Page 39 of Lost Dreams

Francesca answered on the first ring. “Ciao, Bella!” she sang.

Aurora explained where she was, and Francesca told her to stay there. “I need to go to the grocery store anyway,” Francesca explained. “I’m starving, so I imagine everyone else is, too.”

Francesca seemed always starving, always ready for the next meal. Aurora’s own stomach flipped over, eager for one of Francesca’s immaculate Italian dishes.

When Francesca turned the corner in her newly purchased vintage Audi convertible, her wig firmly secure despite the flapping Nantucket winds, Aurora thought, This woman is an icon. She smiled broadly and hopped into the front seat, throwing her art supplies in back.

“Are we having a girls’ day?” Francesca asked, her eyes shining.

“It looks like it,” Aurora said.

“My favorite,” Francesca said, pressing her foot against the gas and speeding them to the store.

For the next two hours, Francesca and Aurora worked tirelessly in the kitchen. Francesca wanted to make everything from scratch, including the noodles, which was an arduous but hilarious task, one that Francesca insisted needed plenty of wine. She refilled Aurora’s glass without asking, giggling.

While the pasta stewed on the stovetop, Francesca leaned her glass against her cheek and looked at Aurora knowingly. “Tell me, honey,” she said. “What kind of mess did you cook up with the stable men? Why did they both quit this morning?”

Aurora’s eyes widened with surprise. For some reason, she’d thought she’d been so secretive. She hadn’t imagined that everyone knew all about what she’d been up to.

Francesca laughed. “You don’t have to tell me a thing, honey. But I’m nosy. I’m an Italian grandmother, after all. Just because I moved back to Nantucket doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend my time gossiping in the kitchen.”

Aurora snorted with laughter, then felt her smile dim. “I sort of fell for one of them,” she admitted. “But it was a mess.”

“Jealousy,” Francesca said knowingly. “It’s one of the most destructive forces. I remember it well from the early days of my marriage to your grandfather. Oh, how we cheated on one another.” She laughed again, shaking her head.

“How can you forgive him?” Aurora asked.

“I love him,” Francesca said simply. “I forgive him for everything.”

It sounded so easy. Aurora couldn’t fathom it.

“Do you think you’ve been really in love with anyone?” Francesca asked, her wooden spoon poised over the pot of pasta.

Aurora considered the men in her life. There had been many who’d liked her, but she’d liked only a few of them back. Sebastian. Kenny.

“I think I loved my German boyfriend,” she said quietly. “But that love destroyed me. Or I didn’t feel safe after our love fell apart.”

“Making a choice to love someone is never a safe thing,” Francesca said. “Anyone at any time can leave you. Anyone at any time can decide that they’d rather have a different life. But despite all that, life is a beautiful tapestry. All your choices, all your desires, all your loves, they tell a story, one that you’ll love thinking about later on.” Francesca looked sad for a moment. “I know you think fondly about my Jefferson.”

Jefferson Albright was, of course, Francesca’s longtime lover, the man she’d met in the horse stables at the White Oak Lodge, the man who’d fathered Charlotte and eventually moved to Italy to be with Francesca, after it was assumed that Benjamin was dead. He’d died of COVID, which had seemed incredibly cruel. Aurora guessed her grandmother would never get over it.

“I miss him every day,” Francesca said. “And I can carry my love for him in my heart, even as I live my life here in Nantucket, with Benjamin and with all of you.”

For a moment, Aurora thought her grandmother was going to cry. Instead, she rose on her tiptoes and hollered to whoever was in the house, “Who wants to eat?”

Aurora laughed. Her grandmother was certainly an icon. Aurora hoped she could be half as interesting and half as cool when she was her age. She hoped she could squeeze so much joy out of life.

That evening, Aurora, Lorelei, Francesca, Allegra, Addison, Nina, and Charlotte sat around a veranda table, eating Francesca’s pasta and drinking red wine. Although it was the end of June, it was a chilly night, so they wore sweaters over their sundresses. Most of the guests had retired to their rooms, leaving them plenty of space to cackle and tell stories. Frequently, Aurora caught her mother’s eye, and they smiled at one another. Aurora was so grateful that her mother had agreed to carry Aurora’s sorrow.

“Oh!” Allegra said suddenly. “Are you and Carter still performing at that party? I want to make sure I can go.”

Lorelei cackled. “No. No, no. I never want to see that guy again.”

They all peered at Lorelei curiously. Aurora ached to know more.

But Lorelei didn’t seem like she wanted or needed to share. “Suffice it to say, he thought there was something between us. But I’m married. At least, I think I’m still married.” Lorelei winced and looked at Aurora. Pain was written across her face. “Carter and I were lovers when we were too young to know what love was. I’m lucky that I got to grow up and discover what love was with Roberto. I’m so lucky that I went on to have three gorgeous kids. Carter is not a part of my future story, not in the least. I’m grateful to know that.”

Later, in her bedroom alone, Aurora set up her canvas and, for the first time in a very long time, began to paint. At first, she didn’t know which direction she wanted to take it. She experimented with colors. She tried to find the exact light that hit the Nantucket Sound in the evening, right before everything turned to black. For hours, she continued to work, searching the canvas for the truth.