Page 19 of Nantucket Gala

Greta let a moment pass before she answered. “And I heard a rumor you were a bit of a rebel yourself in the old days.”

“Did you, now? Who might have told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?”

Sophia grinned.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. We’re old friends. You can ask me anything,” Sophia said.

“Did you ever go to Paris to visit Francis after he left?”

Sophia blinked back tears, surprised at how quickly they’d come.

Greta hit the nail on the head.

It was an enormous regret.

I should have gone.

Before he died.

But Sophia made sure there was no quaver to her voice. “I never made it to Paris, no. But I’m sure Francis had a heck of a time over there. He always knew how to have fun.”

There was a dark edge to her words. Sophia regretted them immediately.

“But you never divorced him?”

“He never sent the papers,” Sophia admitted.

“You could have sent them yourself,” Greta reminded her.

Why had it never occurred to Sophia to do that?

Because she never wanted to divorce him. Or she was afraid he wouldn’t grant her one.

Sophia wasn’t sure of the truth any longer.

Greta made a soft sound in her throat. Sophia was suddenly nervous. She’d imagined this phone call happening for years, but it wasn’t going the way she’d planned.

Finally, Greta dared to ask it.

“Did you really write those screenplays?”

Sophia smiled so wide that her cheeks ached. “I wrote them.”

Sophia expected Greta to ask questions like how did you come up with your ideas? Why didn’t you ever tell me you were a writer? We could have traded notes! We could have helped each other!

Instead, Greta’s response was out of left field. It stung, too.

“How could you let him do that to you? How could you let him steal from you?”

Sophia was out of bed and pacing. She didn’t remember getting out from under the sheets.

What could she say to make Greta understand?

Internally, she cursed herself for ever telling Henry about the screenplays. Sophia was living a fine, quiet, easy life. Her messes were behind her.