Chapter 14
TARA
"Are you sure I'm dressed okay?" I ask Chloe, smoothing my hands over my freshly laundered white T-shirt.
"You look lovely. It's very casual here." Chloe adjusts her own white blouse—somewhat like mine, yet infinitely more elegant.
I stare at my reflection in the antique mirror, taking in my simple jeans and canvas sneakers.
In Nantucket, I've observed that 'casual' typically means a designer sundress from some exclusive boutique, and one of those fancy Nantucket baskets dangling from perfectly manicured fingers.
"We're the help," Chloe reminds me, catching my uncertain expression. "You're not attending some exotic society soirée. Just a family dinner."
The word 'family' calms me. After last night's assault and this morning's eviction, I'm clinging to whatever scraps of belonging I can find.
"Okay," I say, forcing confidence into my voice as we head toward the dining room's gleaming mahogany doors.
Mr. and Mrs. Swain-Black occupy the head and foot of the massive table. The twins flank their primary nanny. Near Mrs. Swain-Black sits an eccentric-looking older woman, dazzlingly dressed in an expensive suit, laden with jewels.
"Girls, girls," Mrs. Swain-Black says to us as we enter. "Just in time! Chloe, you remember my great-aunt, Miss Swain. And Auntie, this is Chloe's friend Tara Thompson."
Miss Swain rises from her chair with a friendly enthusiasm that belies her formal attire. "Lovely to meet you," she says, extending a hand heavy with rings. As we shake hands, she peers closely at my gold locket.
"How unusual! A miniature violin. Do you play, my dear?"
"No. My father was a music lover. He gave it to me shortly before he died."
"Well, it's beautiful. Come here, sit by me," Miss Swain says, patting the chair beside her.
"Tara is from Los Angeles originally," Chloe offers, as the family's staff bring in the first course.
"And how do you like Nantucket so far?" Miss Swain's bright eyes study me with keen intelligence.
Before I can respond, the front doorbell rings. A family staffer answers it and returns with a handsome young man in a sharp suit.
Jason.
Mr. Swain-Black rushes up to Jason and takes his hand.
"Darling, everyone, I'd like you to meet a friend from the club. I invited him to dinner and forgot to mention it. Jason Abernathy."
The predator from last night's party strides into the dining room like he owns it.
"Nice to meet you, Jason," Mrs. Swain-Black says graciously. "Forgive us for starting our dinner. We learned only now you were coming."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Jason replies. Then he turns to Chloe and me. "Ah, we meet again."
His eyes linger on my face while a taunting smile spreads across his features.
"You all know one another?" Mr. Swain-Black asks.
"Slightly," Chloe says in a neutral tone.
Jason takes the seat directly across from me. He launches into entertaining stories about Nantucket history. Miss Swain nods approvingly at his knowledge of island lore.
During the fish course, Jason's foot bumps mine under the table.
I shift away.
With the main course, it happens again. No accident this time. His shoe slides against my sandal. Deliberate. Testing my reaction.
I jerk my foot back and glare at him. But he only unleashes that slow, infuriating smile that makes me want to punch him.
"Tara's a student at NYU," Chloe tells Miss Swain.
I'm grateful for the distraction.
"Early childhood education is my official major,” I tell the older woman. “But I've also been admitted to NYU's vocal study program at the Steinhardt School of Music. I sing opera."
"Delightful. I didn't think young people were interested in opera in this day and age."
"I played the lead in Moby Dick at the school's production last year," I say, forcing myself to be bold and direct. "I've read that the Met opera company is spending the first part of the summer here on Nantucket."
"Quite right," says Miss Swain. "I'm a major donor. It would be my pleasure to invite you to their opening night here in Nantucket later this month."
"That's very generous," I say, choosing my words carefully. I know that what I want to say next will sound bold. Brash, even. But I must pose the question. It may be the last time I see Miss Swain again. But before I can say a word, Chloe chimes in.
"Miss Swain, do you think they need someone to help out? Run errands? Tara's between jobs right now."
"Well, I'm not sure they have a budget for paid positions. But I'm happy to make a call."
"That would be wonderful," Chloe says, smiling as she catches my eye.
"Yes, I'd appreciate it very much," I add quickly.
"Good. It's settled." Miss Swain pulls a small leather notebook from her purse. "May I have your contact information?"
I write my name and cell number in her elegant notebook.
"Well, now—it's time for me to leave," Miss Swain announces, rising with a theatrical flourish.
Mr. Swain-Black jumps up to assist, but Jason beats him to it. "Allow me," he says smoothly, offering his arm with practiced gallantry.
He escorts her to the waiting car in the driveway. Through the window, I watch him help her into the backseat with exaggerated care. Even from here, I can see him working his charm.
Once Chloe and I are alone in her room, I pull my nightgown from my suitcase. "Why do you think Jason was here?"
Chloe shrugs, already changing into pajamas. "Mr. Swain-Black does business with all kinds of people. Brings them home constantly." She pauses, studying my expression. "But you scored major points with Miss Swain tonight. She could open doors for you with the opera."
"Let's hope so," I say, slipping the cotton nightgown over my head.
As I settle into the guest bed opposite Chloe, I allow myself a moment of cautious optimism.
Yet as I remember Jason's jeering smile, I feel a flicker of unease that this may not end well.