Page 33 of A Nantucket Season
“And for the wedding, of course,” Audrey reminded her.
“I’ve been told that the bride never remembers her own wedding,” Ella said. “But I hope all of you have a great time.”
Ella and Will walked back home, hand-in-hand, mostly quiet, listening as the island went to sleep around them. It was nearly midnight, but Ella felt consumed with worry for Aurora. But knowing she was being looked after in the hospital meant a lot. Brooks was there, as were many very capable nurses and doctors. She was going to be all right. Eventually.
When Ella walked in the front door of The Copperfield House, Greta erupted from the couch, her eyes panicked and rimmed with red. Ella hugged her immediately, then whispered, “Mom, are you all right? What happened?”
Will made eye contact with her as he headed upstairs, sensing this was a mother-daughter conversation only. Ella guided Greta back to the couch, where they sat, shrouded in lamplight, as Greta gestured vaguely toward her computer.
“After I saw what happened to Aurora today, I came back home and did some research about Delilah,” Greta breathed. “And I found out that she died this year. This spring. Right before we put up the applications for the next round of The Copperfield House residency.”
Ella, who’d already learned of Aurora’s mother’s death earlier that evening, nodded. “It’s terrible, isn’t it? It sounds like they were very close.”
Greta’s voice wavered. “She committed suicide, Ella. Aurora had to have been the one who found her. Delilah didn’t have anyone else.”
Ella was quiet for a long time, staring into the dark corner of the room, reeling. This felt like the final piece of the Aurora puzzle, the reason she’d fallen so completely out of control.
“That’s terrible,” Ella managed. “Just so awful. I don’t even know what to say.”
“She was suffering,” Greta breathed. “Even reading her letters from thirty years ago confirms that. She was trapped in a very sick mind, and she couldn’t find her way out. And Aurora was too young and too scared to be of real help before it got too bad.”
“I don’t think they had much money. Certainly, no insurance,” Ella added.
Greta rubbed her temples with her eyes closed. “She’s at the hospital, now?”
“She is,” Ella said. “Brooks said he’s going to stay with her all night.”
“I want to go up there first-thing tomorrow,” Greta said. “She’s one of our residents here at The Copperfield House. We were supposed to take care of her. To make sure she was all right. I feel like I failed her in every single way— both with my friendship with her mother and now, so many years later.”
“Mom, it isn’t your fault,” Ella said.
Greta winced. “I know that this story isn’t about me. But I can’t help but carry this guilt around. These artists experience the world at a higher pitch than others. I know you understand that; you’re an artist in your soul, too.”
“As are you.”
“Which is why we have to take care of each other even more,” Greta breathed. “We’re all exposed nerves, on the verge of explosion.”
* * *
Ella awoke at dawn, tugged on a pair of overalls, and met the rest of the clean-up crew downtown. Most of the Copperfields were there, including her two children, and Ella’s heart filled at the sight of them putting in the work to beautify their community.
At eight-thirty, Ella returned home, showered, and met her mother in the foyer. Greta insisted on driving to the hospital, perhaps as a way to regain control, and Ella sat in the passenger seat, feeling a lot younger than she was.
At the reception desk, Greta explained that Aurora was in the care of The Copperfield House residency and that whatever medical care she required, The Copperfield House residency was prepared to pay for it. When the nurse went into the back rooms to discuss this with the doctor, Ella and Greta sat, with Greta murmuring that they “had better take her money for Aurora’s care” as Brooks came out into the foyer, bleary-eyed. He looked like he’d spent the night sleeping in a chair.
“Brooks!” Ella popped up and hugged him, feeling much closer than the acquaintances they really were. “How was the night?”
“She slept hard,” Brooks explained. “I think the medicine they gave her knocked her out. But she needed it.”
“Is she awake now?” Greta asked.
“She is,” Brooks said. “The doctor is with her now. She told me again to go home, but I think I’d just sit around, worrying. I’d rather be here.”
For the next two hours, Brooks, Ella, and Greta sat in the reception area of the psychiatry wing of the Nantucket Hospital, sipping burnt coffee from a bad machine, sharing snacks from the vending machine, and staring at the large door, through which doctors and nurses came in and out. Sometimes, they came up with things to say, curiosities they had about Aurora’s past, her mother’s illness, and how Aurora had managed to care for Delilah by herself for so many years.
“I think she’s a truly wonderful and kind person,” Brooks said. “But she hit her limit.”
“We all have one,” Greta agreed.