From Nantucket, With Love by Katie Winters

Author:Katie Winters
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Katie Winters

Chapter Thirteen

Thanksgiving morning, a soft fog rolled across the Nantucket beach and wrapped The Copperfield House in layers of gray. Greta stood at the kitchen window and peered through the thick layers, trying and failing to make out the ocean. Before her, a turkey sat, glossy and ready for its four hours of roasting in the preheated oven.

“It’s eerie out there.” Julia entered the kitchen in her running clothes, having just paced herself through five miles along the beach. “Even from the boardwalk, you can hardly see the water.”

Greta turned to face her daughter, whose cheeks were blotchy and red from the fresh air. Greta’s heart lifted, and she stepped through the kitchen and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Julia laughed and said, “You shouldn’t hug me right now, Mom. I’m all sweaty!” But Greta couldn’t help herself. She was overwhelmed with joy. Around her, the big house creaked with the weight of so many of her family members. This was to be her first Thanksgiving celebration in over twenty-five years.

“I’ll be down to help you in just a few minutes,” Julia said, surveying the countertops upon which Greta had piled the ingredients for the Thanksgiving recipes.

“Did someone say help?” Ella appeared in the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She wore a baggy band t-shirt and a pair of high socks, and her smile was youthful and alive.

“Pour yourself a cup of coffee,” Greta instructed gladly. “And then I’ll get you started on something.”

“The captain has delivered her first orders,” Ella teased as she stepped toward the coffee pot. “Alana’s on her way down, as well.”

“If you’d have told me thirty years ago that Alana would be game to help me in the kitchen, I would have laughed you out of the house,” Greta said with a wink.

Over the next several hours, Ella, Alana, Julia, and Greta busied themselves in the kitchen. There were potatoes to mash; bread had to be torn for stuffing; a cheese platter had to be arranged. Around eleven, Julia poured them each a glass of sparkling wine, and Greta heard herself toast their first Thanksgiving together in ages. Her beautiful daughters agreed.

Greta turned a spoon through a pot of cranberries. “What time did Quentin say he would arrive?”

Julia stuttered. “Oh. Gosh. Didn’t Dad tell you? Quentin told us last week that he couldn’t make it.”

Greta’s heart dropped. She hadn’t spoken to Bernard at all since his return from his book tour. If she wasn’t mistaken, he seemed to be avoiding her. Did he regret their correspondence while he was away?

“Oh, yes. Your father mentioned it,” Greta lied. “I just forgot. Did Quentin say exactly why?”

“He kind of beat around the bush,” Julia admitted. “He was acting jittery and strange.”

“Maybe he was just nervous about having you and Dad in his space, you know?” Alana interjected as she pulled the rolls from the oven, rolling steam across the kitchen. “He’s one of the most recognizable faces in the entire city, and the Upper West side is his territory.

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