Chapter 13
CAMERON
Posey recounts my heroic CPR performance to Mrs. Bixby over an early dinner in the Abernathy mansion's formal dining room. I love the way Posey makes sweeping dramatic gestures as she explains the story.
“My new daddy saved an old man's life with his bare hands!"
Her enthusiasm earns me more than a few approving nods from the stern Scottish nanny. She had been eyeing me with barely concealed skepticism since my arrival.
Now, with Posey tucked into bed and Mrs. Bixby retired to her quarters, I wander through the house with Edison padding silently at my heels. This is Posey's house now. Her inheritance.
Together, Edison and I enter an office I assume had belonged to Mr. Abernathy. Walnut paneling covers the walls. An expansive desk dominates the room. A large portrait of the Abernathy clan hangs there, showing the parents standing with Alice and Jason when they were children.
Edison woofs as my phone rings, breaking me out of my reverie. I look at the caller ID. It's Radha.
"Hey," I say, sitting down on the brown leather sofa. Edison jumps up and lays his glossy black head on my lap. "What's up?"
She takes a deep breath. "Cameron. I know how much you value your privacy. And how you despise the tabloids..."
"What happened?"
"Vanessa Sinclair's column in the New York Herald. The evening edition just dropped."
"And?"
"Some photographer caught a picture of you and Posey at this place called the Patriot Café. They're calling her your secret love child."
"Fuck," I say, blood rushing through my veins. Hearing the tension in my voice, Edison barks his concern.
"Cameron, calm down. You knew it had to happen one of these days. You couldn't keep her a secret forever."
"Nantucket's supposed to be a quiet island."
"Well, it's not. I just wanted you to be prepared, because the tabloids are now going to go crazy. Everyone's going to want a piece of that story. But at least you're portrayed as a do-gooder."
"What do you mean?"
"They also ran a story about you saving that guy's life."
"Oh, that," I say.
"Oh, that? You saved somebody's life, Cameron. I read the story. Why are you dismissing it?"
"It was a knee-jerk reaction for me. Someone needed CPR, and I knew how to give it."
"Fine. But if the media tries to contact you, just say, no comment. I'll connect with Vanessa Sinclair's office at the New York Herald and arrange a personal interview—"
"A personal interview? Why that?!"
"Because you're going to have to tell 'Posey's origin' story sometime. And it might as well be to the most powerful gossip columnist in Manhattan. Maybe even the world. Clear the air, so to speak."
"Oh, man..."
"How's it going with the kid?"
"Good. But I don't have any choice in the matter, do I?" I say, my voice rougher than I feel.
She's silent for a moment, reflecting. "Your clothes should arrive soon. Just try to get through the next few weeks. And don't get hotheaded if you encounter the press."
"All right, Radha. Good night," I say, clicking off the phone. I'm grateful to call it a night. Morning will come soon enough.