Chapter 25
TARA
“Where's Daddy Cameron?" asks Posey, looking up and down Main Street. "It seems as if we've been walking forever."
"Are you tired? We can go home and have lunch now."
Posey considers this. "I enjoy showing off my new clothes. I can't wait for Daddy Cameron and Edison to see me."
"Me too." I'm as excited as Posey for Cameron to see her in her new jeans, looking like any other carefree four-year-old instead of a porcelain doll.
"I'd like to keep walking. But what about our car?"
"It's following us with our packages inside. Don't you see?"
She turns her head and smiles when she spots the Rolls-Royce a few paces behind.
We make our way toward India Street, and I spot a sign: "Nantucket Atheneum." I'd read about it during my pre-summer research.
But now I wish Cameron were discovering it with us.
I love watching the way his eyes light up when Posey learns something new. The pride that transforms his entire face.
I know he has important business to handle. But I still miss him. And I'm still curious about the text he received.
"Let's go to the library. Maybe they have picture books.”
"Oh! That sounds fun!" she says.
The building is all white stone and grandeur. Greek porticos. Grand, like a courthouse from the 1880s.
"Wow," says Posey, pausing. "Do you think we're dressed too brightly to go in?"
"Dressed too brightly?"
She shrugs. "Grandmama always said we need to wear dark, serious clothes to places like churches or government buildings."
"Well, no one's enforcing a dress code here. This is supposed to be a fun place. I bet there are other kids inside."
Cameron would probably laugh at the idea of a four-year-old worrying about library dress codes. I can almost hear his low chuckle, the way it rumbles in his chest when Posey says something quaint. God, I miss Cameron's voice already.
We walk up wide stone steps and enter.
Inside, the librarian looks up and gives us a polite smile.
"Hi," I say. "Where's the children's section?"
"Over there," she says, pointing. "But you'll have to be quiet—it's story time."
"Story time?" Posey echoes. "Do you think they might tell a story about a frog?"
The librarian laughs softly. "They might. You'll have to go find out. But remember—shhh," she adds, placing a finger to her lips.
Posey mimics the sound perfectly, sending it back to me with exaggerated seriousness. The gesture is so endearing I want to scoop her up and kiss her.
I take a mental picture of Posey to share with Cameron when we're at home later.
We follow the signs toward a cozy, colorful room full of low stools and toddler-height shelves. A woman is reading from a large picture book. Posey hesitates, then pulls at my arm.
"You come with me," she says, picking an empty spot near the front and tugging me down beside her.
Seven or eight other kids sit in a loose half-circle, all of them turning to stare at Posey.
For a moment, I see something flicker across her face. Uncertainty, maybe. The same unsure look I had walking into the opera break room. A stranger in a strange land.
The librarian finishes her story and closes the book.
"Well now," she says, offering Posey a kind smile, "looks like we have a newcomer. What's your name?"
I hold my breath. I've only known Posey for a few days. Is she the type to retreat under pressure or rise to it? Perhaps she'd inherited Cameron's instinct for reading a room. I wish he were here to guide her through this moment.
"My name is Posey Abernathy," she says clearly. "I'm four years old. This is my first time at this library. And I like it."
The librarian beams. "I'm so glad to hear that, Miss Posey. Now it's time for a break. There's lemonade and cookies in the refreshment corner. And children, please take a moment to introduce yourselves to Miss Posey during the break."
"It's just Posey," she corrects with a proud little tilt of her chin. "I'm not a 'Miss.'"
Two kids giggle. The librarian gives a small, surprised nod.
"Well then, just Posey, would you like a cookie?"
Posey shakes her head. "Not just yet. First, I want to tell the others a better story than the one you just told."
The librarian blinks. "A better story than Hansel and Gretel?"
"I liked it," Posey says quickly, "but that story doesn't mean much anymore. Nobody eats children nowadays. We have grocery stores."
A few kids make surprised sounds. One boy says, "That's what I thought too."
Another nod. "Yeah! It's a weird story."
The librarian looks slightly flustered. "Well, that's what fairy tales are. They're made up."
Posey lifts her hand. "Then I'll tell a story that's real. A true story."
The librarian glances at her watch before she answers, but finally says, "All right. If it's not too long."
Posey stands and points to the librarian's chair. "May I sit there? It's the storyteller's chair, right?"
The librarian looks momentarily stunned, then gives her a slow nod. "Yes. If you're telling the story, the chair is yours."
Posey hops up onto the oversized chair and plants herself firmly.
"I'm going to tell you a true story. It's not made up. And if you don't believe me, I'll bring the man who was swallowed by the whale to tell you himself."
A murmur ripples through the kids. One boy shouts a question: "A man swallowed by a whale?"
Posey holds up a hand with authority. "No interruptions. If you want to hear it, listen."
She scans the room, making eye contact with each child before she begins. She even waits a second to be sure they're ready.
The gesture is so perfectly Cameron. I've watched videos of him doing exactly this. Drawing in an audience with nothing but presence and timing. Posey has never seen him perform, yet somehow she has his same instincts.
As Posey launches into Salty's story, she gets his voice right—his salty rasp and wharf slang. She even mimics the creaking of the boat and makes herself wobble in the chair as if swaying with the ocean waves.
And she's good. Shockingly good.
She describes the small fishing boat, the sudden gray sky, and how the whale rose from the sea with a great shadow. Her little arms spread wide as she shows how big it was. Her eyes grow wide, dramatic, sweeping the room with each twist in the tale.
"The whale didn't mean to eat him," she says solemnly, "but the wave hit the boat and whoosh—he was inside."
The kids gasp. One covers her mouth.
"But the whale didn't like the way he tasted," Posey adds, straight-faced. "So it spat him back out."
Another kid jumps up. "That's crazy!"
"He must not have tasted very good," another says, and everyone laughs, loud and delighted.
Cameron would be blown away to see his daughter commanding a room like this.
"Come on," someone shouts. "Let's get cookies!"
They rush off toward the refreshment table, peppering Posey with questions as they go.
I stay back, watching her animated gestures as she explains more details to her new audience.
The librarian approaches me, shaking her head in amazement. “So that's the little Abernathy girl," she says. "Her grandparents never brought her in for story time. Odd family. Kept to themselves. Especially since Jason..."
She cuts herself off.
"Since Jason what?" I ask, though part of my attention is still on wishing Cameron were here to witness Posey's moment of triumph.
"Oh, who knows what's true and what's rumor," the librarian says. "You know how it is. Old money families, old drama. Best to let sleeping dogs lie."
She adjusts a stack of books but glances back at Posey. "But she's a lovely child. Smart. That story—I've never seen a four-year-old hold a room like that."
"She certainly takes after her father in that respect," I murmur, unable to keep the warmth from my voice.
The librarian's eyebrows lift with interest, but I don't elaborate.
"Tara!" Posey calls, waving me over to the refreshment table. "Come meet my new friends!"
I take a few pictures of Posey with her friends to show Cameron tonight and to share her storytelling success. Casually. Like any good nanny would.
I’ve come to look forward to these moments more than a real nanny should. And I already dread the day this short arrangement ends.