“Right. Sorry. I forgot.” She cautiously picked up the necklace and held it close to her face.“Shiny.”
I didn’t feel done. I desperately wanted Noah to text me. It felt like more than a want; like aneed, like I might pass out if I didn’t hear from him. Every day, I looked at my phone over and over, in case I’d missed the buzz of an incoming message. I opened our last exchange, in case a new text had slipped in unnoticed. I even restarted my phone.
But I’d told him we were done, and he must have believed me.
My last night on Nantucket, my friends went to the beach one last time. The air hung heavy with moisture, almost chilly. We wore sweatshirts and huddled close to each other. Everyone was going home soon, back to school and regular life. Pranav and Sydney had already left; Evan would be gone tomorrow morning; Stella and Lexi were leaving in three days.
Jane and I sat side by side on a towel, watching the bonfire spark orange into the night. “Come back next summer,” she said. “You can avoid Noah. I need you to be my roommate.”
“You could use a wing-woman, for sure.”
She made a face, her gaze trailing after Evan. “You want who you want, right? Even when it doesn’t make sense.”
I rubbed her back and we watched the dancing flames. “Go talk to him. What do you have to lose? Even if it goes poorly, you’ll have a whole year to recover.”
“True.” She stood up. “Here goes nothing.”
Not nothing, I thought as I watched Evan’s face light up when Jane approached him. I let out a sigh, pushing to my feet and walking down to the water.
I hadn’t realized how different breakups could be. With Matt, I’d been so angry. So furious and hurt and determined to move on and get over it. I hadn’t wanted to see him again. I hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near him.
With Noah—I was still angry, but mostly, I was hurt. Mostly, I ached for him to come back from Cambridge and to knock on my door and to sayI’m sorry. Let’s fix this.
Mom had asked why it mattered, the necklace, an object, the past over the future. Whydidit matter?You’re too goddamn proud, Noah had said. Was that it?You’ll make yourself miserable.
But I didn’t think pride alone would keep me from someone who brought me intense joy. What else had Noah said?
You’re scared, Abigail Schoenberg. Scared to really put yourself out there.
I wrapped my arms around my belly, shivering in the night wind. So easy to sayBe brave,take risks,show some chutzpah.Harder to do it, to risk getting destroyed, to put yourself and your emotional well-being in someone else’s hands.
The waves beat the shore, over and over. The moon glided across the water, a bright path you could follow forever without reachingthe end. I watched the ripples of white on black until the wind off the ocean became so cold I couldn’t stop shivering, and then I turned away and walked back to my friends.
The next morning, before we left, Mom and I found Mr. Barnes—the appraiser—in a well-appointed sitting room on the first floor of his hotel. The walls and curtains were done in muted off-whites, the floor and furniture dark brown. Paintings of ships hung in elegant frames.
Mom and I settled on a sofa, kitty-corner to Mr. Barnes’s armchair. He stood when we arrived, then sank back into his seat, taking off his glasses and rubbing his brow.
“I got in touch with some industry folk last night,” he said. “After I looked through the paperwork. I should have told you this yesterday, but I was surprised, and a little... skeptical, maybe. It’s not often people appear saying they’re the descendants of a notable jeweler family.”
He folded his hands and leaned forward, addressing Mom. “As you’re aware, the Goldman family lived in Lübeck during the years leading up to the war. Your mother was sent away. Soon afterwards, the family’s work was seized by the Nazis.”
He cleared his throat, while Mom and I nodded. So far he wasn’t telling us anything we hadn’t heard before.
“Much of the jewelry ended up in private collections. However, some wound up in museums after the war. Goldman jewelry can be found in the British Museum, the Hofburg, the Louvre. I pulled a file of the pieces I know about.” He slid a glossy printout across the coffee table.
Mom picked the file up, but instead of flipping through the papers, regarded them with an almost bewildered expression. I leaned my head against her shoulder.
“You might be familiar with some cases where families recovered their family’s work. The most famous is theWoman in Gold”—Mr. Barnes cracked a smile—“popularized by the Helen Mirren movie. There are other similar cases. It’s possible for the families to get restitution or the return of their property.” He paused. “The Goldman collection is—lucrative.”
Mom stared down at the file. “You’re saying there’s more? More jewelry?”
“I’m saying there’smuchmore.” His rather bemused smile grew larger. “I’m saying, Ms. Cohen, that if you claim your inheritance, you will be a very, very wealthy woman.”
When we walked outside, the sun broke over us, so bright we squinted and reached for our sunglasses. Mom raised her face to the sun and smiled, bright and all-encompassing as a star. She would burn forever, my mom. Then she looked at me. “How do you feel about raising money for refugee reliefandgoing to whichever college you want?”
“I feel great.”
“Good.” She pulled out her cell, dialing a number, and I could hear Dad pick up on the other end.
