Chapter 20
CAMERON
An hour later, I take Posey's hand and help her into the backseat of the Rolls-Royce. Tara and Edison follow. The girls seem eager for a walk down Nantucket's Main Street on a sunny day.
Posey sits between Tara and me. She wears a formal dress too fancy for a casual stroll. But when I mention it, she touches the fabric reverently.
"It was Grandmama's favorite dress," she says, looking at Tara in her T-shirt and jeans. "But I like what you're wearing, Tara. You look like you're ready for fun!"
"I am ready for fun!" Tara tickles Posey until she dissolves into giggles.
For a few precious moments, my daughter's usual stern expression melts away into pure childhood joy.
"We could go shopping for some jeans like mine if your father agrees."
Posey turns to me with wide, hopeful eyes. "Daddy Cameron, can we go shopping?"
"It's not my decision. You can call your own shots."
"Goody!" she exclaims, practically vibrating with anticipation.
It's a short, scenic drive. We're there before we know it.
The Rolls pulls up and turns right onto the waterfront walk. "Where should I stop, sir?" Henry asks from the driver's seat.
"Right here is fine."
Everyone on the street seems to stare as we emerge. I can't tell if it's because of the conspicuous car. Or because they recognize me. Probably both.
"What do people do on a boardwalk?" Posey asks, positioning herself between Tara and me and taking both our hands.
"We walk," Tara explains to Posey with a smile.
"And good little girls get ice cream cones," I add, watching my daughter's face light up. "But only the best little girls get vanilla swirl ice cream with sprinkles."
"I am that girl!" Posey declares confidently.
The shops with their quaint Nantucket baskets and tourist T-shirts gradually give way to boats as we approach the harbor.
"Look, Daddy Cameron! All these boats. Some of them are super big," Posey marvels.
"That's right," I say, taking in the mix of decked-out yachts and modest fishing boats.
"Can we go on a boat ride?" Posey asks eagerly. "I haven't been on one ever."
Tara looks at me with obvious enthusiasm for the idea.
"We'll see," I say, though I'm already warming to the possibility.
"Look, there's the man whose life you saved!" Posey's voice cuts through the harbor sounds.
I'm surprised to see a familiar figure with a gray beard cleaning his boat.
Spotting us, Salty waves us over.
"My savior," he says, his voice carrying only the slightest hint of jest.
"We wanted to visit you at the hospital, Mr. Salty," Posey says earnestly, walking toward him and taking his hand without hesitation. "But Daddy Cameron said you needed to rest. I'm glad you're okay now!"
"Glad to see you're out and about. May I call you Salty? It seems informal since we don't really know each other."
"There's an old saying about blood brothers," he replies with a knowing smile. "You saved my life, and I owe you in return."
"You don't owe me anything,” I say.
I’m surprised to see Salty and Tara greet one another with a brief embrace. "You know each other?"
"From the Patriot Café," she says before turning to him. "I'm working as Posey's nanny now."
"Would you folks like a boat ride?" he asks suddenly. "It's a beautiful day for it."
"Yes!" says Posey immediately, then catches herself. "If Daddy Cameron says it's okay."
"We shouldn't impose—"
"It's not an imposition. We'll go for a spin around the harbor, and maybe you could try your hand at fishing."
"Can we do it, Tara? Daddy Cameron?" Posey's excitement is infectious.
"I think that'd be fine," I say, amused by how both Tara and my daughter light up at the prospect.
Salty helps us aboard his small but immaculately clean boat. Everything has its place, stored in proper compartments with the precision of someone who's spent decades at sea.
"Am I big enough to fish?" Posey asks, bouncing slightly on her toes.
"Of course you are," Salty says, fitting a bright orange life vest over her white dress. He adjusts the buckles with practiced hands, making sure everything is secure.
“Life vest for you, miss," he says, handing one to Tara before offering me one as well. Salty chuckles as Edison sniffs out every corner of the boat.
"Here's one for your dog," Salty says. handing it to me.
“Mr. Salty? Aren't you going to wear one too?" Posey asks.
"No," he grins. "I'm the sort of captain who goes down with his ship."
Posey finds this hilarious. "Goes down with the ship," she repeats, giggling.
Salty puts a protective arm around her as he slowly steers the boat out of the harbor into open water.
"This is so beautiful," Tara says, moving closer to me, her long lashes dark against her porcelain skin. "Thank you for giving me a place to stay. I know Chloe drove a hard bargain."
We both laugh.
I want this to be a carefree boat ride. But I feel compelled to tell Tara the truth so she doesn’t get her hopes up.
"This arrangement is just for the next week or so. I don't know what the future holds beyond that."
"Why?"
"Apparently, I need some sort of legal clearance to take Posey back to NYC. Then I must figure out my record contract. Neither of which I want to think about on a beautiful day like today. Where do you live in the Big Apple?" I say, turning the topic.
"Near NYU. My roommate's another student named Keesha, and her parents are on the lease. They immigrated here from Ethiopia when she was a kid. Our crazy friend's name is Zaza. The three of us have a lot of fun together, but our lives don't compare to your life as a rock and roll star."
"And when you graduate from NYU, what?"
"Teach," she says.
I detect a note of regret in her voice.
"You don't sound too excited about that."
"I'd rather sing opera on the stage. But there's no money in opera unless you have a name. And I need money to survive."
I know rich girls in New York. Most of them have parents who write them monthly checks for years after graduating from university. "Your family won't support you?"
"It's just my mom now, and she's out fighting for herself.
But I have a favor to ask you. I met a woman the other night who promised to give my name to the director of the Met Opera company.
Their troupe is here in Nantucket working on the production of Moby Dick.
This morning, I got a text from him offering me a part-time gofer position so I can see how an opera company really runs. "
I laugh. "What's a gofer?"
"Hey girl, go for this. Go for that," she laughs. "It would just be a few hours a day."
"That's fine. Go for it, Gofer girl," I say as the engine slows. "I'll arrange for Henry to take you and bring you back."
Edison barks sharply from the bow, tail wagging as he spots something in the water.
"Here we are," Salty announces with satisfaction. "This is a prime fishing spot. Very few captains know about it. Let's keep it like that," he adds with a conspiratorial smile.
"What kinds of fish do you find here?"
"Oh, bluefish, snappers, stripers. The bounty is plentiful."
"Look, Daddy Cameron, there's a fish!" Posey shouts, pointing at a silver glint in the water. "Let's grab it!"
Salty opens a refrigerated cabinet and takes out a bucket of something crawling and alive.
"Worms!" Posey shrieks, drawing back dramatically. "Wiggling!"
"Let me show you how a master casts his line, Miss Posey." Salty casts his rod with the grace of a Red Sox pitcher. A moment later, his crusty voice cuts through the air. "We have a live one!"
"Oh, it's heavy! It's a big one!" he says, his voice taking on the dramatic quality of a stage actor before he reels in a giant fish.
"How about snacks before we head back to shore?" Salty says, taking bottled water, soda, and potato chips from the hold.
It's peaceful here, I think to myself, watching my daughter and Salty deep in conversation. For the first time since I can remember, I feel relaxed. No one's demanding anything from me. No contracts, no deadlines. It's like time has stopped.
Tara shifts closer to me in the confined space, her bare shoulder brushing against my arm. The simple contact sends heat shooting through me. It takes all my self-control to keep my hands by my sides.
"Well now," Salty says suddenly, settling back with the satisfied look of a man who's about to share something extraordinary, "I suppose it's time I told you about the day I was swallowed by a whale."