Page 11 of Lost Dreams

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.