ChapterOne
Nantucket Island: Thanksgiving 2025
On that blustery Thursday in November, the three extra tables in the dining room were laden with every kind of Thanksgiving food imaginable: glistening turkeys, heaps of stuffing, buttery mashed potatoes, bacon-wrapped brussels sprouts, freshly baked rolls and breads, eight different desserts, and so on.The enormous Victorian house was packed.Laughter rang out from the kitchen to the living room, all the way through the family side of the Copperfield House and into the residency side.Four artists-in-residence had decided to stay in the residency into the new year, and they joined the Copperfield family for each of their holiday parties, including this one, drinking wine and watching the snow flutter past the back window, clouding the gorgeous view of the beach.
Ella, the youngest of all the Copperfields (and the one without a drop of Copperfield blood), was in the kitchen with her sisters, Julia and Alana, and her mother, Greta, chopping the last of a bunch of kale for a salad that, she guessed, not many would eat.
“It’s good to have something fresh on the table.”Greta arched her eyebrow.
“I haven’t seen a fresh vegetable in weeks,” Julia joked, sipping her wine.“Charlie refuses to let them into the house.”
“This is only the beginning,” Ella said.“Christmas is still a month away!”
Greta snapped her fingers and removed a pad of paper from the drawer beside the oven.“That reminds me.Are we certain of the party date?December 19thgood for everyone?”Greta’s eyes slid from Julia to Alana to Ella.
The three Copperfield daughters agreed.Ella filled her lungs and told herself not to panic.An enormous Christmas party at the Copperfield House—one meant to celebrate three and a half years of the Copperfields’ triumphant return to Nantucket Island—was something Greta had pitched as early as February of that year.It was rare to see Greta so excited about a party like this.Ella saw it as her mission to help realize her mother’s vision.The plan was to invite as many of the Copperfields’ friends and relatives as they could, to concoct decadent meals and perform sensational Christmas songs, and find a warm evening in the midst of a bone-cold winter on the island.More specifically, Ella had agreed to manage the music.
“And Ella,” Greta said, tapping the tip of her pen against the pad of paper, “you mentioned setting up a sort of stage?I’m visualizing performances from all of our Copperfield House residency musicians.I’m imagining…”
But before Greta could continue, to speak more about a vision that she’d assuredly already said aloud, Ella’s husband, Will, entered the kitchen, his cheeks blotchy from wine.“I’m sorry to interrupt!”he said, his grin enormous, “but I need to steal Ella for a moment.Do you mind?”
Greta gave him a look of exasperation that she soon hid away.“Of course not, Will,” she said.But her tone suggested that nothing Will had to say could rival the importance of planning the Copperfield Christmas party.
Ella slid her fingers through Will’s and promised her mother she’d be back soon.
“We’re eating in five minutes!”Greta called as they snaked through the hallway and, mysteriously, up the stairs.“But we’ll talk later.”
It wasn’t till they were safely tucked away in Ella’s childhood bedroom that Will spun around, took her shoulders in his broad, capable hands, and said, “You know that crazy mega-rich philanthropist business guy?The one we saw on the talk show the other day?”
Ella’s thoughts spun.Sometimes late at night, Will watched random talk shows as Ella slowly fell asleep.
“The one who wants to get rid of ocean plastic,” Will reminded her, rubbing his palms together.
“Ah!What’s his name?”Ella furrowed her brow and brought to her mind the image of the man’s face: late forties, shaggy dark hair, and big, golden retriever eyes.He spoke about saving the oceans in a way that made it seem not only possible but achievable within the next five years.Ella had fallen asleep with a sense of hope in her belly, one that had died the following morning, when she’d seen fifteen plastic bags breezing across the beach in front of Will’s and her place.
It had seemed impossible that people like Grayson Harris knew how bad the world and its oceans had gotten.
“Grayson Harris,” Will reminded her.“You’ll never believe who contacted Greg last night.”
“What?”Ella’s heart pounded.“Grayson Harris called Greg?Our Greg?”
Greg was Will and Ella’s current agent, the guy who’d been instrumental in helping Will and Ella’s band achieve new productive heights in the previous few years.It was because of Greg that they’d gone on three tours, cut two additional albums, and sold thousands upon thousands of dollars’ worth of merchandise.
“Apparently, he’s a fan,” Will said, his eyes widening.“He was a fan back in the early days, but I guess he likes our newer stuff even more.He told Greg he thought our new sound was sophisticated.”
Ella clapped her hands over her mouth, then erupted into laughter.It wasn’t every day that one of the wealthiest men on earth called to say he liked your art.
“He wants to use our music for a new commercial he’s doing for his clean ocean initiative,” Will declared.“He’s willing to pay, like, more than we’ve ever seen before.More money than we’ve ever known.”
Ella took a staggered breath, then had to turn and collapse on her childhood bed.Money had always been a difficult thing to earn in the music business.It had even been a difficult thing to talk about.Calls like this never came.Now, at the age of forty-five, with both of her children living in Manhattan and her life at an easy course, it felt strange that “success” would fall on their heads in this way.But she guessed they had to open their arms to it.She shot back to her feet, screamed, and threw her arms around Will.“I can’t believe this is happening!”she cried.
* * *
At the dinner table, a half hour later, Ella and Will clutched one another’s hands between their chairs and laughed uproariously along with their Copperfield family members.Across from them was Bernard, Ella’s formidable and marvelously intelligent father, who was telling an anecdote from Greta’s and his recent spontaneous trip to Paris—the city of their original love story.
“Greta didn’t set out to steal a baguette that day,” he said, throwing his head back, “but when she realized she’d left the bakery without paying, she panicked and took a bite of bread.It’s like her hunger and desire for the perfect baguette outweighed her fear of stealing.”
Greta blushed and took a sip of wine.“I was too embarrassed to go back inside and tell them what I’d done.It was an honest mistake.”
