina, and Allegra smiled nervously in the early evening light.

7

Back in her room in the family apartment at the White Oak Lodge, Aurora ignored a smattering of text messages from her father.

PAPÁ: Aurora, come to my suite immediately. We need to talk.

PAPÁ: Aurora, don’t make me come down there to find you.

PAPÁ: Aurora, you are coming back to Rome with us.

PAPÁ: Aurora, you will not get away with destroying your life. As your father, I can’t let you.

Instead of answering, Aurora opened a recent email from Oren, in which he’d attached the video footage of their interview with Marybelle, the woman whose father had drowned in the shipwreck. Although the lighting in the room was imperfect and it was sometimes impossible to hear what Marybelle said, Aurora thought it was a decent interview and an exciting next step in Oren and Kenny’s journey to make a documentary. She wrote back right away.

This is so cool. We have to find more Nantucket stories. We have to branch out. 

Oren sent back a cartoon heart, and her heart skipped. She knew Oren liked her, that maybe he wouldn’t have allowed her to be involved in the documentary nor sent her the footage if he didn’t. But she often caught herself daydreaming about Kenny’s fingers linked through hers under the turquoise waters. She imagined what it would be like to kiss Kenny, alone on a beach somewhere, with Oren far, far away. 

She heard someone calling her name. “Aurora!” It was coming from the family apartment's kitchen, and it was her father, searching for her. Panicked, she shot up and hurried to the closet, slipping in behind bagged clothes and an old bookshelf. She tucked herself into the corner, just as her father stormed into the room. “Aurora, are you in here?” He sounded sweaty and panicked, just as he always did after long hours at the restaurant. Sometimes it boggled her mind to imagine that he actually wanted her to take over the managerial responsibilities at the Sardinia restaurant. Why would she willingly take on all that stress? It was going to kill him. 

At this thought, her heart darkened. She certainly did not want her father to die because of his stupid restaurants. She didn’t want him to die because he was worried about her, either. But something kept her tucked away in the closet, waiting for her father to head out and search elsewhere. 

Just before he left the room, he tore open the closet door and peered through the shadows. In Italian, he said, “Aurora, I swear, if you’re in here, say something. Tell me what’s going on.” 

At this last bit of tenderness, Aurora nearly cried out, for it was true that she couldn’t tell her father what was going on, nor what she was running away from Rome for, not this time. 

Three years ago, she’d gotten herself into a terrifying mess, from which her parents had saved her. (Her parents wouldn’t let her forget about it, either.) And now that she was in yet another mess, she knew she couldn’t rely on her parents. She had to rebuild her life herself. Otherwise, she felt they would never respect her. Maybe she wouldn’t respect herself, either. 

Finally, her father bucked out of the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him. Aurora finally allowed herself to breathe again. She took big gulps of air. 

Just before she slipped out of the closet, her foot knocked against a stack of old books, toppling the first several to the ground so that they opened to reveal beautiful penmanship. Aurora realized at once that they were journals. Greedily, she carried as much of the stack as she could into the bedroom, where she spread them out on the floor to see them better. Most of them were black and brown and dark green, but they were written by numerous Whitmores, many of whom Aurora had never heard of. 

It boggled her mind to think about all these people from the White Oak Lodge’s past. How had the journals survived the fire in the first place? She’d heard someone saying that most of the Lodge had actually been all right post-fire, that they’d managed to salvage a great deal of the space and the things in it before boarding it all up and letting nature take its toll. But if that were the case, who had held on to these journals for all these years? And why had they been hidden away in the closet of the room where she now slept?

Just then, Oren texted again, telling her that he and Kenny were going to get burgers later. You should come too, it read. 

This triggered an idea. With a new sense of purpose, Aurora dug into the journals, searching for stories that might help invigorate Oren and Kenny’s documentary. Not only did she want to help them but she also wanted some of the ideas to be her own. That way, they would be required to bring her deeper into the project. She wanted the safety of something to do. She wanted to resurrect her artistic independence. 

One of the journals she picked up belonged to Grandma Francesca, and it was written entirely in Italian, which had probably made it useless for any Americans who’d previously dug through these books. One passage read: Sometimes I remember what my mother told me about marriage, how lonely it can be if the other person withdraws from you. I don’t think I ever would have thought Benjamin Whitmore would withdraw from me. It goes to show that marriage offers a constant state of surprises. Perhaps women who date around all their lives are never really surprised, because knowing someone on a surface level never gets to the root of knowing them at all. 

Aurora raised her eyebrows with surprise. She wondered if her grandmother remembered having those thoughts about her husband, a husband who would soon become a stranger in her life. “I’ll come back to that later,” she murmured, setting her grandmother’s diary to the side. 

She continued to read, opening and closing old journals, until she discovered a worn little book dated 1943. The name on the inner page read: Charles Whitmore. And beneath it were the words: Somewhere in France, another War. 

Aurora was on her feet, her heart nearly bursting. World War II. She did a quick calculation and decided that Charles Whitmore was probably her grandfather Benjamin’s father. But she’d never known that he’d been a soldier in the war. 

Being European meant constantly facing the events of World War II. In school, Aurora had learned about Italy’s fascist past, about how Italy had paired up with Germany and fought against the Allied troops. These facts were never comfortable, especially when they were paired with discussions of concentration camps and the heinous things people had done in the name of money and hatred. But Aurora had never known that one of her family members had fought in the American Army. 

She opened the journal and read in her great-grandfather’s handwriting: 

July 11, 1943

I’ve received news from the White Oak Lodge today. Mother and Father tell me that the Lodge is full with revelers, that it’s almost hard to remember a war is going on, given how celebratory everyone acts. It is far from me to say how people should act in times of war. While we starve here in the trenches, waiting for something to happen and praying it won’t, I try to remember what the Nantucket sunshine on my face feels like. I try to remember what it’s like to hold Elaine’s hand as we walk along the sands. 

Unfortunately, Father explains that it is likely Edmund will also have to go to war. It isn’t clear where he will be stationed, although I pray it will be somewhere far from the battlefield. I find this absolutely heinous. I volunteered to come so that Edmund could stay behind and help at the White Oak Lodge. I do not believe a family should have to send both of its sons off to war, certainly not its twin sons. But there you have it. They want all of us over here. They want to put all of our lives at stake.

Aurora closed the book slowly, her mouth dry. Charles and Edmund Whitmore. They were names that seemed so familiar, although she’d never heard them before. She had the sense that there was a great deal of heartbreak in this journal, that Charles had probably starved and watched his friends die in battle. She wondered if Edmund had actually been sent away. 

It was funny to imagine her Great-Grandfather Charles having a twin brother. Having a twin felt like something you were allowed to do as a child. But she supposed many twins grew up. Many twins were allowed to watch one another age, watching the various ways their lifestyles played out differently on their genetically similar faces. 

Aurora texted Oren and Kenny in their group chat, explaining that she might have found something interesting for their documentary.

AURORA: We can talk about it over burgers later. 

Oren wrote back right away.

OREN: Is it more Whitmore buried treasure? We could use some of that to fund our documentary, haha. 

Aurora rolled her eyes and smiled. She set her grandmother's and great-grandfather’s journals on the bedside table, then stacked the rest and prepared to return them to their hiding place in the closet. But right before she did, she noticed one that had a handwritten name on the spine. Lorelei Whitmore. Aurora slipped that one off the stack and added it to the mini-stack on the bedside table. She’d never imagined that her mother kept a diary. She’d never known anything about her mother’s inner life, especially not before she’d come to Rome and met her father. 

Right before Aurora left for the night to meet the guys for burgers, she hid the three journals under the bed, frightened that her father would storm in again and get his hands on them. She then stepped into the hallway and hurried toward the kitchen, eager to jump into Oren’s truck and get out of there. But lo and behold, her father hadn’t really left the apartment after all. There he sat at the kitchen table, his shoulders hunched, his eyebrows low. Aurora panicked and nearly swallowed her tongue. 

“Papa,” she said, stalling. 

Her father spread his hands across the kitchen table. “Aurora,” he growled. “Don’t you think we need to talk?”

8

Four Years Ago

When Aurora was eighteen years old, she graduated from her Roman high school with honors. She was third in her class, a bright and beautiful individual whom all her teachers suggested would go on to do great things. At the time, of course, Aurora wasn’t entirely sure what they meant by “great” things. Although she knew how to talk about her future in a way that people responded to, in a way that made her seem intelligent and driven, her real plan was to have an amazing life. She planned to surprise herself at every turn. 

That night, Roberto, Lorelei, Pino, Aurora, and Nadia went out to dinner to celebrate Aurora’s accomplishments. Unlike usual, they dined at a restaurant that did not belong to Roberto and Lorelei, one with a new and exciting Roman chef whom Roberto wanted to meet—and maybe even rob for his own kitchen. They were given the table of honor—not because of Aurora’s graduation, but because of Roberto’s prestige in the restaurant business—and loaded up on all the finest appetizers and bottles of wine. In Italy, eighteen-year-olds were allowed to drink wine legally, and Aurora found her thoughts swimming as she listened to her mother’s laughter and Nadia’s stories and the hum and buzz of the greater restaurant. 

Frequently, her father leaned across the table and asked her about the wine and about what she was eating. “Describe it to me in detail,” Roberto said, because he was often thrilled at how precise Aurora could be with words and how delicate her palate was. 

“She’s her papa’s daughter,” Lorelei said, grinning in a way that made Aurora sad. 

It was true that Aurora had always been Roberto’s favorite. It meant that Aurora and Lorelei had never been as close as Lorelei was with Nadia and Pino. But even at age eighteen, Aurora knew this was life: complications between family members, things you couldn’t explain. She knew Lorelei didn’t talk to most of her family members back in the States. Lorelei refused to discuss it, as though it was too much to bear. 

“Tell us, Aurora,” her father said now, raising his glass of wine. “Tell us what you want to become.”

Nadia, Pino, and Lorelei looked at Aurora, captivated by her. She was their rising star. Pino, who was two years older, was already at university, studying the sciences, but she’d heard that he had failed one of his classes last semester and that their parents weren’t proud. There was a hunched look to Pino’s shoulders, as though he didn’t want to be looked at too much. 

Aurora spread her hands across the white tablecloth and steadied herself. “You know that I applied to many, many universities,” she said. 

“Cambridge. Oxford. The Sorbonne,” her father listed, smiling. She’d gotten into all of them. “Which one will you choose?” 

“Don’t forget the American universities,” Lorelei chimed in. “Yale and Harvard aren’t bad, either.”

Aurora laughed gently. Of course, versions of herself went to all these schools. There were timelines in which she went on to become a doctor, a lawyer, or a scientist. There were times when she made her parents terribly proud. 

Aurora had come to understand in her eighteen years of life that she wasn’t an average academic. She was an artist. She was here to create reflections of humanity and help people see themselves fully and clearly in a world that was so often distracted by money and time. She’d gotten the art award every year at school, going back forever. But she’d never fully expressed her desire to pursue art to her parents—not until now. 

“I’ve decided where I’m going in the fall,” she said, grateful that her voice didn’t warble at all. “I'm going to the Berlin University of Art and Design.” 

At this, her father’s jaw dropped with surprise. Nadia and Pino looked at one another, panicked. But Lorelei, only Lorelei, clasped her hands together and whispered, “Oh, honey. Of course. You’re an artist.”

Aurora smiled and nodded. “I want to pursue art seriously. I want to give it my best shot. And the professors I spoke with in Berlin are incredible. They’ve broken new boundaries. They’re on the cutting-edge of what it means to make art in the twenty-first century.” Aurora’s eyes flickered over to her father, who continued to wear a funny expression. 

Lorelei reached over to take Aurora’s hand. “You’re going to be incredible, Aurora.”

Slowly, Roberto nodded. His eyes glinted. “Harvard. Cambridge. The Sorbonne. None of them were good enough for you?” 

Aurora raised her shoulders. “My parents are artists,” she reminded them, speaking of her mother’s storied music past as a musician and her father’s exciting career as a top chef. “I come by it honestly.”

“She really does,” Lorelei said, smiling in a way that made Aurora feel more connected to her mother than she had in years. 

“What will be your medium?” Roberto returned part of his attention to his food, wrapping pasta around and around his fork. 

“Maybe film,” Aurora said, thinking of her Grandmother Francesca’s famous filmmaker father. “Or maybe painting? I’ve always loved painting. It’s too bad that I never really took to piano, like you, Mama. But not everybody has what you have.” 

Lorelei waved her hand, but Roberto interjected. 

“Your mother was a singular talent,” he said firmly. “I’ve never seen anyone take the stage like she did. Not before nor since.” 

Lorelei’s smile waned the slightest bit. Aurora felt the weight of the past tense in her father’s sentences, but she knew better than to call him out. 

It was, of course, a mystery in their family as to why Lorelei had stopped playing the piano. It felt too personal to ask about. Aurora imagined she would never get to know. 

Rather than hang around Rome all summer, waiting for the Berlin art semester to begin, Aurora went traveling by herself. She’d worked for years at her father’s restaurants as a server, and she’d saved up a great deal so that she could take buses and trains all over Europe. Her parents had shown her their version of the world—their high-class version—but she decided to take control, going to dive bars in Athens, exploring caves in Spain and France, trying her best to master other languages, and meeting travelers in hostels from all over the world. 

Everywhere she looked, Aurora was inspired to make art. She kept a little notebook with her at all times so that she could write down her ideas or sketch things out. She wanted to charge into the first semester at her Berlin art school and show her professors what she was all about. 

Maybe because of how busy she was, and maybe because of how difficult it was to own three restaurants across Italy, Aurora’s conversations with her parents became fewer and farther between. Nadia and Pino still texted her pretty often, but they were busy with their own lives. Aurora felt an isolation that she’d never encountered before, one that she knew she needed to become more familiar with if she was going to be an artist in Berlin. She couldn’t lean back on the comforts of home, not if she wanted to grow. 

Aurora returned to Rome the week before her move to Berlin to pack the last of her things and arrange for everything to be shipped to Germany. While there, she experienced her parents’ summertime chaos and hardly saw her brother and sister. The night before her departure, they all went out to dinner, but Roberto had to leave the table halfway through to deal with a problem in his Sardinian restaurant, and Lorelei seemed distracted and upset. 

“What’s going on with them?” Aurora asked her brother and sister later on, at home. 

Pino and Nadia shrugged. 

“It’s been a weird summer,” Nadia explained. 

“I don’t think they’re getting along very well,” Pino said. 

This was the first time Aurora had ever been frightened that her parents might divorce. She’d never imagined it before. 

But she couldn’t dwell on her parents’ problems for long. Soon, she was getting off the train in Berlin and wheeling her suitcases to a waiting taxi, which took her to her pint-sized studio apartment in the quaint neighborhood of Friedrichshain. Once there, she decorated the place to her liking and prepared for her first week of classes. 

Little did she know, her life was about to change forever. 

On her first day of classes at her Berlin art school, Aurora met her professor Sebastian. He was in his mid-twenties, maybe, but he’d already made a name for himself in the Berlin and European art worlds, as he’d made a series of paintings and sculptures that attacked what was going on in the government and actually got the conversation going in a different direction. He was proof that art was a living thing, that it could change things politically and emotionally. 

He was also sensationally handsome. 

Aurora had never seen anyone like him. He was maybe six-foot-four, with broad shoulders and blond hair and an air about him that felt grounding yet also made you feel like you could do anything you set your mind to. When Aurora showed him the sketches and paintings and notes she’d made over the summer, he sat with them for a full half hour, going over what she’d done, then talked with her for more than four hours about how she envisioned her first semester at the university. “What do you want to accomplish? Because I want to help you get there.” 

Aurora had never been taken so seriously before. 

At the end of her first week, Aurora called home. She was sitting at her kitchen table, drinking tea and watching the rain outside her window. On her screen, in a video chat, sat her mother and father, both of them looking drowsy and anxious. 

“I’m definitely in the right place,” Aurora told them. “I can’t believe it, but my professor really believes in me. He thinks I have a shot of really making it.” 

Lorelei smiled. “Of course you do, honey. You’re brilliant.”

Roberto grunted in response but seemed distracted. Soon, he left the call to make another, leaving Lorelei and Aurora alone. 

“Mama, is everything okay?” Aurora asked, surprising herself. Maybe she could ask her mother more about Lorelei’s life, now that she was away from it.

“Everything’s great!” Lorelei so clearly lied. “We’re so happy you found a program that speaks to your heart. You know, when I first made a real shot at performing as a pianist, it was because I met an agent who really pushed me. Maybe this professor of yours, Sebastian, is your version of my Raffaello.”

“Tio Raffaello?” Aurora had met him when she was a girl, but she hadn’t known that Raffaello had been her mother’s piano agent.

“Of course. Oh, how I miss him sometimes.” Lorelei chewed her lower lip, and Aurora remembered that Raffaello had died of cancer several years ago. But by then, Lorelei hadn’t been a world-class pianist any longer. Why had Lorelei’s career dried up? 

Before Aurora could ask, Lorelei admitted she had to go help Roberto with something. 

“We love you!” Lorelei cooed. “Call us again soon.”

But over the next few months, Aurora dropped deeper into the world of Berlin art. She went to parties. She met fancy people who were willing to spend pretty pennies on paintings and sculptures. She presented her work, and she worked on a more individual basis with Sebastian, who’d taken an active interest in her development. 

It didn’t occur to Aurora that she was in love with Sebastian until Christmastime. She was supposed to head back to Rome to celebrate with her family, whom she’d hardly spoken to since November, but there was a massive snowstorm over Berlin, and none of the trains left on time or at all. Because of this, she decided to stay in Berlin and work. 

Sebastian called her to check in. There was a sweetness in his voice that wasn’t usually there, and Aurora spontaneously asked if he wanted to celebrate Christmas together. She knew he didn’t have any family nearby. His mother lived in Bavaria, and his father had left long ago. 

Aurora bought a bottle of wine and several pastries and rang Sebastian’s doorbell on Christmas Eve. He flung open the door, his cheeks ruddy and his eyes alight. He no longer looked like the moody genius she knew from class. He just looked happy to see her. 

That night, over wine, they listened to music and talked about their childhoods. They sat on the sofa and held hands and watched as the snow fell outside. When Sebastian first kissed her, Aurora didn’t hesitate. It felt as though their story had begun the moment she’d gotten to Berlin. 

During spring semester, Aurora and Sebastian didn’t bother to hide their love from the other students. Because it was a more progressive school, and because Sebastian wasn’t so much older, not many people batted an eye. But when Sebastian recruited Aurora to show some of her paintings at his upcoming enormous gallery show, people began to pipe up with disdain. They thought Aurora was getting preferential treatment. The truth was, she was. 

But Aurora didn’t care. She knew her stuff was good, and she knew Sebastian thought it was, too. Being in love with her didn’t make his eye any less discerning. During March and April, they worked tirelessly, often forgetting about the university entirely, and put together a gorgeous and thought-provoking show that was covered in multiple newspapers, including The Guardian and The New York Times. 

During the closing party, which was held at the end of May—a full year after Aurora graduated from high school—Sebastian gave a speech, thanking Aurora for coming into his life and helping him broaden his work. Aurora wanted to make a speech, too, but she felt too shy, and she knew that most of her classmates now hated her and didn’t want to hear a thing from her. 

Aurora’s parents wanted to come to the show, too, but they got held up with restaurant responsibilities. Aurora’s little sister, Nadia, who’d just graduated from high school herself, came to Berlin to celebrate, although she said that she didn’t get the art. “It’s weird.” Nadia shrugged. 

The days immediately following the closure of the exhibition were some of the happiest of Aurora’s life. She was gearing up for a beautiful summer in Berlin, after which she would begin her second full year of art school. She was considering dropping out after that and maybe doing an artist residency in Japan or Mexico, somewhere she could broaden her craft without being held down to a specific place. When she mentioned this to Sebastian, he suggested that they go together, and she threw her arms around him. 

She knew they were really in love. 

What happened next was something Aurora would never have seen coming. She couldn’t have imagined it, not in a thousand years. 

At the beginning of June, when Aurora was nineteen and Sebastian was twenty-seven, they were walking down a side road through Berlin, holding hands. Aurora went into a little shop to look at vintage dresses, while Sebastian stayed outside to take a call. In the span of those five minutes they were apart, something awful happened. Sebastian was struck by a car. 

Aurora wasn’t allowed to ride in the ambulance with her beloved. She hired a car to take her to the hospital, and she sobbed all the way there in the back seat, trying to blot out the image of what she’d seen of Sebastian when she’d come out of the shop. Once in the waiting room, she paced back and forth, desperate for answers. Of course, because she wasn’t family, she had to wait until Sebastian’s mother came up from Bavaria and told her what was going on. 

“He’s alive,” his mother told her, her words strangled. “But they’re saying that he will not walk again. Not soon.” 

Aurora couldn’t believe this. She wanted to rewind the previous ten hours of her life and do them again. Last she’d checked, Sebastian was a strong and capable man of six-foot-four, and now, he was in and out of consciousness, and his legs would never work for him again. 

Eventually, Aurora was allowed to go into the hospital room to see Sebastian. His eyes were wounded and hard, and he didn’t seem to want to look at her. When she talked about moving in with him to help him get around the apartment and readjust, he flatly told her that he’d thought about it, and that he wanted to go back to Bavaria with his mother. 

“I’ll come with you,” Aurora said, a hiccup in her voice. She felt very young. 

Sebastian shook his head. “I don’t want you to come. I don’t want you around.”

Aurora felt the words like several smacks across the face. She hurried back to the waiting room and then ran outside, where she sobbed uncontrollably. She knew that Sebastian couldn’t handle his feelings. She knew that he couldn’t see her and imagine the life they’d planned together. But she was fully willing to adjust her expectations, all because she loved him. Maybe she just needed to make him understand that? 

But for three weeks, while Sebastian healed enough to go back to Bavaria, Sebastian alternated between refusing to see her and refusing to indulge her notion that they could stay together. 

“I love you, Sebastian. You’re the most brilliant man I’ve ever known,” Aurora sobbed. 

Eventually, when Aurora was too brokenhearted to do anything but lay in bed, she realized she needed help. The new semester would start in a few weeks, but she didn’t have the strength to go back. She didn’t have the strength to do anything. It all felt purposeless, now that she knew people like Sebastian could be destroyed so easily, as though they were bugs on a wall. 

Lorelei answered the phone on the third ring. “Long time no talk, sweetie,” she said—using English for the first time in a while. Aurora couldn’t imagine she had anyway. 

Aurora switched back to Italian immediately. She explained what had happened to her boyfriend, how he wanted to return to Bavaria so that his mother could help him, how she felt so broken that she didn’t know how to go back to university. Her mother did what any mother might have done. She went immediately to the airport and flew to Berlin to take Aurora home. 

Over the next few weeks, Aurora lived in a state of shock. She moved through the house, feeling as though she were searching for something, yet unable to remember what she was looking for. She ate only when her parents reminded her to. When Nadia went to university—at the prestigious Università di Firenze—Aurora hugged her sister goodbye and had to reckon with the fact that now, it would be just Aurora and her parents, here in the house.

How had this happened to her? She was supposed to be their most successful child. 

It was Roberto’s idea that she enroll in a few business classes at the Rome Business School, a boring if apt name. Aurora shrugged and said, “All right,” thinking she could help out with his restaurants for the time being. Roberto’s head was there, too. 

“I really need your genius mind,” he told her as they walked together to her first business class. It was autumn, but Rome was sweltering. “Business is a game I’ve never really been able to fight my way through. I always felt safe in the kitchen, and now...”

Aurora suddenly found herself trapped in a dusty old classroom, learning about business proposals and strategies and marketing plans. It was hard to fathom that, only a year ago, she’d met Sebastian. Only a year ago, she’d floated through her life as though in a dream.

9

Present Day

Lorelei was alone in the suite upstairs when Roberto stormed in. His cheeks were blotchy, and there was a line of sweat around his collar. She hadn’t seen him all day, and he reminded her of a wild boar. But then, he collapsed at the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do with her,” he said. 

Lorelei sat beside him and put her hand on his back. Always when he was this upset, it had something to do with Aurora. She guessed that he’d finally told her his views about everything: that she needed to go back to Rome to finish her business degree, that she was in danger of “not meeting her potential.” Lorelei guessed the conversation had not gone the way Roberto had planned. 

“She doesn’t understand,” Roberto muttered. “Everything is on the line right now. She’s still young, twenty-two, but twenty-two becomes thirty like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I’m worried she’s going to waste her life, running around Nantucket Island, hanging around with those American boys.” 

Lorelei removed her hand from her husband’s back. She thought back to that summer three years ago, when Aurora had called from Berlin and told Lorelei that her boyfriend had been in an accident, that they were breaking up and Aurora’s heart was going to explode with sorrow. Lorelei had stopped at nothing to get to Aurora as quickly as possible. The daughter she’d brought back to Rome had been a shadow of Aurora’s former self. 

But had business school really been the only path forward for Aurora? Roberto had been convinced of it at the time. But Lorelei had seen firsthand the way business school had chipped away at Aurora’s soul, removing all her artistry and her belief in beauty and replacing it with spreadsheets and practicality, to a point. 

“Everything was going so well,” Roberto said. “I got her that wonderful internship last semester. It’s like she doesn’t even care about it. I’m not even convinced that she completed it!” 

It was true that Aurora hadn’t mentioned her internship with one of Roberto’s ex-colleagues and another top restaurateur in Rome. But it was also true that Lorelei and Aurora hadn’t spoken much since they’d come to Nantucket. Aurora seemed like an island unto herself. She wanted to be left alone. 

Roberto and Lorelei sat in silence for a while, each of them stewing in their private sorrows. In his pocket, Roberto’s phone buzzed and buzzed, presumably with messages from his mistress or multiple mistresses. Lorelei bit her tongue to keep herself from asking him. Then again, was her inability to ask him about what was going on getting in the way of her own happiness?

“She’s going to be on the plane with us,” Roberto said nervously. “She has to be.”

Lorelei took a breath. “Maybe she could stay a little bit longer.” 

Roberto turned to gape at her. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m not saying she shouldn’t graduate from business school,” Lorelei said, getting up and stepping away from her husband. He seemed like a vat of molten lava. “I’m saying that it’s only June, and the summer on the island is just beginning. She needs a break from Rome of some kind. And maybe…” Lorelei trailed off, trying to fathom what she was doing. “Maybe I need a break from Rome, too.” 

“You’ve already taken a break from Rome,” her husband said darkly. “You were gone for most of the year, remember that?” 

“My mother had cancer,” Lorelei shot back. “She needed me.” 

Roberto’s gaze dropped to the floor in shame. Lorelei wondered if there was anything he could say, anything at all, to make her come with him. Could he still be sweet with her? 

She dared herself to ask him if their marriage was over. She dared herself to ask him about his mistresses or whether they made him happier than she ever had. But she couldn’t. She was a coward. 

“I’m going to stay a little while longer,” Lorelei said delicately. “I’ll keep an eye on Aurora, and I’ll help my siblings and my parents with the Lodge. But I’ll have Aurora back in Rome before her final semester starts. Mark my words.” 

Roberto shook his head and turned away from her. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” 

Lorelei couldn’t stay in that suite with her husband a moment longer. She quickly got dressed, grabbed her purse, and went downstairs to find Allegra and Charlotte at the front desk, going over some paperwork for the Lodge. At the sight of Lorelei’s face, Allegra said, “I think it’s time we head back to that wine bar?” 

“I think it’s time,” Lorelei agreed, feeling breathless. 

This time, all the Whitmore siblings were in attendance: Alexander, Lorelei, Allegra, Charlotte, Jack, and Nina. Their parents couldn’t make it. They had plans with old friends. Of their partners, only Charlotte’s boyfriend, Vincent, could come, and when he arrived, he glanced around the table and said, “Shoot. I feel like I’m crashing a Whitmore party.” 

“You’re always welcome!” Allegra said. 

Lorelei was grateful not to have to discuss her own difficult life and instead could focus on the fun she had with her siblings. Wine was poured, and snacks were brought out, and they chatted about the difficulties at the Lodge and how excited and strange it was to see the Nantucket summer begin to bloom again. Nina announced that the Lodge was nearly fully booked “for the year,” and that they already had brides-to-be inquiring about having their wedding there in two summers. “2028!” Nina cried, shaking her head. “Can you believe it?”

“We never thought it would reopen,” Alexander said. “Now, it’s like there’s nothing that can stop us.” 

“But you’re heading to Rome soon, aren’t you?” Vincent asked, turning toward Allegra and Lorelei. 

“I’m going to stay for the summer,” Lorelei announced, surprising even herself with how sure she felt. “Aurora wants to be here, and I love Nantucket in the summertime. Rome is boiling all summer long.” She laughed, as though this all had to do with the weather. 

“We’ll love having you around!” Jack said. 

All her siblings agreed, then launched into ideas about what they could do together and what family parties they could plan. Lorelei got wrapped up in it, trying to pull herself away from visions of Roberto’s stressed-out and red-blotched face. 

And then, Allegra leaned toward Lorelei’s ear and whispered, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but Carter Johnson is standing by the water. He’s looking at you.” 

Lorelei’s heart jumped into her throat. Carter Johnson was a name she hadn’t considered in years. But she flicked her eyes over to find him—a handsome blond man of fifty—and felt a rush of memories. Carter was her high school boyfriend, her first love. And when their eyes met, he smiled at her in just the same way he’d always smiled. 

“I didn’t know he still lived here,” Charlotte muttered. 

“Maybe he’s here to visit?” Nina suggested. 

“Go talk to him!” Allegra urged. 

Lorelei touched the top of her head, worrying about her hair and if it was mussed from the wind. She also worried if going to talk to her high school boyfriend when things were on the rocks with her husband of twenty-five years was not exactly kindhearted or honest. 

“Come on. You’re just saying hi,” Allegra reminded her. 

Before Lorelei could make up her mind, Carter strode toward their table, raising a hand. “Is that the Whitmore family?” He laughed. “I heard you were all back together again. I don’t think I would have believed it if I didn’t see it for myself.” 

Everyone laughed heartily, their eyes flicking from Carter to Lorelei and back again. Lorelei thought she might throw up. 

“How are you, Carter?” She asked finally, standing up. 

“I’m doing just fine,” Carter said. “I’m in Nantucket all summer, putting on a music camp here for visiting kids.”

“Oh! You still play music?” Lorelei asked. 

“I’m more of a teacher now than a performer,” Carter said. “But I like getting on stage now and again. How about yourself?” 

“I haven’t performed since I became a mother,” Lorelei admitted, hating how obvious it sounded. 

“Now, that’s a tragedy,” Carter said, although he didn’t sound unkind. “You’re the most brilliant musician I’ve ever known. And I’ve met my fair share of musicians over the years. I made a real run for it in my early twenties. By then, I guess, you were selling out places like the Royal Albert Hall and the Musikverein.”

Lorelei laughed, although of course that was what she’d been doing. “It sounds like it all happened to somebody else,” she said.

“It was you, Lorelei,” Carter said. “You can’t separate from that wonderful past. And you can’t get rid of a musical ear like the one you have. That’s for sure.” His blue eyes shone. 

Suddenly, Allegra chimed in. “You know, Carter, we’re having a party at the White Oak Lodge next weekend. We have a few musical acts performing, but we’d love to see you and Lorelei perform again.” 

Carter threw his head back with laughter. “I can’t imagine that Lorelei would want to perform with the likes of me.”

Lorelei’s heart skipped. She remembered years ago, when they were in high school, a dynamic musical duo: Carter and Lorelei. They’d been hired for weddings and birthday parties. They’d performed at church events and at graduation. There had been talk of them going to New York City together and trying to get a record deal or something. But Lorelei had decided to stay in Nantucket to continue practicing the piano and help out at the White Oak Lodge. Carter had decided to move to the city himself, where he’d gotten a new girlfriend and never called her again. 

Well, it had been a little more complicated than that, of course. But she didn’t like to think about that. 

“I would love to see that,” Charlotte said. 

“It’s settled,” Allegra said. “If you two can get your act together again, we’ll all be there to see it. Do you have a card?” she asked Carter. 

Carter fished a business card from his wallet and handed it to Allegra, who passed it to Lorelei. Lorelei blushed. She wanted to scold her sister for doing this. But she also felt as though she’d just entered into a glorious adventure, one that had nothing to do with Roberto and his restaurants and all the sorrow between them. 

“She’s staying all summer long,” Allegra explained to Carter. “Like you.”

“My husband is going back to Rome before the party,” Lorelei carefully explained. She didn’t want Carter to get the wrong idea. 

“It’s too bad,” Carter said, his voice firm. “I would have liked to meet him.” 

But by the way Carter was looking at Lorelei, she knew Carter didn’t want to meet Roberto at all. It troubled her. But after years of marital strife, it excited her a little bit too. 

Once upon a time, she’d been loved. Once upon a time, she’d been cherished. 

Roberto had once looked at her like this. But he didn’t anymore. He just didn’t.

10

The following week, Aurora walked with Pino and Nadia to the beach to say goodbye. In the morning, they were already flying back to Rome with their father, each returning to the things they had to do, the responsibilities they’d taken on. Pino was to continue his work at the lab, and Nadia was gearing up for her junior year at her university in Florence. 

Aurora yearned to ask her siblings if they sometimes felt similarly empty when it came to life. She wanted to know if their studies and pursuits had filled them up enough, or if they still wondered about what else was out there in the world. But she also didn’t want to frustrate her siblings more than they already were. To them, Aurora was an anomaly, the sister who’d been meant for great things, who kept smashing into metaphorical walls. 

They probably didn’t want to “catch” whatever failure she had. 

They’d brought a bottle of wine down from the kitchen of the White Oak Lodge, which they now opened and used to fill their glasses. In Aurora’s backpack was Great-Grandpa Charles Whitmore's World War II journal, and she considered showing it to her siblings, but she decided against it. She wasn’t sure if they cared about their American side of the family as much as she did, and she didn’t want to watch them roll their eyes. Rather, she decided to ask Nadia and Pino their final opinion on Nantucket Island. 

“It’s pretty, I guess,” Nadia said in a small voice. 

“Yes.” Pino sounded resigned. “It’s beautiful, sure. But we still don’t understand why you want to stay. We’re Italian, Aurora. We’re Romans.” 

“And Papa is very upset,” Nadia added. 

“We were wondering,” Pino continued, his eyes flashing. “We know that what happened to you in Berlin was… not good. It was really hard. But would you ever, I don’t know, want to continue your work at art school? Any art school? Even if it wasn’t in Berlin?” 

Aurora laughed in a way that, she hoped, showed how little she cared about art school, or any school for that matter. “I wish you guys would make up your mind. Should I go to art school or business school? Should I run a company or paint a picture?” 

They gave her looks that felt very familiar to Aurora, looks meant to remind Aurora that she needed to get her life in order. But what about excitement? What about spontaneity? She wanted to ask them what they lived for. What about how beautiful and strange and unpredictable everything was? It seemed her siblings didn’t want to take that into account. They wanted to box her into a description of someone—a business person or an artist person. It made them feel safe, being able to categorize people. 

Eventually, Pino and Nadia finished their glasses of wine and said they were going back to the Lodge to pack. They left Aurora on the orange sand, her throat thick with sorrow. She wished she could relate to her family more and didn’t feel so alone. 

The following day, rather than say goodbye to her father, Aurora met up with Kenny and Oren to show them Charles Whitmore’s journals. They were in the apartment that Kenny and Oren shared in one of the staff-filled alcoves of the White Oak Lodge. As he read, Kenny was delicate with the pages of her great-grandfather’s journals, reading aloud in a voice that nearly broke Aurora’s heart. 

Oren interrupted him halfway through the reading of a particularly harrowing passage. 

“This is really good, Aurora,” Oren said excitedly, his hands bouncing against his chest. “But what do you see as the emotional crux of this story? What is the, like, reason we’re telling it?” 

Aurora considered this for a moment, sort of miffed that Oren had asked but also down to answer, then took the journal back and flipped to the passage she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind. “Maybe something to do with this?” She read aloud: 

“October 22, 1944

“I’ve just heard from Mother and Father. Edmund was set to fight in the Netherlands. The story is that he was killed in battle. It’s strange. Despite my devastation, I haven’t been able to shake the fact that I didn’t know. All our lives, my brother and I were twins. We came into the world together. I always assumed that I would know if he died. I always assumed I would experience some part of it. But the truth is, we came into the world as separate souls, and we’ll leave as separate souls. Maybe the fact that we shared the same face and body didn’t matter as much as I thought it did.” 

Aurora stopped reading and closed her great-grandfather’s journal. Her hands shook so much that Kenny had to reach over and steady them. Luckily, Oren was on his feet, pacing and thinking aloud, so much so that he didn’t notice Kenny’s hand on hers. 

When Oren did finally begin to speak, Kenny pulled his hand away. 

“This is wild,” Oren said. “Twin brothers in different World War II battles. And then, presumably, Charles had to come back to the White Oak Lodge to handle the family hotel all by himself.” Oren spread his arms out wide. “This hotel is filled with ghosts. I told you that when we first got here, Kenny. Didn’t I?” 

Aurora crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn’t entirely sure if the White Oak Lodge was haunted, per se. But numerous stories were lost between its walls. 

“We’ll run with this for now,” Oren said brightly, making a note in his own little book. “You’re a rock star, Aurora. Seriously. We’re so lucky that we met you.” He eyed her in a way that made her understand how much he wanted her. 

Soon after, Kenny went to the staff kitchen to get them snacks to help them work. Oren took this opportunity to close his book and say, “You know, Aurora, I’m going to come out and say it. I would really like to take you out.” 

Aurora was seized with a panic that she knew she couldn’t show him. 

“You’re surprised,” Oren said. “I can see that. But you shouldn’t be! You’re a beautiful woman. I’ve liked you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” 

Aurora was suddenly nervous that if she said no to Oren, the documentary project would be taken away from her. She didn’t know if she could deal with that. Sweat pooled along the back of her neck. 

She had to handle this delicately. 

“Oren…” She breathed. “It would honestly make me so happy to go out with you. But…” She gestured toward the space on the bed where Kenny had only just been. “I’m worried. I don’t want Kenny to get jealous, and I want us to be able to keep working together.” 

Oren furrowed his brow. “Kenny can deal with it. We’ve been friends forever. Girls come and go, you know?” He laughed, then added, “Although I don’t think I’d let you go that easily. You’re different.” 

“I don’t know,” Aurora said. “Maybe we can go out after the project’s over? I take my art really seriously. I…” 

Kenny came in carrying chips and popcorn and crackers and cheese. He tossed them across the bed and gave them a look that meant What did I miss? 

“Aurora was just telling me that she takes her art seriously,” Oren said. “Very seriously. But actually, I don’t think you’ve talked to us about your art very much, Aurora.” 

Aurora slid her tongue across her teeth and considered the men before her. Oren looked jocular, as though he was in the midst of a game he felt sure he would still win despite this moment of defeat. 

When Kenny turned his eyes toward her, a look of expectation fixed across his face, Aurora knew that she needed to say something to fill the silence. 

“I went to art school in Berlin,” she offered finally. 

Immediately, the guys were impressed. 

“Berlin. Whoa. That’s, like, a crazy artsy place,” Oren said, sitting back down on the bed and taking a chip. “What was your medium?” 

“I experimented with a lot of different things,” Aurora said. “My great-grandfather’s a filmmaker, as you know, and I considered going down that path, but my boyfriend at the time wanted me to paint more, so I found myself painting.” 

“Boyfriends, huh?” Oren teased. “They always tell you what to do.”

Aurora decided not to mention that her boyfriend, Sebastian, had also been her professor. So of course she’d done what he told her to do because he seemed the best pathway to the art world. 

“Did you graduate?” Kenny asked, his voice quiet. 

Aurora shook her head. “Berlin got sort of intense for me. I had to go.”

“We’ve heard that story before,” Oren said. “Plenty of film students in New York relocated to Berlin. A lot of them burned out. Did you party too much?” 

“No. Not really,” Aurora said. 

Aurora remembered going clubbing with Sebastian, of course, but she’d never been particularly rowdy. She’d just liked the music, and she’d liked to dance. Her favorite part of the night had been when she and Sebastian had gone home together on the subway, their hands laced as they’d kissed. When they’d left the train, the sun had been coming up over their city, the city where they’d fallen in love. It all felt like a fantasy, now. 

Kenny and Oren were quiet for a moment. 

“You know, we heard some people from your family talking,” Oren said, arching his eyebrow. “Something about you in business school? But we didn’t want to believe it.”

Aurora cackled. “Yeah. No. That was my dad’s whole thing. He wanted me to go to business school so I could help him with his restaurant empire.” 

“He sounds wealthy,” Oren said. 

Aurora thought about their Rome apartment, about how she and Nadia had had to share a room, about how she’d heard her parents fighting deep into the night about cash. “We do okay,” she said. “But we’re nothing like the Whitmores used to be.” She gestured vaguely around them, indicating the entirety of the White Oak Lodge. 

“You should take us to Berlin sometime,” Oren said suddenly. “We’ve always wanted to go, and you can show us around.”

Aurora cracked an ironic smile. “I don’t know about that.” She’d told herself she’d never go back to that city, since that was the site of her original breakdown. But she didn’t want the guys to know that. 

For a little while, they talked about how they were going to bring the story of Great-Grandpa Charles’s tragedy to light on screen. They talked about Edmund Whitmore, about the horrors of war, and about how those horrors could slip into the narrative they were trying to tell about Nantucket Island. It was a beautiful and fluid conversation, one that drew them further and further away from Aurora’s private tragedy in Berlin. 

Later that night, they made a bonfire on the beach. When Oren went to get firewood for the flickering flames, Kenny sidled up to her. She could feel the heat from his breath on her neck. 

“You’re good at this,” he said. 

“At what?” Aurora could barely hear her own voice. 

“At making art. I can feel it when you talk about the documentary and what it can be,” Kenny said. “Your instincts are there, even if you haven’t made anything for a while. It’s beautiful to witness.” 

Aurora turned to gaze into his eyes. She considered telling Kenny that Oren had asked her on a date earlier today, that they were in dangerous territory. But before she could, Oren came around the corner, and Kenny and Aurora split apart.

11

As it happened, Roberto’s plane back to Italy was scheduled on the morning of the next White Oak Lodge party. In the days and hours leading up to his departure, Lorelei made a half-hearted show of telling Roberto that he should stay longer, that maybe he’d want to be around for the food and the good wine and conversation. That maybe he wanted to “celebrate the summertime” with her. But Roberto told her point-blank that he needed to get back to Rome. “You should be coming with me,” he said, his eyes black. 

Should she be going back with him? Why couldn’t Lorelei pull herself away from her family, from Nantucket Island? Why did she feel that Roberto was a black hole she didn’t want to fall into? 

Lorelei drove her husband, her son, and her youngest daughter to the Nantucket Airport, where they planned to take a small plane to Newark Airport, then a bigger plane all the way to Rome. As Lorelei helped her daughter pull her suitcase out of the trunk, she watched as Pino dug out his headphones and Roberto checked his phone, presumably to text his mistress that he was on his way back. Her heart surged with sorrow. What had happened to her family? How had they all fallen so far apart?

She took her time with each of them, hugging Pino tightly, although she knew he didn’t like that, and reminding Nadia to go to her doctor’s appointment next week, although she knew that Nadia had never missed an appointment in her life. Before he disappeared, she kissed Roberto goodbye, then kept herself from asking him not to cheat on her, to keep loving her. 

“Good luck tonight,” Nadia said before they left. 

Roberto’s eyes burned with curiosity. “With what? The party?” 

Nadia looked at her mother with big eyes, as though she couldn’t fathom why she hadn’t shared any of her music news with Roberto. 

“I’m performing a little song,” Lorelei said, waving her hand back and forth. “It’s not a big deal.”

But Roberto knew it was a big deal. He knew that she hadn’t performed in decades. He stalled at the entryway to the airport, his massive hand gripping his suitcase. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Lorelei stumbled over her words. “I don’t know. I thought I did.” The truth was, she’d wanted to tell Roberto about the performance—but she also knew that things between them were sour, and that her performance with Carter Johnson wouldn’t in any way help things. “Again, it’s not a big deal. I’m performing with an old friend from high school. We’re not going to be good.” 

Roberto raised his shoulders, then said a final, “All right, then, ciao,” before guiding two of their children into the airport and out of sight. For a moment, Lorelei remained there, clutching her car keys, watching them. Someone honked their horn, pulling her out of her reverie. It was time to go back to the Lodge. 

When she returned, she saw that already the veranda and grounds were decorated for the second official White Oak Lodge party. Wearing an immaculate party dress, Francesca sat on the veranda, sipping a cocktail and speaking eloquently with one of the Lodge guests, a woman who had previously been married to a French diplomat before his death. “Now, she’s dating someone twenty years younger than her!” Francesca told Lorelei excitedly. 

The French woman tittered and sipped her drink. Lorelei could tell that she was very pleased with herself. And why shouldn’t she be? 

“Did I tell you that Lorelei will be performing tonight?” Francesca asked her new friend. 

The French woman looked a little too lost in her love for her lover to care much about Lorelei’s music. “Is that so?” 

“I’d better go warm up.” Lorelei waved goodbye and headed to the dining room, where most of the caterers were hanging out and getting ready for the upcoming party. As she maneuvered toward the piano, she overheard several of their conversations. Some of them talked about the White Oak Lodge, about how people said it was cursed. They talked about the fire, about how Tio Angelo was in prison for it. They clearly didn’t know that Lorelei was a member of the family. That, or they didn’t care what she overheard. 

Lorelei sat at the piano bench and did a series of arpeggios. Although she and Carter Johnson still hadn’t practiced at all together, via text message, they’d decided to play one of their favorites from high school— “Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Simon and Garfunkel. Although Simon and Garfunkel were both men, Lorelei’s voice fit the bill for Garfunkel, while Carter’s slipped in well to Simon’s. 

Lorelei hummed along as she played, praying that she was at least half the singer she’d been as a teenager. Maybe she could suggest to Carter that they perform later, after plenty of people had had drinks and wouldn’t be as critical of how they sounded. 

She still remembered what it had been like back then, when she’d secretly dreamed of “making it” in music, when she’d paired up with Carter and written songs and performed covers and talked with him about their incredible futures, which they felt would be linked. She’d loved him desperately, in the way that teenage girls loved: with their full hearts, without distractions. She’d poured all her love into her music, if only to show him how much making music with him mattered. 

And then, suddenly, here in their “shared” future, his voice joined hers. 

So surprised to hear his voice, Lorelei stopped playing and turned to find Carter Johnson, standing beside her with his guitar. He was just as handsome as he’d been at the wine bar and just as dashing as he’d been in high school. And the way he looked at her now had nothing to do with the past and everything to do with how she looked now, in the moment. Her stomach flipped. 

“Carter!” she cried. “I didn’t know you were coming so early.”

Carter laughed. “I panicked a little bit. We haven’t practiced since what, 1995?” 

Lorelei wrinkled her nose and smiled. “A thirty-year hiatus is really unheard of.” 

“But you still play beautifully,” Carter said. 

“I’ve hardly warmed up,” she told him, crunching her fingers up. They panged with lack of use. 

“Then I can only imagine how you’ll sound when you’re ready,” he said. 

For a little while, as the caterers grabbed their trays and spilled into the grounds to take care of the guests, Lorelei and Carter paired their voices together. This singing required no conversation. It was as though they could peel back all the years they’d been apart by harmonizing, bringing their voices together. Lorelei’s eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. She didn’t want Carter to know how emotional this day had been for her. She didn’t want him to know that just singing with him cracked her heart open. 

When they’d finished playing the song for the fourth time, Carter said quietly, “I think we might have done enough for now.”

Lorelei laughed. “Maybe you’re right. We shouldn’t overdo it. Unless you want to play a few more? If they don’t boo us off stage, that is.”

“I would play music all night with you,” Carter said. 

Lorelei’s heart shifted. Standing from the piano bench, she searched her mind for what to say, for how to get through the tremendous attraction she felt for this man—this man who was not her husband. She was not and never had been a cheater. “Let’s go outside and grab a drink?” 

Carter agreed. He followed her out to the immaculate grounds, where they passed Francesca, Benjamin, Jack, and Charlotte, chatting happily with glasses of white wine. At the sight of Carter, Francesca bubbled with excitement. 

“Carter! It’s been years and years,” she said, taking his hand. “How have you been?” 

Lorelei marveled at the ease with which her beautiful mother encountered the world. It was as though nothing frightened her, especially not now that she’d gone through chemotherapy.

“I’m doing just fine,” Carter said. “Here on Nantucket for the summertime.”

“Just like our Lorelei,” Francesca said. “Isn’t it funny how people come back together again?” 

“It feels like we’re teenagers again.” Carter flicked his eyes back toward Lorelei. 

Lorelei felt someone’s gaze on her, and she twisted to the right to find Aurora, her eyes fiery and knowing. Beside her were those stable men—Oren and Kenny—each of them drinking beers and laughing, while Aurora remained quiet. 

It had been a little while since Lorelei had had a conversation with Aurora. Maybe because Aurora was frightened of her father, she’d kept a wide berth, doing whatever it was that Aurora did when she was alone. There was so little Lorelei knew about her daughter. 

Lorelei left Carter with her mother and father and picked her way across the veranda toward Aurora. Aurora seemed intent on not looking frightened, on looking as cool as a cucumber. 

“Ciao, Mama,” she said. “You look beautiful today.” 

Lorelei smiled. “I took your father and brother and sister to the airport.”

Aurora’s eyes swelled the slightest bit. “Yes, well. I guess we’ll both see them in the fall?” 

“That’s the plan, right?” Lorelei searched her daughter’s face for any information but got nothing. Beside them, Kenny and Oren were discussing one of Lorelei’s grandfather Accetta’s films—the cinematography and the buildup of the music. They were artists, Lorelei realized. It was why Aurora was drawn to them. She was an artist, too—but what had happened in Berlin had shattered her artistic heart. 

For the first time, Lorelei wondered if she hadn’t been there enough for her daughter during that trying time. Yes, she’d gone to Berlin, and yes, she’d brought her home. But then she’d allowed Aurora to enroll in business school? What kind of mother was she? 

She searched her heart and mind for what to say and how to translate this. But before she could, Aurora asked, “You’re performing? With that man?” 

Lorelei followed Aurora’s gaze back to Carter, who, at that moment, threw his head back happily, laughing at something Benjamin was saying. 

“He’s an old friend,” Lorelei explained. 

Aurora took a beat. “I look forward to it.” 

Feeling miffed and uncertain as to why, Lorelei excused herself and returned to the shadows of the Lodge, where she sipped her wine and waited for her time to go on stage. In her head, she rehearsed the lyrics, as though they weren’t permanently written on her heart. And when it came time to go up on stage with Carter Johnson by her side, she felt a generous smile on her face. She felt her heart opening up. 

A staff member had wheeled the grand piano outside, so that Lorelei and Carter could perform in the day’s dying summer sunshine. Out across the water, pinks and yellows and turquoises created a dynamic painting, one that made her soul feel illuminated. The crowd gathered, tightening around the little stage, where Carter strummed the first chord quietly, as though he was frightened he’d forgotten it since they’d practiced. 

Lorelei leaned toward the microphone. “Welcome to the White Oak Lodge,” she said. “This place has been in my family for generations. In fact, my Great-Great-Great Grandfather Samuel Whitmore built it in 1862, smack-dab in the middle of the war that nearly shattered our great nation forever. It’s hard to believe so much time passed between the tragedy that befell our family back in 1998 and the reopening of the Lodge last month. But we’re so grateful to be here with you all. We’re so grateful to feel the love from all of you and from the island of Nantucket.” 

Delicately, beautifully, Lorelei began to play, closing her eyes as her words floated away from her and she fell into the music. Beside her, Carter began to strum his guitar. And when it was time, their voices came together in harmony, captivating the two hundred guests at the Lodge.

12

Aurora stood at the back of the crowd, flanked by Kenny and Oren, watching her mother perform song after song. It was clear that the audience couldn’t get enough of her. They were captivated by the beauty of her singing voice and the dense layering she built with her rolling wrists and sensitive fingers. It was hard for Aurora to believe that Lorelei had abandoned music for so many years. In fact, Aurora couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her mother play. How was it possible that her mother had buried this clear talent deep within herself for so many years? How had she turned her back on herself? 

Had Aurora’s father demanded that Lorelei quit? 

And who was that man beside her? This “old friend”? It was clear that Carter was—or at least had been—in love with her. Had Lorelei loved him back? 

“Wow,” Kenny muttered into Aurora’s ear, bowing his head toward her mother. 

“Seriously,” Oren said. “It’s not like I like Simon and Garfunkel, but this is great.”

But Aurora found that she was too emotional to watch the rest of the set. It had been a difficult day, one filled with goodbyes to her brother and sister, one that had found both Aurora and her papa ignoring one another before Roberto’s flight. He was angry. She could still feel his anger despite how far he was over the ocean. She wished she could be the sort of daughter Roberto was proud of. But she lacked whatever he needed: a business mind, an organized soul. 

“I’m heading out,” Aurora said to Kenny and Oren. 

“Wait,” Oren said, taking a step toward her. “We said we were going out after this.”

And it was true that there was an islander party on the opposite side of Nantucket. Kenny and Oren had met several beautiful and wealthy islanders who liked to throw big, boisterous parties and drink too much and make enormous bonfires beneath the starry sky. They’d invited Kenny and Oren, and they had, naturally, invited Aurora along. Maybe Aurora would have gone for it another time. But she’d lost her energy. 

Once inside her bedroom, Aurora searched on her bedside tables for the journals she’d discovered in the closet. For whatever reason, she hadn’t yet dared to read the one her mother had written. Now, she burned with curiosity about her mother’s past and everything her mother had left behind. She burned to know why Lorelei had stayed on Nantucket Island while Roberto had returned to Rome. 

Aurora got cozy under the covers and opened her mother’s journal to the first page. In it, a much younger Lorelei Whitmore had written: January 1996: This is the secret diary of Lorelei Whitmore. Aurora shivered, imagining her mother as a teenager. A teenager with secrets, just as Aurora had been. 

She began to read. The first few entries were relatively inane. Lorelei wrote about fights with her sister, Allegra, and her brother, Alexander. She wrote about her responsibilities at the White Oak Lodge and how excited she was to graduate from high school in a few months. She also wrote about her boyfriend Carter—Carter Johnson? —whom she called “the love of my life.” 

Aurora’s ears rang. As a teenager, she’d probably called ten or more boys the love of her life. But it seemed that her mother’s teenage life had been different, as Lorelei had had just the one boyfriend. From the looks of things, they’d had plans. Real plans—to move to New York City together, to pursue their music together. 

Aurora read:

February 22, 1996

Sometimes I can’t believe that very soon, Carter and I will go to New York and look at apartments together. Money will be tight. Dad doesn’t want me to go to NYC. He wants me to stay here with Alexander, to work at the White Oak Lodge and watch the rest of my life slip away. I heard Mama asking him last night, “Why do you think she took all those piano lessons? Don’t you think she deserves to go after her dream, if she wants that?” But Dad just said something about the White Oak Lodge being our destiny as a family. That anyone can play music or make art or (in Alexander’s case) fly planes recreationally. But everything comes back down to the Lodge and the heartbeat of our family.

Admittedly, things between Mama and Dad have been strained lately. I couldn’t help but feel that they were using the argument of “me and my problems” as a cover for whatever was really going on. 

This is not how things are between Carter and me. We are honest with each other about everything. We light each other up, rather than tear one another down. I can’t imagine being in a marriage where you keep things from one another. I can’t imagine how both Mama and Dad have been so dishonest with one another. It really hurts my brain to think about it!

Carter and Lorelei Johnson. Doesn’t that have a great ring to it? We can travel the world, making music together. We can be happy and free. 

Aurora took a breath, allowing her eyes to drift to the window, through which she could see the party continuing. Her mother and Carter’s music had ended, but she could see them together, chatting with Aurora’s grandfather and grandmother, the very people in the pages of this journal who’d fought about Lorelei’s future as a musician. 

Aurora had never known that her mother wanted to move to New York City and pursue music. Because she’d apparently wanted to pursue music with Carter, rather than as a solo musician, Aurora imagined that Lorelei hadn’t wanted to play classical music. Maybe she’d wanted to write folk songs, like Simon and Garfunkel’s. Maybe she’d wanted to perform in little jazz clubs with Carter by her side. 

Aurora continued to read, burning with a desire to learn what had happened to her mother and Carter and why they’d eventually split up. 

Over the next two months—from February to April of 1996 —Lorelei continued to show endless excitement about her future with Carter. To Aurora’s surprise, Lorelei lied to her parents and went to the city with Carter to look at apartments. They both searched for jobs, too, knowing they’d need to start paying rent immediately and that they hardly had enough between them to cover the first two months. Aurora imagined that New York City rent was more reasonable in the nineties, but not so reasonable that it wasn’t daunting for them. 

In April of 1996, Lorelei wrote: Sometimes I feel so sick to my stomach about the future, but I know it’s just nerves about everything coming together. I know that Carter and I will find a way. I know that, even if Dad’s angry, he’ll eventually forgive me for leaving and pursuing my destiny. He has to. 

Aurora couldn’t believe how perfectly Lorelei’s relationship with Grandpa Benjamin mirrored Aurora’s own relationship with her father. Did all fathers want things from their daughters that their daughters couldn’t give them? Did all daughters disappoint their fathers? 

Aurora read on.

April 22, 1996

I’m still feeling so sick, throwing up often. Carter thinks I should go to the doctor. But we have graduation at the beginning of June, and I don’t want to distract myself from all the homework and tests ahead. 

For some reason, I’m trying to hide my illness from Mama and Allegra. 

April 30, 1996

Allegra caught me vomiting this morning before we were headed to school. She sat with me until I felt better, then followed me into our bedroom, shut the door behind us, and asked me if I thought maybe I was pregnant. I told her that was ridiculous, but she looked at me in this ominous way… I knew, as soon as the silence settled around us, that she was right. I knew it in my bones. 

Of course, I had to take a test to confirm. Allegra and I both blew off school and went to the mainland to buy some tests, which I took in a gas station bathroom. All of them said the same thing. Positive. Positive, positive. I am positively pregnant with Carter Johnson’s baby. 

It occurs to me now that I missed my period last month, too. That I may be at least six to eight weeks along. I feel like the least responsible person in the world! What about my dreams? 

Then again, I can’t help but feel romantic about this. Carter and I will have the most beautiful and adorable baby. We will be really happy and easy with each other. 

It makes me wonder whether I should talk to Dad about giving Carter a job at the Lodge? There are certainly jobs to be had here. There are things that could keep us busy and stable until our baby graduates from high school. Ha! I can’t believe I’m already thinking about the baby’s graduation, only about a month before my own. 

I know I need to tell Carter. But it’ll be tricky. He wants to call on the apartment we looked at in Manhattan and tell them we’ll take it. But now, I’m not so sure. 

I need to think. 

May 3, 1996

Today, I tried to explain to Carter what’s going on. When I told him I was pregnant, he told me, “That’s impossible, you can’t be pregnant, we’ve been so careful.” I told him, “Apparently, we haven’t been careful enough.” He didn’t know what to say. He told me he needed to think about it. 

I don’t know what there is to think about, really. The baby is a factual thing. We need to think about what we’re going to do and how we’re going to bring a baby into the world and how we’re going to afford said baby—but that comes later. Why can’t we celebrate what we know to be true? 

May 4, 1996

Carter didn’t come to school today. I didn’t know what to do, so I found Allegra in the hallway, and we went to the pay phone and called Carter’s home number. Nobody answered. 

May 5, 1996

Still no Carter today. Everyone keeps asking me where he is, and I don’t know what to tell him. As his longtime girlfriend, I’m supposed to know whether he’s sick. I’ve lied three times to say that Carter isn’t feeling well, or that he has a doctor’s appointment. I feel like a fraud.

But where is he? All morning, I had morning sickness. All morning, I was throwing up and thinking about Carter, wondering if he’s abandoned me. 

I don’t know what I’ll do if I have to raise this baby alone. 

The entries went on, with Lorelei panicking about Carter’s whereabouts, and Carter not showing up to school. Eventually, Lorelei’s classmates seemed to understand that Lorelei didn’t know where Carter had run off to, and they began to pity her. This made things all the more difficult for Lorelei, who felt she had to hide so much.

As Aurora read, she grew increasingly angry with Carter Johnson—that handsome singer with the guitar outside. How had her mother let Carter back into her life? Did she not remember how he’d abandoned her? 

And then, the worst possible thing happened in her mother’s life. 

May 15, 1996

I woke up this morning to blood. There was blood soaking in my pajamas, all over my sheets. I got up and screamed, and Allegra woke up immediately and rushed me into the bathroom. We both knew in a moment that I was having a miscarriage. Allegra wanted to go get our mother, but I told her not to. I told her, “Nothing matters now. It’s over.” Finally, the blood stopped, and I cleaned myself up, put on a pad, and went to school. 

All day, I wondered if people could see what had happened written on my face. I wondered if someone was going to pull me aside and tell me how sorry they were for my loss. But nobody knew a thing! 

I’m emotionally devastated. I feel at the end of my rope. Carter is gone. Our baby is dead, and I feel that the future I’ve been planning for years is now dead as well. I don’t know how to approach the next years of my life. I suppose I’ll walk across the stage and graduate from high school. And then what? Will I spend the rest of my life on Nantucket Island? Will I ever leave the White Oak Lodge?

13

It wasn’t till the following afternoon that Aurora saw Lorelei again. By chance, she ran into her in the kitchen of the family apartment, where Lorelei was making herself a sandwich and reading something on her phone. Aurora remembered, now, that Lorelei had moved from the upstairs suite to one of the family bedrooms. Aurora chanced a glance to see that the text on her mother’s phone was from her father, something about reaching Rome and heading straight into work. 

“Ciao, Mama,” Aurora said. 

Lorelei nearly leaped from her skin. Fixing her smile, she said, “Hi, sweetheart. I haven’t seen you all day.”

Aurora had spent the morning in her bedroom, going over her notes for the next interview that she, Kenny, and Oren planned to conduct for their documentary. This time, they were going to interview Benjamin Whitmore—the son of Charles and the nephew of Edmund Whitmore. They wanted to get to the heart of that family tragedy of Edmund’s death through Benjamin’s stories. Of course, Grandpa Benjamin still didn’t know what they planned to interview him about. They’d suggested it was something vague about the White Oak Lodge and its history. They wanted to see genuine emotion. They wanted him to get reflective. 

At least, that was what Oren had said. Aurora wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about surprising her grandfather with those particular questions. Then again, she hardly knew Benjamin Whitmore. 

Now, Aurora opened the fridge and considered what to say to her mother, this woman she’d thought she’d known previously, whom, as it turned out, she knew very little about. Last night, via her mother’s journals, she’d discovered that, at age eighteen, her mother had had a pregnancy, her boyfriend had abandoned her, and she’d had a miscarriage immediately after that. That was quite a lineup. It was enough to change the geometry of someone’s heart. 

Aurora searched her mother’s face for any sign of that pain. She wondered why Lorelei hadn’t mentioned it before. She wondered why, when Lorelei had come to Berlin to fetch Aurora after Sebastian’s accident, Lorelei hadn’t said, “I’ve gone through my own share of heartbreaks, too.” Aurora would have loved to know. 

Aurora would have loved to know it more recently, as well—this past semester, in fact, when her life had very seriously fallen off the rails again. 

Not that she was willing to think about that yet. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lorelei asked now. 

Aurora tried to laugh it off. “Like what?” 

Lorelei set down her butter knife. She looked nervous, as though she knew that Aurora had been going through her journals. “Everyone’s back in Rome,” she said instead. “Safe. They say it’s stifling. One hundred and five degrees.”

Aurora hissed. “No thank you.” 

Lorelei laughed. Aurora ached to ask her mother if she missed her father. She ached to ask Lorelei if seeing Carter again brought back painful memories. But there was a great distance between them, a cavern. 

“I have to head to the front desk to help your Aunt Allegra,” Lorelei said. “What are your plans today?” 

“More film work with the guys,” Aurora answered. 

Lorelei looked as though she wanted to say something, maybe offer a piece of advice. But her eyes widened and all she said was, “Wonderful. Enjoy yourself.” 

They parted ways.

Aurora planned to meet the guys in the stables at half-past four. After that, they had a meeting with Benjamin Whitmore in his personal study, which he’d had refurbished to look precisely as it had before the fire. 

There was an air of expectation about everything, a bubbling. It felt even more exciting than it had before they’d interviewed Marybelle, maybe because they didn’t know what to expect. 

En route to the study, Kenny and Oren checked their sound equipment and their cameras to make sure that everything was set to go. Sometimes, Aurora caught Oren’s eyes on her. Sometimes, she caught Kenny’s. She wondered what they said to one another about their pursuit of her. She wondered if they’d fought about her at all. She told herself she didn’t want either of them, that her main attraction was to making a documentary and returning to the world of art. 

Why did men have to make everything so complicated? 

When they reached the hallway that led to Benjamin’s study, Aurora reflected on her mother’s history with her grandfather. She remembered how angry Grandpa Benjamin had been about Lorelei’s desire to leave Nantucket behind. Her heartbeat escalated, and she found herself imagining her own father behind the door of the study, waiting for her. She imagined him scolding her and saying, “I know you dropped out of business school. I know what messes you made of your life.” 

But of course, he couldn’t possibly know! Could he? 

Oren knocked on the door of the study, and Benjamin called for them to enter. They did, discovering Benjamin already seated in a leather-backed chair, wearing a pair of slacks and a linen button-down. He looked respectable and intelligent, his glasses little squares balanced halfway down his nose and his thick beard reminiscent of old European philosophers. 

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Benjamin said as Aurora and the guys assembled their equipment. “A documentary about the history of the White Oak Lodge! I think we’re due for something like that.” 

Aurora smiled and sat down before him. “Thanks for agreeing to be interviewed, Grandpa,” she said. 

“I’d do anything for my granddaughter,” Benjamin said. “And Kenny and Oren, I think it’s great that you find time in your busy schedule at the stables to make your art. It’s one of the reasons we hired you, you know? We wanted well-rounded people at the Lodge. We wanted people who understood not only the history of this place but what we want it to transform into. A place for great thinkers to celebrate life!” 

“It’s already becoming that.” Oren smiled. 

When the camera and sound equipment were set up, Kenny said, “We’re rolling now, Mr. Whitmore.” 

“Let’s get it going!” Benjamin said, rubbing his palms together. “Shall we start from the beginning? The place was built in 1862, but⁠—”

“Actually, we have some questions we want to ask you,” Oren interrupted, turning to look at Aurora. With his eyes, he seemed to tell her that it’s her time to shine. 

Aurora’s throat tightened. She hadn’t expected to be frightened. But seeing her grandfather so boisterous and happy despite everything gave her pause. 

“The thing is, Grandpa,” she said, “we want to talk about your father.”

Benjamin tilted his head. “My father.” 

“And his loss,” Aurora continued. “We learned about what happened back in the forties. During the war.” 

“Yes, my father was in the war,” Benjamin said sadly. “Many people told me, growing up, that my father was once boisterous and very happy, always one with a joke, always ready to laugh. When he got back from the war, this was not so, apparently. He’d been with my mother before the war, and he married her a couple of years after the war… but he wasn’t the same man.”

Aurora’s heart pumped. It sometimes boggled her mind to think of the millions, if not billions, of lives affected by that heinous world war. 

“What did he say about his brother?” Aurora asked. “Did he ever talk about him?” 

Benjamin’s lips parted with surprise. For a long time, he looked at Aurora, as though he couldn’t speak whatever language she’d said. And then he offered, “Well, his brother died when they were babies. His twin brother. So, since he never really knew him, maybe there wasn’t very much to say? Anyway, I can talk a lot about the architecture of the original White Oak Lodge. I have the plans right here…” He gestured toward a stack of aged papers on his desk. 

Aurora turned to look at both Oren and Kenny. Kenny looked vaguely panicked, like he wanted to stop recording, but Oren’s eyes urged her on. It was clear they’d struck on something. 

“According to our research,” Aurora said delicately, “Edmund died in battle. In the war.” 

Benjamin wrinkled his brow. “No, that’s not right. He died as a baby.”

Aurora had brought Great-Grandpa Charles’s journal upstairs with her, but she hadn’t imagined she’d need to use it. Now, she dug through her bag and pulled it out, handing it over to her grandfather. Benjamin took it, looking mystified. He hadn’t imagined the discussion going this way. 

“I don’t think you have your facts right,” Benjamin said, his voice jagged. “My father would have told me if he’d lost his brother in the war.” But even as he said it, there was a ring of falseness to it. It was clear that his father had been cagey. There had been secrets. 

Aurora sliced her hand over her neck, telling Kenny and Oren to stop filming. She no longer wanted anything to do with digging through her grandfather’s memories. It felt ugly to her. 

But Oren shrugged and kept filming. Benjamin seemed to have forgotten that any of them were around, save for Aurora. With shaking hands, he opened the journal to the pages that Aurora had marked. His eyes were wet. Aurora watched him read, panic lacing through her. 

Suddenly, Aurora stood and glared at Kenny and Oren. “I told you to stop,” she said. 

Kenny looked shocked. He reached down and stopped the camera, while Oren extended his hands. “He agreed to be interviewed and filmed,” he said. 

A tear drifted down her grandfather’s cheek. Aurora’s heart felt cracked. All at once, all she could think about was herself at nineteen, waiting in that hospital room in Berlin, waiting for the news that her boyfriend was either dead or too injured ever to walk again. 

Bad news like that could hit you like a bomb.

Just because the bad news that Benjamin read about now had happened eighty years ago didn’t mean that it wasn’t enormous. She could feel it playing heavily on her mind. 

“Let’s wrap this up another time, boys,” Benjamin said, unable to look at Oren and Kenny. 

Oren looked irate and made a big show of packing up his things. Kenny was quieter about it, more respectful. It took them no more than three minutes to get everything together and leave the office. After they closed the door, Aurora thought, I’ve really done it now. I’ve destroyed my relationship with them. We’ll never finish that documentary. 

But the look on her grandfather’s face told her she’d done the right thing. 

“I can’t believe he never told me,” Benjamin said. “You probably think I’m foolish, not to know this about my uncle. I never knew my father had to mourn him. I never knew he died in battle, for goodness’ sake.” He closed his eyes for a long time. 

Aurora couldn’t believe how secretive her family was. 

She couldn’t believe how secretive she was, in fact. It seemed that she’d come by it honestly. It seemed that Aurora and Lorelei and Benjamin and Charles had all kept secrets from their family. But why? Why did they want to preserve themselves and their lives within themselves? What was the point?

Benjamin rubbed his temples. “Aurora, I’m sorry. I imagine you wanted that to go differently.”

“No, Grandpa. I’m sorry.” Aurora was endlessly embarrassed. She reached for her grandfather’s wrinkled hand. 

“It’s just that, well, I lost my own brother. Ronald. He drowned in the Nantucket Sound.” Benjamin told a story that Aurora had only heard vaguely. “It pains me so much to hear what happened to my uncle, my father’s twin. Because I know it means my father had to go through such incredible pain twice in his life. He had to say goodbye to so many people he loved. Why should anyone have to go through that?” 

“It’s senseless,” Aurora said quietly. 

“It really is.”

Aurora considered all the awful things that had happened to Benjamin, all the bad things that had happened to her. She considered Oren and Kenny, probably back in the stables by now, complaining about her. 

“Does it ever end, Grandpa?” Aurora asked. She surprised herself with her naive question, but it spilled out regardless. 

Her grandfather considered this. “You mean, loss? Does loss end?” 

Aurora closed her eyes as an answer. 

Benjamin squeezed her hand again. 

“I feel like I’ve lost so much the past few years,” Aurora said. “I don’t know how to rebuild my life. It feels like bad things keep happening and knocking me down.” 

Benjamin was quiet for a long time. When Aurora finally opened her eyes again, she saw honesty and strength in her grandfather’s eyes. 

“We’ve rebuilt the White Oak Lodge,” Grandpa Benjamin said quietly. “It means that we can rebuild anything, even our hope.”

14

Three days after Roberto, Pino, and Nadia had returned to Italy, Lorelei woke up in the middle of the night, her heart racing and her pillow heavy with sweat. She reached for her phone, thinking there was some kind of emergency happening. Before she knew what she was doing, she dialed Roberto’s number. 

As it rang out across the ocean, Lorelei slowly came back to earth. She thought about the previous few days, about working at the Lodge, about finding her father, crying alone on the veranda about something he didn’t want to talk about. “I discovered something about my father’s brother,” he’d said simply, unable to look her in the eye. When she asked him what it was, he shook his head and said he couldn’t get into it. Secrets. More secrets. Was there any end to the secrecy in this family? Would they ever get over it? 

And then, here on the phone, Roberto answered. “It’s early there, isn’t it?” 

Lorelei wasn’t entirely sure what time it was. She checked her phone screen and saw it was four in the morning. It was disconcerting. “I couldn’t sleep,” she explained. “I was thinking about you.”

Roberto sounded distracted. “I’m between meetings,” he said. 

“How did the other ones go?” she asked. “How’s it been in Rome since you got back?” 

“Fine,” Roberto said. “Busy. I need to get out to the Sardinia restaurant tomorrow. Everything over there is a bigger mess than before we went to the United States. I can’t believe I left Italy at all. Someone should have been here, monitoring everything.” He groaned. “Aurora had better graduate from business school at the end of this year. She had better save this place.” 

It seemed to be all that Roberto could think about: his fixation that Aurora was meant to save them all. 

Lorelei closed her eyes. She could picture Roberto in his office at their restaurant in Rome, his face shadowed, his eyes dark. She remembered when they’d first signed the lease for that restaurant, how sure they’d been about their shared future. Everything they’d done together had felt like a fresh start. 

Now, she willed herself to ask Roberto about their marriage. She desperately needed to know if he was cheating on her and had fled the United States to rush into someone else’s arms. Maybe even more than that, she needed to know if he still loved her. She was driving herself insane with questions and unable to sleep most nights. Clearly. 

“I think we need to talk, Roberto,” she said delicately. 

Roberto sighed deeply. “Do you mind if we talk later? I have to get ready for this meeting, and I need to check on the chef. He’s relatively new and out of his element. I can’t have another disaster on my hands during the dinner rush.” 

Lorelei was crushed with the realization that her husband wanted to keep his secrets to himself. He wanted them to continue growing apart, moving along on their separate paths. Oh, her heart ached over it. 

“I understand,” she said. “I’d better get back to bed.”

But of course, Lorelei couldn’t sleep for the rest of the early morning. When it hit five thirty, she decided to give up and head to the kitchen, where she made a big pot of coffee and checked over the to-do list for the Lodge. Before Allegra and Charlotte joined her at the front desk, she’d already swept and mopped the lobby, organized various bills and other paperwork, checked out and said goodbye to three groups of guests, and drank her weight in coffee. 

By the time ten thirty came around, Lorelei was so jittery that Allegra told her to take a break. “Go for a swim or something!” Allegra said. “You’re going to freak out the guests.” Lorelei knew she said it with love. 

Knowing better than to argue with Allegra, Lorelei put on her swimsuit and walked down to the beach. From where she stood, with the warm winds whipping around her, she could see Aurora’s friends Kenny and Oren, saddling the horses and getting them ready to be ridden by various guests. Lorelei wondered where Aurora was. She wondered if Aurora was lonely, or if Aurora liked either one of those boys, or if Aurora still spent time thinking about Sebastian and all that had happened to her. She wondered if Aurora would ever open her heart to love again. 

Lorelei wondered if she and Roberto had been a bad model of love. 

Suddenly, her thoughts returned to Roberto and his secrets. Lorelei was overwhelmed with the desire to know what was going on. Rather than call her husband, which seemed never to give her what she needed, she decided to text him. Maybe he could be more honest with her through the buttons on his stupid screen. 

LORELEI: Please, tell me, Roberto. Tell me the truth. 

LORELEI: Are you being honest with me about everything?

She couldn’t bring herself to ask anything specifically. She couldn’t bring herself to write the word “affair.” 

Roberto wrote back right away. 

ROBERTO: I can’t be honest about everything. 

ROBERTO: I’m sorry. I just can’t.

Lorelei’s guts twisted. She thought she was going to throw up. She considered tossing her phone into the ocean. She considered calling Roberto and asking him for a divorce. 

Rather than that, she left her belongings on the sand and rushed headlong into the water, where she dove in, closing her eyes as she swam out as far as she dared. When she’d nearly run out of oxygen, she burst to the surface and tried to cry. Somehow, she was too panicked to cry. She was too overwhelmed to do anything but stare at the clouds above. 

That evening, Carter called Lorelei to ask if she wanted to practice music again. “A friend wants live music at his party, and he suggested that we perform,” he said. “He saw a recording of our little gig at the Lodge. It seems like people want more of it.” He laughed. 

Lorelei was sitting alone on the veranda with a glass of rosé and a feeling in her gut that told her she had to say yes. “They want more of us, huh?” 

“It’s just like old times,” Carter said.

Lorelei closed her eyes. She couldn’t gauge her own emotions. “I don’t see why not,” she said finally.

“Great. Should I come to the Lodge to practice?” Carter asked. It was what they’d always done when they were teenagers, as Carter’s parents’ place hadn’t had a piano, and Carter’s guitar was more portable. 

“You’re welcome any time,” she said. “You know that!” 

That night, the dining room was empty, as the weather was so good that everyone wanted to be outside. Lorelei sat at the piano for a while, warming up her fingers while she waited for Carter. She was reminded of being a teenager, her heart pounding as she waited to hear his footsteps in the hallway. Usually, they’d practiced for an hour or two before escaping somewhere in the Lodge to make out, hiding from her brothers and sisters and parents. 

Life had felt so magical back then. Before the pregnancy. Before the miscarriage. 

Oh, but Lorelei didn’t like to think about that. 

When at last she heard Carter, Lorelei stood to greet him. She flinched, knowing that he wanted to hug hello, and knowing that she didn’t want that. Sometimes it was difficult not to give people what they wanted from you. She knew that especially from her brief days of piano fame. 

Carter removed his guitar from its case and strummed it gently. Without saying much, they began to warm up before diving into a few of the songs they’d performed the other day, including “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” After the devastation of Roberto’s text message, and as the intensity of the practice filled the air around them, Lorelei felt her voice go wobbly. Carter stopped abruptly and narrowed his eyes. 

“Are you all right?” he asked. 

Lorelei faked a smile. The last thing she wanted was for Carter to sense how uneasy she was, how brokenhearted. “Oh yes. I’m fine. I’m just under-practiced, is all.”

Carter removed his guitar from his shoulder. “Why don’t we take a break? It’s a beautiful night.” 

Lorelei followed Carter out to the veranda, where they grabbed a table and ordered a glass of wine each. It was surreal to sit at a table with her ex-boyfriend from so long ago. She wondered what they were meant to say to one another. She wondered if he had children or if he’d been married. He wore no wedding ring, which was something she’d noticed earlier, of course. 

“How is the music camp going?” she asked, remembering that he was here to work a music camp for children. 

Carter laughed. “Well, it’s sometimes more like a glorified babysitting center. Nantucket parents want to take their kids somewhere so they can go sailing all day, which I get. But sometimes there’s a glint in the kids’ eyes that says they’re really getting it. I like bringing music into their lives. Hopefully, some of it sticks.”

Lorelei smiled, remembering how desperate she’d been to get her kids excited about music. Nothing had stuck. 

“What made you fall in love with music? In the beginning, I mean,” Carter asked her. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Lorelei tried to peer back, back, back to the beginning of her life. “It felt like a language I’d always known how to speak. It was strange to learn that so many people didn’t know how to speak it too.”

“I remember, when we first played together, it felt like we’d been playing all our lives,” Carter said. “I still feel like that now.”

Lorelei blushed and sipped her wine. She didn’t know how to respond to something like that, something so romantic, something that touched on her heart in a way that it reminded her of how lonely she currently felt. Roberto can’t be honest with me, she thought now. 

“Can I ask you something?” Carter asked. 

“Okay.”

“Why did you stop playing, Lorelei? You were at the beginning of a brilliant career. I was excited to watch you shoot into the stratosphere of fame,” Carter said, his eyes buggy with disbelief. 

Lorelei let her shoulders drop forward. “Oh, it’s not such a dramatic story,” she said. But she truly didn’t want to get into it. She truly didn’t want to share the biggest devastation of her life with the likes of Carter—not when he’d abandoned her during her time of need, so many years ago. 

Carter laughed. “You’re not going to tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Lorelei assured him. 

And as their conversation gently shifted to other topics, topics about Carter’s ex-wife and his daughter, who lived in Seattle, topics that firmly planted them as different people in different universes, Lorelei considered the weight she’d once felt in her womb. She considered the morning sickness that had taken her from class to the bathroom and back again so many times during the final months of her senior year. She considered the age their baby would have been, if only he or she had lived. The baby would have been born in the early months of 1997—a year and a half before the fire that had engulfed the White Oak Lodge. She shivered. 

“Let’s get another glass of wine,” Carter said, beckoning for the server to return. “I’m having a great time catching up.”

15

Aurora hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the incident in her grandfather’s study. For days afterward, she considered the weight of discovering your uncle’s death, so many years after it had happened—and in such a violent fashion. She had nightmares about it. 

But every moment that passed told Aurora what she needed to do. She had to ask Oren and Kenny not to use the footage they’d taken of Benjamin Whitmore for the documentary about Nantucket’s history. She felt that they’d ambushed him, that they’d taken advantage of his heart and his mind, all in pursuit of “art” or whatever. She wasn’t even sure the documentary was art anymore. 

During this thought process, she’d kept a wide berth from Kenny and Oren, unsure of how to approach it. They’d texted her a few times, inviting her to the library to conduct research or to interview a few other historical-adjacent people on the island. But each time, she’d brushed them off, saying that she needed to deal with some stuff at the Lodge. 

A full week after her grandfather’s interview, Aurora put on her favorite red dress and went to the stables to talk to Oren and Kenny. It was a gloomy day, and most of the guests were inside, sipping cocktails and playing cards rather than asking about horseback riding lessons or tours. 

She found Kenny and Oren lounging in the barn, waiting for their shift to end. Oren was on his phone, scrolling endlessly through other people’s photographs, and Kenny was reading Moby Dick, which felt endlessly attractive to Aurora, although she’d never read it herself. When her shadow spilled through the barn’s hay, Kenny put down his book and stood. 

“Aurora, hey,” he said. His eyes looked wounded, as though he’d hated that she was avoiding them. 

Oren stood, too. He offered her a crooked smile. “There she is,” he said. “You ready to get back to work?” 

Aurora clasped her hands over her stomach. She’d practiced this speech in her head, but only in Italian, so now, she had to translate it into English. She wasn’t sure if it was going to go well. 

“Hey, guys,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you about the interview the other day? The thing is, I don’t think it’s right to use that footage of my grandfather.”

Oren immediately scoffed. “You’re kidding, right?” 

Kenny remained quiet, contemplative. 

“You know he signed the release,” Oren said. There still wasn’t anger in his voice, although she imagined it was coming soon. “And it was your idea to interview him, remember? You came to us with the journals. And they’re amazing journals! We seriously can’t sit on something like that.” 

“I know what I said,” Aurora said. “But I have changed my mind.” She considered telling Oren that she was only just getting to know her grandfather, that she didn’t want to break his trust so early in their relationship. “Listen, I really like your documentary, and I want to help you more, if you want me to. But things about my family, things that could hurt them, have to be off-limits.” 

Oren’s cheeks reddened. But he wasn’t embarrassed. He simply didn’t know how to listen to her. 

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” he said, turning to look at Kenny. “Can you believe it?” 

Kenny raised his shoulders and didn’t say anything. 

“Anyway,” Aurora said, turning away from them. “I’m sorry, I guess?” Rather than wait around for more of Oren’s display of disbelief, she took off to the beach, where she removed her dress and plunged into the waves. She swam out for a while, then turned back to watch as Oren stormed out of the barn. Kenny remained near the door, speaking to the guy who was taking over the stables after their shift. 

Aurora wondered if Kenny and Oren were arguing. She wondered if it was about her, then told herself it didn’t matter. She had to do what was right for her family. 

When Kenny was done speaking with the other stable hand, he turned and looked out at the water, directly at Aurora. It was clear he knew exactly where she’d gone and wanted to speak to her. His eyes were inky black and tantalizing. Aurora remained where she was, treading water and urging him to come out and find her. 

Kenny came to the beach, removing his shirt as he went. He stripped to his boxers, then got into the water without hesitation. Aurora’s heart pounded. She didn’t know if this was real, not anymore. It was beginning to feel like a film or a dream. 

Kenny swam out to her. Aurora continued to tread water. When he reached her, he gazed at her, treading water about a foot away. She thought maybe their legs were going to get tangled. 

Finally, Kenny said, “He’s really angry.”

“I don’t care,” Aurora said. 

Kenny nodded. “For the record, I think you’re doing the right thing.” 

Aurora was surprised, but she said nothing else. 

“I respect you as an artist,” Kenny said. “But I especially respect that you want to protect your family. From the sounds of things, the Whitmores have been through enough.”

“They really have,” Aurora said. 

“You all have,” Kenny reminded her. “You’re a Whitmore, too.”

They continued to hold one another’s gaze. Aurora had to remind herself to keep breathing. Just when she thought she might have to swim back to shore, for fear of dying, Kenny swam closer and kissed her, right here beneath the gorgeous cloudy sky. Aurora closed her eyes, then kissed him deeper, with more urgency. She couldn’t believe this was happening. For weeks, she’d wanted this. And now, immediately after Kenny’s fight with Oren, he was going for it. 

What did it mean? 

Their kiss broke. They studied one another, sizing one another up. 

And then, across the water, they heard a horrible groan. Aurora turned to find Oren on the beach, also with his shirt off. He glared at them. “Is that how it’s going to be?” he called out, smacking his legs. He then turned on his heel and stormed back toward the Lodge, leaving gashes in the sand as he went. 

It took a minute for the scene to register, at least for Kenny. All at once, he swam violently toward shore, splashing and calling out Oren’s name. Aurora hung back, sensing that whatever was happening between Oren and Kenny was something ancient, a hangover from their teenage years. Kenny was on the beach, racing after Oren, still screaming his name. 

Aurora continued to tread water. She could still taste Kenny on her lips. Her heart still ached for him, although she didn’t know how to call him back to her. She wondered if that was the first and last time she’d ever kiss him. 

Back in her room, Aurora lay on her bed in only a towel, wondering what was going to happen next. Beside her was her mother’s journal, still buzzing with all the entries Aurora had yet to read. To get her mind off her own messy life, Aurora opened it to where she’d left off. 

July 16, 1996

It’s hard to believe it, but Allegra’s friend Nancy spotted Carter. Apparently, she was on vacation in Manhattan, eating an ice cream cone, when Carter walked by. She called his name, and he didn’t even pretend not to see her or anything. He came over and talked to her, as though everything was normal, as though moving to Manhattan on his own was always in the cards. 

To Nancy’s credit, she didn’t let Carter go without a fight. Nancy doesn’t know about the miscarriage – nobody does except Allegra and me—but she does know that Carter took off without telling me where he was going, and she also knows that he took off right before high school graduation, which seems pretty dumb. (Honestly, I still don’t know what to think about it.)

Carter told her that he had an opportunity, an audition on Broadway. That’s why he left Nantucket early. Apparently, he worked something out with our teachers and is going to graduate officially at the end of the autumn semester. 

When Nancy asked why he left me like that, Carter shrugged and told her that we wanted different things. 

Aurora groaned and closed her eyes. Her poor mother! Abandoned, reeling from a miscarriage, lost in the month post-high-school-graduation. She’d probably thought her life was officially over. Just two years later, the White Oak Lodge would burn, and she’d go to Italy and get a new lease on life. But for two years, Aurora guessed, Lorelei lived in a state of misery. 

How she wished she could ask her mother about it. How she wished she knew what Lorelei thought about that time of her life, now—now that Lorelei was forty-nine and on the brink of what seemed to be a divorce. Aurora closed her mother’s journal and closed her eyes. 

A half hour later, Kenny called. Aurora answered it tentatively, frightened of what Kenny would tell her. His voice was shaky as he explained that Oren was going to use every bit of footage he wanted. “He thinks it’s his art, not ours,” Kenny said angrily. “He said it isn’t up to us to edit what he does with his documentary.”

Aurora didn’t know what to say. 

“That’s how he always thinks about it,” Kenny said. “He always thinks it’s his art we’re making, rather than a collaborative thing. And Aurora, he says he has more dirt on your family. I don’t know what it could be. I don’t know what he’s planning. But tonight, he quit working here at the Lodge, and he told me to stay away from him.” 

By the sounds of things, Aurora thought Kenny was going to burst into tears. 

“I’m so sorry,” Kenny said. “He gets like this. I don’t know.” 

But Aurora knew the real tragedy in Kenny’s life was that, in one fell swoop, with one beautiful kiss to the woman Oren had wanted instead, Kenny had lost his best friend. Aurora’s heart went out to him, even though she wanted to protect the Whitmores, even though she knew all this was partially her fault. 

“Are you going back to Rome?” Kenny asked, surprising her. 

Aurora felt it like rocks in her stomach. “I can’t go back to Rome,” she whispered. “Something happened there. Something I can’t face.” And then, like Kenny, she burst into tears too.

16

Down the hall, Lorelei was alone in the bedroom she’d taken for herself, trying and failing to read a novel. Carter was blowing up her phone, asking when she was ready for another round of practice, and Lorelei wasn’t sure how to answer him. Yes, it had felt divine to sing and play the piano with Carter again. Yes, it had felt beautiful to pretend that nothing bad had happened between them, that he hadn’t broken her heart in an integral way that had changed everything else. 

CARTER: It reminds me of being a young man again, of how beautiful music and life felt. I guess, during my marriage, and as I’ve struggled to make my career work, I’ve lost sight of beautiful things. Can you relate to that at all? 

CARTER: I’m sorry. Maybe you don’t want to talk about your marriage?

CARTER: But if you do, I’m all ears. I get it. I know how rough it can be to make things work, year after year. To keep the spark alive.

Lorelei flared her nostrils, reached over, and turned off her phone. “Shut up,” she growled at the screen, at Carter, at everyone. 

When Lorelei had first gotten pregnant with Pino, she was twenty-five years old and preparing to perform at the Berlin Philharmonie. She’d already performed on this particular stage a number of times. But now, now that she knew she was pregnant with Roberto’s baby, now that she’d taken yet another pregnancy test and realized the mistake she’d let herself make all over again, she felt jittery and strange in a way that didn’t suit performing. When she told Raffaello that she was too sick to go on, he scoffed at her. 

“You must go on,” Raffaello explained. “Hundreds of people have paid good money to see the brilliant Lorelei Whitmore perform. You can’t let a few butterflies get to you.” 

Lorelei wasn’t ready to tell Raffaello about her pregnancy. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone. So, she hurried off to the bathroom, where she threw up and gave herself a pep talk in the mirror. “You are going to handle this,” she said. “You are going to go out there and show them how much you’ve mastered this material. You are going to show them what kind of musician you are.” 

A few minutes before Lorelei was set to go on, the phone rang with a call from Roberto. He was back at the restaurant in Rome. This was before they’d opened their own. He was frustrated because his boss had different plans for the menu, and he wasn’t listening to Roberto. Lorelei knew this. But Roberto had the good sense not to talk to her about that just now, not right before she went on stage. 

“I wanted to call and tell you to break a leg,” Roberto said. 

At this, Lorelei burst into tears. 

“What? What happened?” Roberto sounded stricken. 

Lorelei gasped for air. Luckily, she was hidden away in her dressing room, and Raffaello was already in his seat somewhere, waiting to see her perform. 

“I can’t talk about it,” Lorelei said. “I need to focus.”

“I love you,” Roberto said. “Call me when you’re done.”

When Lorelei was called to the stage, her stomach sloshed angrily as she walked. She strode out, feeling hundreds of pairs of eyes upon her, then slid onto the bench and set her fingers on the keys. Every day for years, she’d practiced anywhere between seven and twelve hours per day. She’d lived and breathed piano. She’d made herself into a sort of machine. 

But sometimes machines broke down. 

She supposed that machines weren’t meant to have hearts. She supposed that made all their mechanisms messed up. 

At first, everything went all right. She dove into the Rachmaninoff splendorously, then moved into the Debussy and the Ravel without pause. But somewhere within the Mozart, her fingers fluttered bizarrely, and she found that she was on the wrong end of the keyboard without any sense of where the music was supposed to go next. 

This had never happened to her, not in all of her performances. Terror split her heart. 

Silence filled the performance hall. She could feel Raffaello’s angry eyes on her. She knew exactly how he would reprimand her after this. But all she had to do was remember what came next. All she had to do was put her fingers back on the keys and continue. 

Nearly thirty seconds passed. Lorelei considered faking her own death, right here on stage. She considered getting up and walking off. But, as she put her fingers back on the keys and began to play again, she discovered a different way forward. Yes, she would find a way to the end of her performance. Yes, she would stand and bow and listen to the applause. Yes, she would have to hear about how people would talk about “the night Lorelei Whitmore forgot what to play next,” maybe for the rest of her life.

But she knew at this moment that she didn’t want to perform ever again, not for money. 

Back when she’d first become pregnant with the baby she’d later miscarry, she’d realized in her heart of hearts that she wanted desperately to be a mother. Nothing else mattered, not then. She’d been willing to give up New York City. She’d been willing to give up her dreams. She’d been willing to put everything aside, all in pursuit of making sure her baby was safe and happy. 

After an hour and a half of performing, Lorelei finished her final piece, stood, and took her bow. Her legs shook beneath her, but she was resolute. Everyone in the auditorium stood and applauded. They were eager to go out to dinner or grab drinks after. They were probably not even thinking about her thirty-second silent mistake. 

Lorelei strode off the stage after that and locked herself away in her dressing room. She could feel Raffaello coming to find her, to reprimand her. But she wanted to call Roberto right away. 

Someone at the restaurant answered, then pulled Roberto away from his kitchen responsibilities to speak with her. “How did it go, my love?” he asked. 

Lorelei smiled. “I wanted to tell you before I told anyone else. I’m pregnant.” 

Roberto was quiet for a split-second before bursting. “Are you kidding me? This is wonderful! We’re bringing another person into the world! Lorelei, we’ve talked about this, and now it’s happening. There is nobody on the planet I’d rather have a baby with.”

Lorelei closed her eyes, amazed at the difference in behavior between Roberto and Carter Johnson from high school. She realized she’d assumed that Roberto would abandon her, that he’d tell her that he didn’t want a family to disrupt his plans. But everything would be different now. She’d have their baby, and she’d pour all her energy into making sure their family was safe and happy and loved. And she’d help Roberto, too. She would step away from the stage. She would step into the light of their love. It was what a mother was meant to do. 

Lorelei heard a sound outside her bedroom door. It brought her back to herself, back to the year 2026—so many years after she’d first discovered her pregnancy and decided to quit making music. She hurried to the door and opened it to find her second-oldest child, Aurora, sobbing in the hallway. She looked every bit as frightened and sorrowful as she had three years ago, when Lorelei had gone to save her from Berlin. At once, Lorelei spread open her arms, and Aurora hurried into them. 

“Oh, Mama,” Aurora said, pressing her forehead against Lorelei’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I made a mistake, yet another mistake, and I don’t know what to do.”

Lorelei smoothed her daughter’s hair and whispered, “Nothing is ever so very wrong, honey. We’re going to work it out together, all right?” She pulled her daughter into her bedroom and shut the door behind her, thinking, a mother’s work is never done. 

Together, Lorelei and Aurora sat up in Lorelei’s bed with their backs pressed against the pillows. Lorelei couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in bed with one of her children. It reminded her of sleepless nights when they’d been small and sick or too frightened to sleep in bed alone. 

Aurora put her face in her hands. 

“Honey, whatever it is, we can work through it,” Lorelei assured. She wondered if it had something to do with the stable guys, Oren and Kenny. She wondered if something had finally broken between them. 

But Aurora surprised her when she said, “I can’t go back to Rome.”

“You don’t have to go back,” Lorelei said gently. “Not yet. We’re going to spend the summer here in Nantucket. Your grandmother just loves having you around, and…”

But Aurora continued to shake her head. “You don’t understand. I never want to go back to Rome. It’s why I came to Nantucket early. I had to get out of there. Things… happened.” 

Lorelei remained quiet, conscious that her daughter wanted to explain something. 

Aurora folded her lips. And then, she began to explain herself.

17

Aurora had never let her mother—nor anyone—into her world in such a dramatic and personal way. But now, as she explained what had happened for the first time, she felt the tension in her chest spill out of her. She felt herself take bigger, deeper, more relaxing breaths. 

Had this freedom always been available to her? Could she have started talking earlier and saved herself?

“I never should have agreed to go to business school.” Aurora tried to smile before discovering it was too difficult. She let her lips fall. “Maybe that’s the understatement of the year. But after Sebastian’s accident, I didn’t know what to do. I was so lost. If you hadn’t come to get me in Berlin, I don’t know what I would have done.” 

Aurora’s mother furrowed her brow and leaned forward. It was like she knew not to interrupt, although Aurora guessed she desperately wanted to. 

“When Papa suggested I go to business school, I shrugged my shoulders and went along with it,” Aurora said. “I figured I’d be there a semester or two, make some money at the restaurant, then go traveling. It was everybody’s shock that I was pretty good at business school, I guess. Nobody was more shocked than I was. Without even trying, I was suddenly at the top of my class, and people were asking me to intern at their companies.” Aurora could see from her mother’s eyes how proud Lorelei was. 

After that first semester of business school, Aurora had thrown herself into the business world headfirst, telling herself not to look back. She’d decided that the art world wasn’t for her, that it was filled with manipulative people who didn’t care about what you made. They only cared about what you could do for their career. This disgusted Aurora. At least business people were more honest about what they wanted from you and from everyone else: money. 

During her second semester, Aurora had taken an internship at a financial law firm, where she’d risen up the ranks, bypassing some of the proper employees in trust and payment. The company begged her to join their team immediately, but Aurora reminded them that she had a couple more years left of university. Plus, she wasn’t sure she wanted to work in that particular sector. If she was going to major in business, she wanted to be selective about what kind of business she did. 

Perhaps she didn’t want to wear a skirt and suit every day to work. 

Maybe a year or so into business school, when what had happened in Berlin felt further away than ever, Roberto suggested that Aurora spend a few days at their family’s Rome-based restaurant to check on the business side of things. “Maybe you can look at our operations through the lens of what you’ve learned at school,” he suggested. 

Aurora had always loved going to her parents’ restaurant. She loved the hustle and bustle, the smells, and the free food and wine that flowed from all directions. She also loved to see her mother and father at work. 

Not long into her work at the restaurant, however, Aurora understood what a mess the place’s finances were in. She saw how haggard and lost her father often was, especially at the tail end of a long day, so she tried to implement various financial systems to make things easier for Roberto. 

But Roberto didn’t take kindly to criticism from his daughter even though he’d initially asked for her help, and he surely knew she was right. “You’ll take over one of the restaurants when you’re done with school,” he told her sternly. “But for now, finish out your degree. Then, we can make big changes.”

It was like he wouldn’t trust what she knew without her degree hanging on the wall. 

Regardless of what Roberto said to her face, however, it seemed that he was bragging all over Rome about the business prowess of his daughter Aurora, so much so that soon, one of the most prominent and trendiest restaurants in the city reached out to Aurora to ask if she’d take over the business side of things. They called it a paid internship, and for the first time ever, it seemed that the pay was astounding. Aurora checked with her father first to make sure she wouldn’t be stepping on his toes. 

“Nico is a friend of mine,” her father said of the owner of that trendy restaurant, the man who’d called Aurora in the first place. “He already asked me if it was all right. I gave my blessing. Now, go. Get out of my kitchen.”

Aurora wondered if this was her father’s strategy: to distract Aurora with some other job so she would lay off Roberto and his inefficient business practices. It didn’t matter. She was ready to go. 

Aurora started work at Nico’s restaurant in January of 2026—just six months ago. By then, Lorelei was off on Nantucket Island, tending to Francesca, who’d been diagnosed with cancer yet still refused to come back to Italy for reasons that were confusing to the entire Italian side of the family. 

During this time, Aurora lived on her own in Rome and hardly saw her siblings and father. She worked long hours at Nico’s restaurant and went to school whenever she could, which meant that she didn’t have much of a life either. None of that mattered to her. Since her time in Berlin, she’d arranged her life like this. She didn’t date. She didn’t have many friends. She didn’t make art. She didn’t like to spend too much time without anything to do, for fear of what would creep into her mind and haunt her. 

She did not like thinking about the past. 

Numbers were safer than anything else. 

Aurora was surprised at how much she liked Nico. He was in his late thirties, with a funny sense of humor and very good taste in decorations and, of course, food. There was a reason her father trusted him. And Nico trusted Aurora, too. Unlike Roberto, he took her opinions about the business seriously, and he made adjustments after the fact. He called her his “right-hand woman,” which made Aurora laugh. 

Nico had a family, a wife and three little kids, all of whom Aurora adored. Frequently, they invited her to their place for dinner, and Aurora found herself more at ease with them than she was with her own family. Roberto was endlessly stressed about his three restaurants, and Lorelei was often in and out of Nantucket. Pino and Nadia were doing their own thing and didn’t seem to care about Aurora. But Nico and his wife asked Aurora questions. Their children cried when she went home. It was like she’d finally found a place not only to show off her brilliant mind but also to breathe. 

Aurora was endlessly grateful for the internship, so much so that she was considering telling Nico that she would continue working there after she graduated. Originally, she was supposed to graduate at the end of 2026—but she’d secretly been working ahead and had enough credits to graduate in the spring, meaning May, meaning soon. She was suddenly excited about this new chapter of her life. 

When Aurora got up the nerve to enter Nico’s office to ask him about her future at the restaurant, Nico stood and closed the door behind her. Aurora didn’t think anything of it at first. There was a lot of noise in the adjoining restaurant, and she guessed that Nico just wanted to be able to hear her properly. But as Aurora began to tell him about how much she liked working there, and how much she wanted to carve out a future for herself there, Nico got closer and closer to her. Each time Aurora tried to take a step back, he followed her until his nose was only a few inches from hers. Anxiety filled her stomach. She’d never had anything like this happen before, and although she’d read about it online and heard about it from friends, she was frozen and didn’t know what to do. 

“I know you want me,” Nico said to her finally, steadily. “You can give in. Nobody will know.” 

Aurora was petrified. She wanted to shove Nico away from her as hard as she could. But she was also worried about what that might do not only for her own career but also to Roberto and his restaurant. If she made Nico an enemy, what then? Would Nico try to kill the last of Roberto’s restaurant? Would he stir up rumors about Aurora and what she was really like? 

She’d heard of all of this happening before. 

“I, um…” Aurora’s voice shook. “I need to go. Please.” 

But Nico didn’t seem willing to let her go. “Don’t play games with me,” he said. 

Just before Nico could corner her, just before he could get his lips over hers, Aurora ducked away from him, threw open the door, and ran out of the restaurant. Luckily, she had her wallet and her phone and her keys in her pocket. She didn’t go back to get anything else. 

Down the streets of Rome, she ran, breathless and teary-eyed. When she got back to her room, Nico had texted her to ask why she’d left work.

NICO: You have things to do here. We pay you well, and we expect your respect. That means staying till the end

of your shift. That means telling us if you have to go home. 

Her hands shaking, Aurora blocked his number and threw her phone on her bed. 

She had to get out of Rome. 

By then, it was the end of April, and soon, the White Oak Lodge would reopen on Nantucket Island. Aurora knew that the island was filled with her mother’s ghosts, but Aurora didn’t have a single ghost to speak of in the United States and certainly not on Nantucket Island. She imagined herself falling into the familiar arms of her Grandma Francesca. She imagined herself swimming in the ocean, her arms pumping, her heart surging. She called the airline and changed her flight to be a week early. She then called her business school and told them she was withdrawing from all of her classes immediately. 

“You’re going to graduate in three weeks,” the woman on the line said, exasperated.

“Something has come up,” Aurora said. “I can no longer graduate. I can no longer finish my classes or my degree.”

“But…” The woman tried to protest, but Aurora hung up. 

Now, Aurora raised her chin and looked at her mother, Lorelei, whose eyes were wet, her lashes dripping. She hadn’t interrupted Aurora during her story, not once. Now, she opened her arms and beckoned for Aurora to come over to her. Lorelei held Aurora tightly and cooed in a mix of Italian and English. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that. He shouldn’t have done that to you. My baby. It’s so wrong.”

Aurora shook violently, maybe at the intensity of finally telling the truth. “I know Papa’s going to be so angry that I quit the internship,” she said. “He’s going to be so angry that I quit business school. I’m supposed to save the Sardinian restaurant.”

Lorelei spread her hand across Aurora’s forehead. “You aren’t supposed to do anything,” she said. “The only thing you’re supposed to do is be our daughter and live the life of your dreams.” 

Aurora laughed gently into her mother’s shoulder. “I don’t have dreams anymore.”

Lorelei was quiet for a moment. “What about the documentary you’re making?” 

Aurora felt another spasm of guilt and shock. She pulled back a little and explained that, too. It was simpler, a matter of describing Grandpa Benjamin’s devastation at learning about his uncle’s death and how that death mirrored his own brother Ronald’s death. 

“I knew we couldn’t tap the Whitmore family for more tragic stories,” Aurora explained. “I tried to explain that to Kenny and Oren. Oren didn’t take it very well. And then…” She bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the intensity of her and Kenny’s kiss, remembering how fuzzy with desire she’d been until Oren had spotted them and Kenny had run after him. 

“Oren doesn’t care about using our family,” she said finally. “And I think he hates me, because…”

“Because you fell for his best friend?” Lorelei chimed in. 

Aurora raised her head to look at her mother, surprised. But it was clear that her mother had been watching her like a hawk since they’d come to Nantucket. She’d sensed the intensity between Oren, Kenny, and Aurora. She’d seen it all like a warning. 

“Do you have feelings for him, too?” Lorelei asked. 

Aurora nodded, then felt a spike of pain in her chest. “But I don’t want to have feelings for him,” she said of Kenny. “I don’t want to have feelings for anyone.” 

“Is that because of what happened to Sebastian?” Lorelei asked. “Because, honey, you can’t keep blaming yourself for that. You can’t let this haunt you forever. What happened was a tragedy. But it wasn’t your fault.” 

Sometimes late at night, Aurora could still hear in her head the sound of the car hitting Sebastian in that back alley in Berlin. She tormented herself with that sound. She kept herself awake for hours, telling herself that Sebastian would still be living in Berlin and making art and maybe even loving her if Aurora hadn’t dragged him out of the house that day, or if only Aurora had saved him. Aurora’s life could have been so different. Maybe she would have made something of herself by now. 

Maybe she wouldn’t be begging for pieces of an artist pie from Kenny and Oren. Perhaps she would have had her own exhibition. Maybe she would have made herself a beautiful career. 

“And if you think your father is going to stop loving you because you stopped attending business school, you’re so wrong,” Lorelei said finally. “Your father is a lot of things. He’s stressed. He can be mean and arrogant and hard to talk to. But he loves you three fiercely. When I first got pregnant, he was overjoyed to bring babies into the world. There was no hesitation.”

As her eyes filled with tears, Aurora was reminded of her mother’s diaries, of how upset she’d been that her high school boyfriend had abandoned her during her pregnancy. 

Rather than talk more about herself and her endless feelings and sorrows, Aurora asked her mother, “Are you doing all right?” 

Lorelei flicked a tear away. “Honey, I’m fine. I’m having a great summer with you and Allegra and my siblings. I love being around my mother. I love working at the Lodge.” 

Aurora felt a “but” hanging after her words. She ached to know more of what was on her mother’s mind. 

“What’s it been like to play music with Carter Johnson?” she asked finally. 

Lorelei laughed. “That guy? Gosh, I don’t know. I just don’t know how far I want to go down memory lane. It always looks so rosy from the outset, but there’s a reason you don’t build a house on memory lane and live in it forever. There’s a reason you have to move on.”

18

Not long after Aurora finished telling her horrifying story about that Roman restaurateur Nico, Aurora fell asleep in Lorelei’s bed. Lorelei sat quietly, her heart throbbing as her daughter slept peacefully. It felt as though Aurora had come in and unburdened herself. It felt as though Lorelei was meant to carry this burden for the rest of her own days, which, as Aurora’s mother, she was overwhelmed with the desire to do. 

But Lorelei was restless and unable to sleep. Midnight crept to one and then to two, and she knew she had to do something. She had to fix this. Maybe that meant calling Roberto and asking for a divorce outright so that she could move forward with her life. Maybe that meant calling Roberto and telling him to lay off Aurora as well, if only so that Aurora could continue to heal. 

Lorelei grabbed her phone and tiptoed out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She was reminded of putting her children to bed when they were little, how they’d always fallen asleep during story time, and Lorelei had had to creep out so as not to wake them. Aurora, especially, had been a terrible sleeper. She’d been plagued with nightmares. She hadn’t wanted to drift away. 

In the kitchen, Lorelei was surprised to find Allegra and her mother, staying up late with mugs of tea. They wore light pink robes and glasses, and their makeup had been wiped clean. 

“You’re still awake!” Allegra got up to hug Lorelei before turning to put the kettle back on the stove. 

Francesca pulled out the chair beside her. Just now, she wore no wig, and the hair she’d managed to grow since her treatment ended was curly and gray. It made her look like an adorable mouse, which Lorelei knew better than to say aloud. Oh, she loved her mother. 

Now that Aurora had unleashed her own emotions for Lorelei, Lorelei sensed that she was ready to do the same with her sister and mother. She filled her lungs. 

“I asked Roberto point-blank if he was being honest with me,” she said. “And he said he wasn’t. I think it’s finally over. My marriage is over.” She felt her face crumple, but she did not cry. 

Allegra and Francesca took one of each of her hands. 

“It’s just like a man to be honest about his dishonesty without being more forthcoming,” Allegra said. “You asked him for his truth, and all he could do was tell you how untruthful he was.” 

Lorelei squeezed her eyes shut. “I always thought he was different. But it’s like all these decades of marriage and children and restaurants weigh so heavily on our shoulders. It’s like we can no longer see each other as people. Sometimes I think that’s why I like playing music with Carter. No matter what happened between us, Carter, for some reason, sees me as I was at seventeen: bright and shiny and ready to open my heart to the world.”

Allegra scoffed, and Lorelei knew it was because of what had come after that: Carter’s abandonment and the baby she’d lost. 

“What did happen between you?” Francesca asked. “Wasn’t it just the story of two teenagers going in different directions? It happens all the time.”

“Yes,” Lorelei said, although Allegra gave her a harsh look. Lorelei felt there had been too much honesty for one day. And if she was going to get around to calling Roberto, she had to save her heart from too much bruising. 

After finishing her tea, Lorelei went to the veranda, where she sat in the dark and watched the fireflies dance over the beach. Her phone was like a stone in her hand. Please, she said in her mind, maybe to the universe, maybe to Roberto. But she didn’t know exactly what she wanted. 

Finally, she dialed Roberto’s number. It was nearly nine in the morning in Rome, and she knew he was probably frantic, preparing for the lunch rush he prayed would come by noon. Italians were hungry, always so hungry, but they had too many choices when it came to restaurants, and they were picky. 

“Good morning,” Roberto said, his voice sort of flat. But he’d answered. 

“Hi,” Lorelei said. “Where are you?” 

“Walking to the restaurant,” Roberto said. The walk from their place to the restaurant took no more than twenty minutes. Roberto and Lorelei had done it thousands of times over the years. 

“Are you going to get yourself a cornetto from the bakery on the way?” Lorelei asked.

Roberto laughed at the memory. For more than a year, they’d always gotten a cornetto filled with pistachio cream from the same place, nearly every day, which had resulted in them both gaining weight: five pounds for Lorelei and twelve for Roberto. They’d had to go on a strict diet after that, which hadn’t been easy, given their proximity to delicious things. 

“I might skip a cornetto this time,” Roberto said. “But I could pick one up for you, if you like?” 

“Please,” Lorelei said, her voice wavering with tears. “I’d like pistachio and maybe a vanilla cream.” 

“Delicious,” Roberto said.

There were sirens in the distance, coming closer. It was clear that Rome was active and awake, while Lorelei sat by the ocean in the dark. 

“You know,” she said, willing herself to say what she needed to say. “I’ve been thinking about your text message. Your text about not being honest.” 

Roberto was quiet.

“And I was thinking that I don’t care,” Lorelei said. “I don’t care what it is. I just need to know. I need to know the truth. In the Whitmore family, we’ve been hiding from the truth for decades, for generations. My poor father just discovered that his uncle died in World War II! It was never talked about! That is not normal.” She closed her eyes and pictured poor Aurora, who’d just spilled the beans on her own heartache. It was brave. Lorelei needed to be brave.

But before she could say anything more, Roberto let out a strangled sob. 

“You’re right,” he said. “I need to be honest with you. I need to find a way.” 

Lorelei closed her eyes. Another siren blasted from the opposite side of the world and into her ear. 

“I’ll fly back to Nantucket so we can talk in person,” Roberto said. “It isn’t fair to say it over the phone.” 

Lorelei knew this was the worst sign of all. 

After they hung up, Lorelei walked the beach in front of the White Oak Lodge for two hours, tracing her toes through the sand and waiting for the first light of morning to illuminate the island. She hadn’t stayed up all night in many years, and it was invigorating to watch 3 a.m. turn to 4 and 4 a.m. turn to 5. Soon enough, plenty of staff members were milling around the grounds, preparing for the day ahead. They cast side-eyed glances at Lorelei, but they didn’t say anything. 

At some point, Kenny came to open the doors of the stables and wake the horses up. His best friend Oren wasn’t with him. Lorelei watched him from a distance as he swept the floor of the stables, his face serious. 

Lorelei went back to the family apartment, where she found Jack and Addison, sipping coffee and discussing what they wanted to do today. Jack had plans to paint a room that hadn’t been finished yet, and Addison wanted to clear out a corner of the garage that was still filled with old Whitmore junk. It was gorgeous to watch them work together so seamlessly. It was gorgeous, too, to know that Addison had had to relearn how to talk to Jack, now that she knew his real name. For years, she’d known him only as Seth Green. But she knew his heart. Maybe that was all that mattered. 

“Haven’t seen you in a little while!” Addison said, smiling and standing up to pour Lorelei a cup of coffee. 

“Did you go for a hike?” Jack asked. 

Lorelei looked down at herself, realizing she looked as though she’d been out wandering for hours, which was what she had been doing. “Sort of,” she said finally. 

“We’re going to have burgers later on Madequecham Beach,” Addison said, speaking of the house they owned on a different beach, the house Seth Green had purchased years ago. “You should come! Bring Aurora!” 

Lorelei agreed. It sounded nice to leave the confines of the White Oak Lodge for a little bit. If she stayed here any longer, she might drown in her own emotions. 

Besides, she wanted to get her mind off the thought of Roberto, traveling halfway around the world to tell her specifically why he was breaking her heart. 

That afternoon, Lorelei didn’t have anything to do. Allegra and Charlotte were at the front desk, and the rest of the Whitmores milled around the Lodge, doing odd jobs and helping guests. This left Lorelei to her own devices. When Carter wrote to ask if she wanted to rehearse, she asked if she could come to his music camp instead, if only to go somewhere else. He sent her the location, and Lorelei borrowed one of their family cars to take herself there. 

On the drive to Carter’s music camp, Lorelei sang along with the songs on the radio, trying and failing to get her mind elsewhere. Not even Mariah Carey could distract her. A tiny voice in the back of Lorelei’s mind asked her if Roberto wanted to leave her, and if Carter wanted to love her now, what would she do? Would she take the safe option? Would she fall in love with Carter all over again? 

Lorelei knew plenty of forty- and fifty- and sixty-somethings who’d gotten back together with their old loves. In the fiction world, it was called “second-chance romance,” and Lorelei was endlessly captivated by the romance of it. She was also curious about how you could forgive your ex-partner for anything they’d said and done in the previous iteration of your romance. How can you overcome the past? 

Lorelei parked at the music school and followed Carter’s instructions to the practice room on the second floor, where he stood waiting with his guitar and a few oatmeal raisin cookies, which he’d stolen from the music school kitchen. Lorelei laughed and sat at the piano bench, too nervous to touch the keys. She wanted to dive directly into the music. She wanted to bask in the light that shone out of Carter’s eyes. 

Is this what love is supposed to feel like? 

For more than an hour, Lorelei and Carter sang all their favorite songs: “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” the Carpenters’ “Solitaire,” the Rolling Stones’ “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” among others. She fell into the musicality of his voice. She fell into the gorgeous plucking of his guitar. 

By the time they took a break, Carter’s face was so close to hers that Lorelei thought he was really going to kiss her this time. Lorelei’s heart pumped. 

“Carter,” she said gently. 

“I know,” Carter said, brushing his hand through his hair. “It’s just, seeing you brings back so many emotions for me. It makes me feel young again, yes, but that’s not all. We make magic together, Lorelei.” He tried to lace his fingers through Lorelei’s, but Lorelei clamped her hand into a fist. 

“We need to talk,” Lorelei said. 

“Uh-oh.” Carter laughed. “Can I continue my pitch first?” 

Lorelei shook her head. 

“Maybe after,” Carter suggested. 

But Lorelei was drawing into herself, getting up from the bench and leaning against the wall. “Carter, do you remember why we split up?” 

Carter’s eyes were shadowed. “We were teenagers. We wanted different things.”

“We didn’t want different things,” Lorelei said gently. “We got pregnant, and you took off without telling me where you were going. You moved to Manhattan and lived the life we were going to live together, while leaving me to fend for things here, alone.” 

Carter flinched. Lorelei wondered if, incredibly, Carter had blocked out this memory. She wondered if he’d told himself a different story for so long that he’d begun to believe it. 

“But you didn’t have the baby,” Carter said, shrugging, as though that took care of it.

“I had a miscarriage,” she said, flaring her nostrils. “I was alone and frightened and in pain. I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. You were my boyfriend. You were the boy I loved, and you were just gone…” She trailed off, her voice fluttering. Even as she said all this aloud, she couldn’t believe it had really happened. She couldn’t believe he’d done that! 

Carter got up abruptly and slammed his guitar into its case. “I didn’t realize I was on trial for stuff I may or may not have done when I was eighteen,” he said. 

“You did do that,” Lorelei said. “You completely changed my life. And not in a good way.” 

Carter’s eyes were rimmed with red. He picked up his guitar case and opened the practice room door. “It’s so clear to me that you’re miserable,” Carter said. “You’re in a miserable marriage, and you hate Italy, and you don’t know what you want in your life, so now you’re going to pick apart the past and make me the enemy. I am not your enemy, Lorelei. Grow up.” 

At this, Carter stormed out of the room and down the hall. He left Lorelei in the corner alone, her heart in her throat, her eyes burning. But maybe the biggest surprise of all was the smile she felt on her lips. She thought to herself: I am so glad he left me when I was eighteen. I am so glad I didn’t marry him. I really dodged a bullet.

19

The day after Aurora’s heart-to-heart with her mother, she woke up in her mother’s bed. The clock told her it was nearly noon, that she’d slept the morning away. Aurora didn’t care. It had been such a relief to spill the beans about Nico, about her broken heart, about all she was running away from. She felt free and alive. 

Lorelei was nowhere to be found, so Aurora went to her bedroom to get her phone and reorient herself. There were many messages on there, one from Pino, another from her father, and several from Kenny. She read the ones from Kenny first. 

KENNY: Oren and I are quitting the Lodge. 

KENNY: Can’t bear to be here anymore. I don’t know. I think Oren’s going back to the city, and I’m going to figure something else out. 

KENNY: I’ll try my best to fix things with Oren. I’ll try to ask him not to use any of the footage from your family in his doc. But I can’t promise anything. 

KENNY: It was really cool to get to know you. I don’t know what else to say. I’m not so good with my emotions, or with words, or whatever. Keep in touch? 

Aurora squeezed her eyes shut. She searched her heart to see how much this hurt her, then discovered that her heart was too scarred to feel much of any of it. Kenny was just another guy. Oren was just another idiot she had to deal with. She was on a journey forward. She couldn’t let this get to her. 

She read the one from her father next. 

PAPA: Your siblings and I are coming back to Nantucket the first week of July. We have to discuss something as a family. I look forward to seeing you. 

This touched Aurora’s heart differently, adding a glimmer of fear. If Roberto wanted to talk to them about something—as a family—she guessed it was about her parents’ marriage. 

At twenty-two, she knew she needed to be emotionally ready to deal with her parents’ potential divorce. But it made her feel endlessly nihilistic about her own future. If her own parents, who’d loved one another for decades, who’d done everything to make their marriage work, couldn’t find a way through life together, then what did that mean for everyone else? 

Was love ever something that could last? 

She read the message from her brother Pino then. 

PINO: We’re coming back to Nantucket, but Papa won’t tell me why. Did you do something wrong?

Aurora rolled her eyes into the back of her head and decided not to answer. 

Rather than stay around the Lodge that afternoon, Aurora hitched a ride with her Uncle Jack to the historic district, where she found herself going in and out of bookstores and coffee shops, people-watching, eating an ice cream cone, before eventually stopping in front of a big window. Upon the window was painted: ART SUPPLIES. Aurora went in right away. 

She’d always loved art stores. Paints and canvases and all kinds of pencils and pens and sketchpads were lined beautifully, in a way that made her feel safe and organized. For more than an hour, she perused, wondering if she even had it in her to start making art again. 

Aurora purchased paints, a sketchpad, pencils, and two canvases, thinking that she didn’t want to go overboard, just in case she learned that she actually hated making art now. She paid for everything, bagged it all up, then considered how to get back to the Lodge. She’d previously gotten around so well with Kenny and Oren. She supposed she could hitchhike again. 

Instead, she called her grandmother. 

Francesca answered on the first ring. “Ciao, Bella!” she sang. 

Aurora explained where she was, and Francesca told her to stay there. “I need to go to the grocery store anyway,” Francesca explained. “I’m starving, so I imagine everyone else is, too.” 

Francesca seemed always starving, always ready for the next meal. Aurora’s own stomach flipped over, eager for one of Francesca’s immaculate Italian dishes. 

When Francesca turned the corner in her newly purchased vintage Audi convertible, her wig firmly secure despite the flapping Nantucket winds, Aurora thought, This woman is an icon. She smiled broadly and hopped into the front seat, throwing her art supplies in back. 

“Are we having a girls’ day?” Francesca asked, her eyes shining. 

“It looks like it,” Aurora said. 

“My favorite,” Francesca said, pressing her foot against the gas and speeding them to the store. 

For the next two hours, Francesca and Aurora worked tirelessly in the kitchen. Francesca wanted to make everything from scratch, including the noodles, which was an arduous but hilarious task, one that Francesca insisted needed plenty of wine. She refilled Aurora’s glass without asking, giggling. 

While the pasta stewed on the stovetop, Francesca leaned her glass against her cheek and looked at Aurora knowingly. “Tell me, honey,” she said. “What kind of mess did you cook up with the stable men? Why did they both quit this morning?” 

Aurora’s eyes widened with surprise. For some reason, she’d thought she’d been so secretive. She hadn’t imagined that everyone knew all about what she’d been up to. 

Francesca laughed. “You don’t have to tell me a thing, honey. But I’m nosy. I’m an Italian grandmother, after all. Just because I moved back to Nantucket doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend my time gossiping in the kitchen.” 

Aurora snorted with laughter, then felt her smile dim. “I sort of fell for one of them,” she admitted. “But it was a mess.”

“Jealousy,” Francesca said knowingly. “It’s one of the most destructive forces. I remember it well from the early days of my marriage to your grandfather. Oh, how we cheated on one another.” She laughed again, shaking her head. 

“How can you forgive him?” Aurora asked. 

“I love him,” Francesca said simply. “I forgive him for everything.” 

It sounded so easy. Aurora couldn’t fathom it. 

“Do you think you’ve been really in love with anyone?” Francesca asked, her wooden spoon poised over the pot of pasta. 

Aurora considered the men in her life. There had been many who’d liked her, but she’d liked only a few of them back. Sebastian. Kenny. 

“I think I loved my German boyfriend,” she said quietly. “But that love destroyed me. Or I didn’t feel safe after our love fell apart.” 

“Making a choice to love someone is never a safe thing,” Francesca said. “Anyone at any time can leave you. Anyone at any time can decide that they’d rather have a different life. But despite all that, life is a beautiful tapestry. All your choices, all your desires, all your loves, they tell a story, one that you’ll love thinking about later on.” Francesca looked sad for a moment. “I know you think fondly about my Jefferson.”

Jefferson Albright was, of course, Francesca’s longtime lover, the man she’d met in the horse stables at the White Oak Lodge, the man who’d fathered Charlotte and eventually moved to Italy to be with Francesca, after it was assumed that Benjamin was dead. He’d died of COVID, which had seemed incredibly cruel. Aurora guessed her grandmother would never get over it. 

“I miss him every day,” Francesca said. “And I can carry my love for him in my heart, even as I live my life here in Nantucket, with Benjamin and with all of you.” 

For a moment, Aurora thought her grandmother was going to cry. Instead, she rose on her tiptoes and hollered to whoever was in the house, “Who wants to eat?” 

Aurora laughed. Her grandmother was certainly an icon. Aurora hoped she could be half as interesting and half as cool when she was her age. She hoped she could squeeze so much joy out of life. 

That evening, Aurora, Lorelei, Francesca, Allegra, Addison, Nina, and Charlotte sat around a veranda table, eating Francesca’s pasta and drinking red wine. Although it was the end of June, it was a chilly night, so they wore sweaters over their sundresses. Most of the guests had retired to their rooms, leaving them plenty of space to cackle and tell stories. Frequently, Aurora caught her mother’s eye, and they smiled at one another. Aurora was so grateful that her mother had agreed to carry Aurora’s sorrow. 

“Oh!” Allegra said suddenly. “Are you and Carter still performing at that party? I want to make sure I can go.”

Lorelei cackled. “No. No, no. I never want to see that guy again.” 

They all peered at Lorelei curiously. Aurora ached to know more. 

But Lorelei didn’t seem like she wanted or needed to share. “Suffice it to say, he thought there was something between us. But I’m married. At least, I think I’m still married.” Lorelei winced and looked at Aurora. Pain was written across her face. “Carter and I were lovers when we were too young to know what love was. I’m lucky that I got to grow up and discover what love was with Roberto. I’m so lucky that I went on to have three gorgeous kids. Carter is not a part of my future story, not in the least. I’m grateful to know that.” 

Later, in her bedroom alone, Aurora set up her canvas and, for the first time in a very long time, began to paint. At first, she didn’t know which direction she wanted to take it. She experimented with colors. She tried to find the exact light that hit the Nantucket Sound in the evening, right before everything turned to black. For hours, she continued to work, searching the canvas for the truth. 

The following day, Aurora did the same. She avoided her phone. She avoided all thoughts of Kenny and Oren and Sebastian. She cooked and drank wine with her grandmother and then committed hours to the canvas. By the end of the week, she’d finished both paintings and needed to return to the art store to buy more supplies. And by the beginning of July, she had five paintings finished and ready—but ready for what? She didn’t know. 

Aurora decided to show the paintings to her grandmother first. They were getting closer and closer, but that didn’t mean that Francesca wouldn’t give Aurora the gift of her honesty. If anything, Francesca’s honesty could be startling and biting, and Aurora knew she needed it if she was going to become a better artist. She’d dropped out of art school, but she still needed a discerning eye. 

Aurora set up the paintings around her bedroom, then fetched her grandmother from the kitchen. Francesca wore a solemn look, as though she knew how essential this mission was. For a long time, she stood in Aurora’s room, assessing the paintings, with her arms folded. And then, she turned to look at Aurora and said, “These are extraordinary. I want to hang them in the dining room immediately. I’m calling a professional framer. In the meantime, consider how much you think each of them is worth.” 

Aurora was flabbergasted. She watched as her grandmother left, already dialing someone to frame the paintings so that they could be hung within the week. Aurora felt as though she were floating off the ground. 

The night before Aurora’s father, brother, and sister were meant to arrive, Francesca had three staff members arrange and hang six of Aurora’s paintings. When they were up, Aurora, Lorelei, Aunt Allegra, and Francesca stood all the way back in the corner to see how the colors worked together. 

“It’s like listening to a symphony,” Aunt Allegra said. 

Lorelei’s eyes shone with pride. When she turned to Aurora, she touched her shoulder. “I always knew you were an artist,” she said. “I always knew you would find your way back.”

20

After their long journey from Italy, it was up to Lorelei and Aurora to pick Roberto, Pino, and Nadia up from the airport. Behind the wheel of her father’s car, Lorelei felt shivery and alien, and her voice didn’t sound like her own. She wished she could project the kind of motherly authority her family needed. But what was someone supposed to do when they thought their marriage was falling apart? 

Aurora kept adjusting her sunglasses and looking over at Lorelei, as though waiting for Lorelei to say what was going to happen next. But all Lorelei knew was that Roberto had something to tell them, something he hadn’t been honest about. 

“Whatever happens,” Aurora said suddenly, surprising Lorelei, “we’re still a family.”

Lorelei’s heart leaped. She reached across the console and took her daughter’s hand. “We’re still a family,” she agreed. 

She was surprised to find that she really believed it. 

At the Nantucket Airport, Lorelei and Aurora waited in the car, watching as tourists streamed out, wheeling their suitcases and waving to family members and friends in expensive cars. It was hard to believe that Lorelei had been back in Nantucket for most of the year, that her life in Rome now felt like an impossibility, like something that had happened to somebody else. 

But now, her handsome Roman husband and two of her children came through the sliding door. Lorelei got out of the car and threw her arms around Nadia first, who was dressed so sensibly, her hair straightened, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Pino took out his earbuds and hugged her, too. “Mama, ciao,” he said. 

“Oh, I missed you,” Lorelei said. 

Roberto stood off to the side, his shoulders hunched, as though he didn’t want to be touched. Lorelei told herself not to hug him. She told herself that not only did he not want to, but he didn’t deserve it. “How was the trip?” she asked, taking his suitcase and putting it in the trunk. 

“Relatively fine,” Roberto said. “Some turbulence.” 

Lorelei nodded. It was a strangely normal exchange. 

It occurred to her, as they drove back to the White Oak Lodge, that people talked about inane things all the time, no matter what else was going on. During World War II, people had probably still discussed the weather. They’d probably still done the dishes and the laundry. 

Life went on despite everything. 

When Lorelei cut the engine in the parking lot of the White Oak Lodge, the five of them sat quietly for a moment. Lorelei wanted to know the logistics. She wanted to know when Roberto planned to tell them whatever it was he needed to say. 

“You must be tired,” she said. 

“I’m not,” Pino said. 

“Me neither,” Nadia offered. 

Aurora was quiet, as was Roberto. 

“I couldn’t arrange for the suite like last time,” Lorelei said, getting out of the car. She’d booked a single room for Roberto, thinking that he wanted space from her. She’d tell him that later. 

“That’s fine,” Roberto said. “We don’t need the suite. It’s so much space.” 

Lorelei and Aurora helped them take their bags into the family apartment. Pino had his own room, while Nadia was going to share with Aurora for the week. Lorelei studied her daughters’ faces, wondering if they were finally going to bond. It had never happened before, which felt sad for Lorelei. After all, Lorelei’s best friend was her sister, Allegra. She couldn’t imagine life without her. 

“Let’s have a family meeting in an hour,” Roberto suggested, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Their three children turned to look at them. They looked much younger than they were, and frightened. Lorelei’s anxiety spiked. 

“Okay,” Nadia said quietly. 

“On the beach,” Roberto said, before turning to Lorelei. His eyes looked wounded. 

“One hour. On the beach,” Lorelei said. “See you all there.” 

Lorelei led Roberto to the room that she’d arranged for him, a single in the lodge portion of the house. He stepped inside, and his eyes fell onto the single bed. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” Lorelei said, fleeing before he said anything else. She couldn’t take it. 

For the next hour, Lorelei lived in a state of shock. She walked slowly and ponderously through the Lodge, doing odd tasks and speaking to random tourists about what they’d done so far on the island. Her voice did not sound like her own. Worst of all, time seemed to speed up as they drew closer to the meeting. She wanted to tell it to calm down, to allow her a few moments of reprieve. But already, she found herself pressing open the back door and walking to the beach, where Pino, Aurora, and Nadia were waiting. 

For a little while, Lorelei and her three children stood in silence, gazing out across the waves. Lorelei wondered if Roberto had chickened out. She wondered if he’d grabbed a taxi back to the airport and fled, wanting to start his new life in Italy with someone else. But just as she opened her lips to say that it was time for them to go inside, to abandon Roberto and whatever he wanted to tell them, Roberto’s shadow fell over the sand. They turned to find him, blotchy and sweaty, his hair tousled. If Lorelei didn’t know any better, she’d say he was sick. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “The jet lag got me. I fell asleep.”

They were quiet. Pino crossed his arms and looked ruefully at his father. Aurora took a small step away from him, as though he were a bomb about to go off. 

“Thank you for meeting me here today,” Roberto said. “I recognize that I have not been acting like myself. For years, I haven’t felt like the father you knew.” 

Lorelei’s mind tried to fill in the blanks. I haven’t felt like the father you knew because I’m in love with someone else. I haven’t felt like the father you knew because I have a second family in another part of Rome. I haven’t felt like the father you knew because… 

But then, Roberto took a breath and said, “I’ve struggled. Endlessly, I’ve struggled. When your mother and I first opened our restaurant, I was so eager to get into the business side of things. I hired other chefs so that I could create my vision. When that first restaurant seemed stabilized, I opened more—in Sicily and on Sardinia. I thought there was no end to my empire. Our empire. But things got sticky. Aurora knows this firsthand. She came into the restaurant and saw what a mess our finances were. I tried to keep them from you, Lorelei, but…” He trailed off. “Hiding the truth got easier when you came to Nantucket. I was so happy that you didn’t have to watch me flailing all the time. I thought maybe I could fix everything while you were here, but I couldn’t…” He let his arms hang in front of him. 

Lorelei squinted at her husband, confused. 

“We’re going to lose all of them,” Roberto said finally, mostly to the sand. “I have to close all three of the restaurants. Our work in restaurants is over. I don’t know what else to say. I feel that I’ve failed all of you. I am not the strong husband you married.” 

Lorelei’s heart shattered. This was what her husband hadn’t been honest about? His lack of business prowess? 

“I should have listened to you, Aurora,” Roberto said. “Maybe I could have saved one of them. But I was too proud. Too arrogant. I’m learning my lessons now.” 

Aurora’s face echoed the shock that Lorelei felt. Even Pino and Nadia looked confused. 

“Wait,” Nadia interjected. “So you and Mama aren’t getting divorced?” 

Roberto’s face went slack. “Divorce? No! No. Never in a million years. Not on my side, anyway.” Roberto reached for Lorelei’s hand and searched her eyes. “I’ve been distant, yes. But I’ve never stopped loving you, Lorelei, nor any of you, my children. I hate that I’ve been distant. I hate that this has taken up such a chunk of my heart. I promise you. No more.” 

At this, Lorelei threw her arms around her husband. A small sob escaped his throat, but then he held her firmly, like the strong and stoic man she’d always known him to be. 

He wasn’t leaving her. He’d never had plans to leave her. 

It meant they had a chance at rebuilding from the foundation of their love. It meant they could write a new story—one that had nothing to do with these sad restaurants and their failures. Lorelei didn’t care about any of it. All she wanted was her family. 

Eventually, Pino, Aurora, and Nadia joined their hug, and the five of them stood on the beach, their eyes closed and their hearts beating as one. Very soon, one of them would complain—in an endlessly Italian way—that their stomach was empty. Very soon, they would be called to the table with Francesca to dine. 

“I’m so happy to be here with all of you,” Roberto said gently. 

And it was clear, now, that he’d been under tremendous stress. He hadn’t been sleeping. He’d been trying and trying and trying and ruining his health in the process. When their hug broke, Lorelei slipped her hand into his and smiled. “It’s over, now,” she said. 

Later, after a feast of tortellini and homemade bread and buckets of red wine, Lorelei led Roberto to her bedroom, rather than the single room she’d booked for him in the Lodge. Roberto looked tired but happy, filled with food that had been handcrafted and made with love. Together, they changed into comfortable clothing and sat on the bed, holding one another. Lorelei couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so soft and honest with her husband. She considered all the things she wanted to tell Roberto, as well—about Carter, about Aurora’s confession, about Lorelei’s fear that their marriage was over. 

But tonight, she wanted to live in the cushion of their love. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Lorelei said, nuzzling the hair on his chest. “Mama isn’t so happy with the chefs we have here at the Lodge.” 

“Is that so?” Roberto sounded intrigued. 

Lorelei pulled back to look at him. She’d expected him to bat the idea away. She’d expected him to remind her that he was Rome-born and Rome-bred, and he wasn’t going anywhere. But the look in his eye told her that he would consider any avenue forward, as long as it gave him his pride back. 

“You would consider it?” She asked. “Working here at the Lodge? Moving here?” 

Roberto smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “I can’t seem to get you to come back to Italy, can I? I guess it means I’ll have to look into immigrating.”

Lorelei threw her arms around him and laughed. Her heart could hardly handle the love she felt for him.

21

That first night that Pino and Nadia were back on the island, Aurora led them to the beach long past nightfall, where they made a bonfire and sat around, talking about their parents’ marriage and what came next. “I’d prepared myself for the worst,” Aurora said, shaking her head. “But as it turns out, Papa’s just bad at business. Who knew?” 

Pino cracked a rare smile, and Nadia laughed aloud. 

“He didn’t want to admit he needed you,” Nadia said to Aurora. 

At this, Pino’s eyes shifted. “I wanted to tell you. Rumors are going around Rome about you.” He explained that at Nico’s restaurant, several female staff members, from those in the kitchen to those hostessing and serving, had quit. They were calling Nico a creep, and they were suggesting that Aurora’s spontaneous departure—after helping the restaurant out so much—was a result of Nico’s creepiness. Aurora didn’t know what to say. 

Her brother and sister looked at her openly, wanting to help her through whatever this was. 

“If something happened,” Pino said gently, “it wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Nadia chimed in. 

Aurora watched as the firelight danced in her siblings’ eyes. She could see it already: they knew that something had happened to her, that that was part of the reason she’d run away. But Aurora didn’t want to get into it, not today. She wanted to talk about joyous things. 

Three days after Roberto confessed that the restaurants were bankrupt, it was announced that Roberto would be taking over as head chef at the White Oak Lodge. A press release was sent around Nantucket and surrounding areas, and numerous travel magazines called to interview Roberto. In no article was it mentioned that Roberto was a failed restaurateur back in Italy. Rather, he was called the “iconic Italian chef, bringing his Roman flair to Nantucket Island.” 

It didn’t matter that his businesses had failed. At his core, he was an artist, someone searching for brand-new ways to invigorate the palate. 

Aurora found it beautiful to watch her father in the kitchen, experimenting with new recipes. The day after it was announced that he was going to be head chef, she and her siblings sat in the state-of-the-art kitchen at the White Oak Lodge and watched their father work. He made a black squid ink linguine, which he made them taste-test immediately after. It was divine. 

More than that, Aurora thought it was better for her father’s creativity that he didn’t have to deal with the business side of things. She sensed a lightness about him. Already, despite his approaching business with immigration authorities and paperwork, he seemed to laugh more. 

During the early part of July, Aurora sold three of her paintings to guests at the White Oak Lodge. Originally, she’d listed the paintings as fifty dollars each, but Grandma Francesca had insisted that she change the prices, reminding her that only “elite” guests stayed at the White Oak Lodge. “People want to feel like they’ve paid good money for something important,” Francesca explained. “Your work is important, so price it like it is.”

For this reason, those three paintings that Aurora sold brought in more than three thousand dollars. It was more money than she’d ever made at once. Her only real expense, just now, was painting supplies, so she opened up an American bank account and saved her money for a rainy day. Even better, she’d begun to work more frequently at the White Oak Lodge. She liked feeling a part of the texture of the place. She liked knowing all the staff members and helping her mother at the front desk. 

Sometimes she passed by the stables, and her heart leaped at the idea that Oren or Kenny would come out and say hello. But Oren and Kenny were long gone, probably back in New York City, trying to squeeze their footage for anything interesting, anything they could spin into a story. She read cultural news often, and she searched through both Kenny’s and Oren’s social media accounts, wondering if they published anything about her family. So far, everything was quiet. 

Midway through July, Nadia and Pino had to go back to Rome again. Aurora was devastated, as were Roberto and Lorelei. Over dinner the night before, Roberto kept suggesting various ways that Pino and Nadia could remain in the United States. “You’re American citizens, after all,” he said, spreading his arms out wide. “You could start over with us. You don’t have to be in Nantucket. You could go to New York City. Or Boston.”

But Nadia and Pino hadn’t agreed to start over, not yet. Their lives were in Rome. 

Nadia wept quietly while she packed, glancing up several times at Aurora, who was busy cleaning her paintbrushes. Since Nadia had come to Nantucket, Aurora and Nadia had had far more heart-to-hearts than they ever had back in Rome. It was funny, Aurora thought. They were finally becoming friends. Aurora wondered what had triggered it. Was it just that their family was finally being honest with one another? 

As they fell asleep that night, Nadia confessed to Aurora that she was in love with a guy back home. He went to her university, and he was studying philosophy. “Maybe if I wasn’t so curious about him, maybe then I would stay in the United States with all of you,” she said timidly. 

Aurora sat up in bed and gazed at her sister through the darkness. “You have to see it through,” she said. 

“I have to,” Nadia agreed. 

Aurora remembered when she’d fallen in love with Sebastian, how sure of herself she’d been in her brand-new love. 

“I thought I fell for someone this summer,” Aurora confessed. “But I was wrong.”

“Why do you think you were wrong?” 

Aurora considered this, remembering the way Kenny had swum and then run away from her, despite the warmth they’d shared in their kiss, despite the adrenaline in her heart. 

“Grandma thinks love is always worth it,” Aurora said instead, maybe because answering Nadia felt too loaded. “But I don’t know how you can ever trust anyone to love you the way you need to be loved.”

Nadia considered this. “Have you reached out to him? Since he left, I mean.”

Although she’d never said Kenny’s name aloud to Nadia, it shouldn’t have surprised Aurora to know that everyone knew who she’d fallen for. News traveled quickly around here. Gossip was like fuel. 

“No,” Aurora admitted. “I need to stay focused.” But even as she said it, her heart lurched. 

“Don’t be too focused,” Nadia said. “You have to live sometimes, too.” 

But after that, Nadia rolled over and finally fell asleep, leaving Aurora alone with her swirling thoughts—and her growing adoration of her little sister, who’d never been so kind. 

A full week after Pino and Nadia left for Italy, Aurora was out at the stables, sweeping hay and trying to help the resident stable men and women, none of whom were very interesting to Aurora, but all of whom were incredibly kind and worthy of her help. 

Maybe because it was summertime, and maybe because everyone was exhausted after two months at the White Oak Lodge, many staff workers at the Lodge had taken vacation this week, meaning that Aurora was trying to pick up the slack all over the place. But being back in the stables was sort of haunting. It felt like just yesterday she’d sauntered in here, making a mess of things. Even Gwen’s wrist was already healed, without proof that it had ever happened. 

Aurora was lost in thought, sweeping and dreaming up her next painting, when a shadow fell over the floorboards. Her first thought was that it was Stephan, one of the stable men, a guy in his sixties who often made her laugh. But when the shadow didn’t move any longer, she raised her chin and found Kenny, standing in the doorway, his black eyes piercing hers. 

She nearly dropped her broom. 

“Kenny,” she breathed.

Kenny pulled his fingers through his hair. “Can you take a break?” 

It was nearly evening, and purple light echoed across the Nantucket Sound. Aurora and Kenny walked slowly, side by side, until they reached a corner of the beach where none of the Lodge’s guests could see them. Aurora studied Kenny’s face, searching for some sign of what he was thinking, what he wanted from her. But her heart pounded so much that she struggled to focus. 

Aurora told herself not to panic. “What’s going on, Kenny?” she asked. She might have told him that she’d thought about him endlessly. She couldn’t figure out why he left like that. She thought they had something special. But she knew better than to say any of that. 

“He was going to do it,” Kenny said simply. “He was going to publish some of the videos of your family. I told him not to. I warned him. But he wouldn’t listen.”

Obviously, Kenny was talking about Oren. Aurora couldn’t speak. 

“I did something pretty bad,” Kenny said. He explained that he’d snuck into Oren’s apartment in New York City, that he’d scrubbed all the relevant Nantucket video files from Oren’s hard drive and also from Oren’s cloud. “All the backups are gone,” Kenny said, rubbing his temples. “I know, because he totally freaked out. He called me screaming, and then he talked about me all over New York, saying that I ruined his career and his life.” Kenny went pale, just thinking about it. 

“Oh, Kenny.” Aurora closed her eyes, trying to fathom what it meant that Kenny had obliterated his friendship with Oren, all because of her and her family. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“I couldn’t let him,” Kenny said. “Art doesn’t always have to be moral. It can take chances. But it shouldn’t take advantage of people. It shouldn’t destroy people’s lives. Art is never that essential.”

Aurora sat on the sand and wrapped her arms around her knees. The sand was warm and nourishing, and the water was gentle as it lapped along the beach. Kenny sat beside her. The air between their shoulders seemed to burn. 

“I’ve thought about you a lot,” Aurora breathed. She could scarcely believe she’d said it. “I don’t know why, but I fell for you right away. I hardly know you.” 

Kenny was quiet for a moment. “I felt it, too. I knew there was something between us. But Oren told me from the beginning that he was going to date you. I told myself not to try anything. I had enough other things to think about.” He hesitated, then added, “My mom died last year. At Christmas. I’ve been reeling, to say the least.”

Aurora turned to look at him, shocked. It was strange what people carried with them. It was strange how little you could see from the outside. “Kenny, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. 

Kenny shook his head. “I’m sorry I let everything get out of hand with Oren.”

Despite the silence, despite the fact that they seemed not to know what to say or do, he kept his eyes tuned into hers. Aurora’s heart swelled into her throat. 

“Are you going to stay in Nantucket for long?” she asked. 

“I don’t have anything else going on,” Kenny said. 

Aurora laughed, throwing her head back. It was brilliant to laugh despite how devastating life could be. Her grandmother was right: life was beautiful, too. You had to know how to look at it. Like any good painter, you had to trust your own perspective. 

“What if we get something to eat?” Aurora suggested. After all, she was Italian. everything had to begin and end in the kitchen, over a glass of red wine. 

“You know what? I was just thinking about how hungry I am,” Kenny said with a smile.

22

It wasn’t till the end of July that Roberto felt comfortable enough to take control of the White Oak Lodge kitchen. For weeks, he perfected recipes, wrote menus, demanded that the Whitmores taste-tested what he’d made, and discussed an endless array of ideas with Francesca. After all, Francesca was the ultimate authority when it came to the White Oak Lodge kitchen. 

But Lorelei sensed that Roberto was more creative than he’d ever been, that coming to Nantucket had regenerated him. It was exciting to watch. It also scared her. What if everything fell apart again? What if they put all their eggs into this basket, only to watch them crack? 

The day that Roberto was meant to take over the kitchen for good, Lorelei and Roberto woke up early and went for a long walk along the beach. Seagulls swept overhead, coming closer and closer, as though sure that Roberto and Lorelei had food for them. Lorelei wondered if they could smell all the recipes that Roberto had been specializing for upward of fourteen hours a day. 

Occasionally, Lorelei and her husband held hands, their palms warm against one another. But for nearly an hour, they didn’t speak and simply luxuriated in the beauty of the morning. 

Sometimes words were too weak for what was really felt. 

“I heard you playing last night,” Roberto said suddenly, just when Lorelei wondered if they would ever speak again. They were at the edge of the water, barefoot, watching the waves rush up closer and closer. 

Last night, just as she had many other nights, Lorelei had snuck out of the kitchen to practice the piano. After performing a few times with Carter, it was as though she’d been bitten by the music bug again, and she couldn’t get enough. Her fingers craved it. Her ears demanded song after song. All July long, she’d found herself falling in and out of old concertos she’d practiced in her youth. She’d returned to Rachmaninoff and Ravel and Schumann, all of her old friends. She thought that Roberto coming to Nantucket had regenerated her love for music, too. It felt as though she had endless energy for the things she loved. 

“I’m sure I sounded terrible,” Lorelei said meekly. 

Roberto wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. “You sounded better than ever,” he told her. “I spoke with Francesca, and we want you to perform during dinner tonight. Would you be up for something like that?”

Lorelei was stricken. Officially, she hadn’t performed any of her classical pieces since that night in Berlin, the day she’d discovered that she was pregnant with Pino. She still remembered how harrowing that night had been, when, for the first time ever, she’d forgotten what she was supposed to play next. Her memory had failed her. Thirty seconds had passed without a single note. And then, she’d pushed herself through the rest of her performance, called Roberto, told him about the baby, and decided never to get on stage again. 

Had she been too hasty? 

“I don’t know,” Lorelei told her husband now. “I’m retired, remember?” 

Roberto furrowed his brow. “I’ve been thinking about that. About how you said you never wanted to perform again. On the one hand, I respect your decision completely. Only you can say what you’re capable of. Only you can say what you really feel. On the other hand, I can’t believe you’d walk away from such a profound talent. When we were younger, when you were pregnant with Pino, and we were getting ready to start our lives together, I decided to take you at your word. You told me you were done with music, so I thought, all right. She’s done! But hearing you last night, I realized I should have fought you on that. You’re a born performer. You’re a musician, through and through.” Roberto looked sorrowful for a moment. “I hope you didn’t give up music for me and those stupid restaurants. My stupid dreams.”

Lorelei squeezed him harder. “Your dreams aren’t stupid,” she said. “They never were.”

Roberto kissed the tip of her nose. “Play tonight,” he urged her. “Francesca wants you to, and you know better than to go against Francesca’s commands.” 

Lorelei scoffed. “My mother doesn’t always know best.” But even as she said it, she knew that was not true in the slightest. 

Later, two hours before the restaurant at the White Oak Lodge planned to offer dinner, Francesca stormed into the kitchen and demanded to know why Lorelei wasn’t preparing for her show. “You can’t wear that,” Francesca said, gesturing at Lorelei’s all-black outfit, which she’d planned to wear to act as a server and serve Roberto’s food. “Not if you’re going to perform. I have many, many people coming, not only to experience Roberto’s food but also to hear my daughter play. You hardly ever performed in the United States back in your twenties, you know that? People couldn’t get tickets! This might be their only chance! Oh, and your father, he never once saw you perform. Consider his feelings! He’s so anxious to see you.” 

Lorelei’s cheeks burned. But when she glanced back at Roberto, he winked at her and mouthed, “Go!” 

Lorelei realized this was her chance to prove herself—not only to the guests of the Lodge and the residents of Nantucket and her father Benjamin, but to herself. Years ago, she’d stopped believing in herself. She’d given up on the beauty she’d once been able to create. 

Back in the room that she continued to share with her husband (although there had been talk of looking for a house on Nantucket of their own), Lorelei changed into several different dresses, stirring with anxiety. None of them were perfect. But she didn’t have time to dip into a shop anywhere. She had to make do with what she had.

There was a knock on the door. Thinking it was her mother, Lorelei cried out in Italian, “Mama, I’m nearly ready. I’ll meet you back in the restaurant.”

But instead, Aurora opened the door, her eyes wide. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Lorelei said, hating how panicked she’d sounded. “I’m performing tonight, and I don’t know what to wear.” Panic rose up in her, and she went on hurriedly, “It sort of feels like your grandmother is forcing me, and I don’t think I’m ready. I mean, I’m going to be about half as good as I was in the past, if that⁠—”

“You look beautiful, Mama,” Aurora breathed, interrupting her. And it was true that Aurora looked captivated, as though Lorelei really did look the part of a concert pianist, as though Aurora had never seen her like that before.

“Lipstick?” Aurora suggested, walking to Lorelei’s makeup drawer and removing a dark red shade. “Something mysterious and slightly sexy?” 

Lorelei laughed. “Isn’t it too much?” 

“No,” Aurora assured her. “Put it on.” 

Lorelei dotted her lips with lipstick, keeping one eye on her daughter. Over the past week or so, Lorelei had noticed that Aurora and Kenny had been as thick as thieves, roving the grounds, working in the stables, and talking as though they would never run out of things to say to one another. Of course, Lorelei would have given anything to know more, but Lorelei hadn’t dared ask what had transpired between them. 

She had to hope that Aurora would tell her what was going on, soon—that there was a flow of honesty between them, now. 

Rather than dig in, Lorelei decided to ask the only essential question, “Are you happy, sweetheart?” 

Aurora grinned. “I don’t know what to do with how happy I am.”

Lorelei capped the lipstick and rubbed her lips together. She sensed goodness in Aurora’s heart. She sensed that this time, everything would be all right. 

That night, the grand piano was set up in the entryway between the inner dining room and the veranda, where numerous hotel guests were dining for the evening. It was a gorgeous evening, with pink clouds hanging heavily overhead and the ocean rolling forward slowly, its waves crashing on the sand. Lorelei was waiting in the hallway, watching people eat Roberto’s food. She heard people gushing about it. They asked one another why the food was so much better than it had been during the rest of their stay. Lorelei’s heart swelled with pride. 

When Francesca deemed it was time, she signaled to Lorelei to come out and play. Lorelei stepped out, raising her chin, and walked toward the grand piano. A few diners spotted her, and she heard her name whispered across the hall. It reminded her of being twenty-one again, with her artistic life rushing out before her. She’d felt unstoppable. Maybe she could feel that way again. 

It felt incredible that Lorelei had been able to memorize so many of her old pieces again. It was as though Rachmaninoff and Debussy lived in her fingers. It was as though Ravel and Bach remained in her heart, waiting to flow forth again. For more than two hours, Lorelei played. She forgot where she was. She forgot about the diners, listening and eating. She forgot about Aurora, who was sitting in the corner with Kenny, rapt with her mother’s performance. She even forgot about Roberto, who frequently took breaks from his cooking duties to stand outside the kitchen and watch his wife. This was the woman he’d fallen in love with. She’d been there all along. 

When Lorelei had run out of pieces to perform, she stopped, stood, and bowed. Every diner across the veranda and into the hotel bar exploded with applause. For weeks, they would talk about it, and many of them would google Lorelei Whitmore’s name and discover that she wasn’t just some woman on the piano. Once upon a time, she’d been the biggest up-and-comer in the classical music world. People had paid big money to go see her. 

His duties in the kitchen finished for the night, Roberto hurried over to her and kissed her, right there in front of everyone. Lorelei’s heart exploded with joy, and she laughed as they walked out onto the veranda together to take in some air. Her legs shook, maybe from all the adrenaline. And then, she spotted Benjamin and Francesca, her gorgeous parents, waiting for her at the corner table, waving her over. They’d already ordered a bottle of champagne, for the four of them to share in celebration. 

As they sat and clinked their glasses, Lorelei was reminded of that long-ago night when she’d met Roberto, when she’d been introduced as the rising star in music, and he’d been the rising star in the Roman culinary scene. That night, they’d taken a leap toward love and held on to one another for dear life, against all odds.

23

The night that Lorelei Whitmore performed for the White Oak Lodge, Aurora and Kenny were seated in the corner, feasting on Roberto’s delicious Italian fare—pasta and chicken seasoned with oregano and sun-dried tomatoes. Throughout each of Lorelei’s prepared pieces, Aurora was speechless, frequently glancing at Kenny to make sure what she was experiencing was real. How had her mother hidden this away for so long? 

Under his breath, Kenny said, “Your parents are insanely talented. But I guess I should have guessed that. You’re their daughter, after all.” 

Aurora didn’t want to admit that for many years, as her father’s restaurants had failed and her mother had hidden herself away, helping her father and not doing much else, Aurora hadn’t thought much of them. She saw how wrong she was now. 

When Lorelei’s performance was over, and the applause had died away, Aurora’s hands ached from clapping so hard. As conversations began again around her, she laughed, throwing her head back, and watched as her mother and father went to join her grandparents. Kenny poured what was left of the red wine into both of their glasses, then pressed a kiss onto her cheek. “I love the way you support your mother,” Kenny said. 

Aurora gazed at him. Since they’d gotten together, Kenny had told her the specifics of his mother’s death and the harrowing weight of it on his chest. He’d opened his heart to her, and she’d in turn opened her heart to him, telling him about Sebastian and Nico and all the ways she’d felt she’d failed herself and others over the years. He’d told her, “We’re at the beginning of our story. Nothing else matters anymore. The past can be rewritten. The past can be thrown away.” 

Now, they finished their drinks and floated through the veranda, which was lit up with fairy lights and lanterns, and followed the trail down to the beach, where many of Aurora’s cousins were seated around a bonfire, gushing about Lorelei’s music. Gwen was there, throwing her arms around as she spoke, as though she’d never had a broken bone at all. She waved, and Aurora sat beside her, grinning. 

Gwen remembered Kenny from the night of her accident and said hello to him, blushing. Aurora wondered if Gwen thought Kenny was kind of cute. 

“How’s the arm?” Kenny asked.

“Like new,” Gwen said. “But I kept the cast. It’s a work of art.” 

“Yeah, but it smells,” her brother Conor said, wrinkling his nose.

Everyone laughed. Aurora put her head on Kenny’s shoulder, and he kissed the top of her head. Here and now, as the Nantucket Sound lapped on the sand and her American cousins cackled and chatted, Aurora felt about a million miles away from Rome. She wondered when—if ever—she’d get back there. She wondered if she’d still feel connected to it when she did. 

But she wasn’t ready to think about going back to Italy, not even for a visit. Now that she and Kenny were together, they had no interest in spending any time apart. 

Their schedule was tightly wound up in one another’s.

When Aurora painted in the evenings, Kenny worked on his scripts, or wrote in his journal, or read books he thought would help his art, or studied various films that he wanted to emulate when he finally made his own. Often, he asked for Aurora’s advice, and she asked his, so much so that they began to operate more like a single artistic unit. They couldn’t do anything without asking the other. It felt beautiful. Aurora also realized how lonely she’d felt for years—at least since Sebastian’s accident, if not before. 

It felt delirious not to be alone anymore. 

It felt delirious to make art that she truly believed in. 

By mid-August, Aurora had made nearly twelve thousand dollars from her paintings alone. She had an offer from many agents, who wanted to show her work to their ritzy art collector clients. It meant she needed a proper studio so that she could work. It meant she needed to move out of her little room at the White Oak Lodge. 

But she didn’t want to go far. 

“Do you think I should ask Kenny to move in with me?” she asked Lorelei one afternoon. They were walking through the historic downtown neighborhood of Nantucket, viewing apartments and studios big enough for Aurora and her dreams. 

Lorelei considered this and traced a hand down Aurora’s hair. “What do you think?” 

“I think I love him,” Aurora said gently. “I think I always want to be with him. But I also think…” Aurora was unsure how to fully translate what she meant. 

Lorelei stopped walking. Around them, tourists milled around, eating ice cream cones, discussing where they wanted to get an afternoon glass of wine or dinner later. It was hard to believe that it was still summer, as Aurora felt that summer had been going on for years. 

Maybe it was even harder to imagine that it would ever be autumn. 

“We haven’t known one another very long,” Aurora finished. “I think, what’s the rush?” 

Lorelei grinned, as though Aurora had just said exactly the right thing. “You’re not even twenty-three yet,” she said softly. “You have so much time to figure things out. Kenny can be with you during that figuring-out time. If you both want that.”

“I think we want that,” Aurora said, although she knew life was long and meandering. She knew that things were always apt to change. 

That night, as they drank a glass of wine sitting on the sand in front of the White Oak Lodge, listening to the sounds of Lorelei’s piano playing coming across the grounds, Aurora explained to Kenny that she wanted to rent an apartment in downtown Nantucket. “I still haven’t signed the lease, but I feel ready to. It has an attached studio, so I can work on numerous paintings at once,” she explained. “There’s a bedroom and a kitchen and an old-fashioned bathtub. It has character. And…” She trailed off. “And I want you to move in, maybe. Down the line. But not yet.” 

Kenny’s smile was enormous. “That’s funny,” he said. “I was looking at an apartment downtown, too.” 

Aurora felt her chest opening up. He wasn’t angry. He was pleased. 

“We could be neighbors?” she suggested. 

“I think that would be nice,” Kenny said. “You can borrow a cup of sugar from me, sometimes. If you want to.”

“I think that’s about what I’m ready for. For now,” Aurora said, laughing. 

“For now,” Kenny finished. But his dark eyes spoke of a future both of them ached for.

24

For Lorelei, the final week of August on Nantucket Island was exhilarating. Pino and Nadia returned to the island to complete their family—if only for a little while, if only to complete Lorelei’s heart for a moment before everyone separated once more. They both had responsibilities back in Italy, which Lorelei understood. But over the phone, they explained to her that they needed to be at the White Oak Lodge for a few nights before the summer season finished. Their reason? They wanted to see their mother perform. 

At the airport, Lorelei and Roberto hugged their children exuberantly, with tears in their eyes. Aurora was with them, and she practically lifted Nadia off the ground in her hug, such was her excitement. Lorelei couldn’t believe how close they’d gotten. In the car, they spoke in a messy mix of English and Italian, trying to update one another on everything they’d missed. 

Back at the White Oak Lodge, Francesca had a feast waiting for them, of course. She’d been cooking all day and had even recruited Jack, Charlotte, and Nina to help. Everyone had fought and made up and fought and made up, until the sauce was perfect and the wine was poured. It was a warm day, and everyone glinted with sweat and was smiling. 

“They’re back!” Francesca cried as she hugged Pino and Nadia. “My darlings are back!” 

It was a Monday, which meant that the White Oak Lodge’s restaurant was closed and Roberto had the day off. This left plenty of space on the veranda for the entire Whitmore family. After many days of difficult work, they decided to unleash, uncorking bottles of champagne and wine, mixing cocktails, and turning the music up loud. 

“Your mother won’t perform tonight,” Francesca said to Pino and Nadia, “but we’ll put her to work tomorrow. Mark my words.” 

Nadia laughed and eyed Lorelei curiously. “I can’t believe you kept that talent inside you for all these years,” she said.

“She poured her talent into other areas,” Roberto chimed in, drawing his arm around Lorelei’s shoulder. “She made sure we were all taken care of. She raised three amazing children. She was the queen of Rome, and now, she’s the queen of Nantucket Island.”

Lorelei blushed and rolled her eyes. But Nadia was quiet, as though she’d never thought of it like that before. Lorelei understood this, to a point. Growing up here at the White Oak Lodge, she’d never seen herself as a grand, creative “project,” as someone her parents wanted to uphold and love and help grow. But in some ways, that was what children were.

Having children and raising them had been one of Lorelei’s life’s greatest creative adventures. But it was time for them to build their own creative adventures. Lorelei could return to her own. 

That night, the Whitmores told stories and laughed and ate and drank wine deep into the night. Frequently, Lorelei caught Aurora’s eye, where she sat across the table with Kenny, grinning. Frequently, Lorelei caught herself thinking that these were the greatest days of her life. 

When dinner was over, when the stars twinkled overhead, and the ocean grew inky black and the air chilled with the promise of autumn, the Whitmores began to split up for the night. It had been gorgeous, but they would have future gorgeous nights that week, and the morning would come up quickly, demanding a great deal from them. The White Oak Lodge was an ever-present responsibility. It was something they had to share. 

With this in mind, Lorelei and Roberto led their three children back to the house they’d rented for the rest of the year. It was a quaint four-bedroom beach house about a half mile down the sand from the White Oak Lodge. Its proximity meant that every morning, she and Roberto could walk along the ocean to get to work. It meant they could feel the sun on their faces and listen to the caw of the birds. 

As they walked through the darkness, Lorelei hung back, letting Roberto and her three children go up ahead. Aurora was teasing Pino about something, and Nadia was laughing uproariously. Roberto looked relaxed, his arms loose as he went. Lorelei felt a rush of love for these people. She wasn’t sure why she’d gotten so lucky in this life. She told herself not to question it, but to feel it in everything she did, in every piece of music she played, and in everything she was.

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