Chapter 35
TARA
Once I get Posey into the waiting Rolls-Royce, the questions begin. "But what happened to Daddy Cameron?" she says, her small voice trembling as she strokes Edison's soft fur.
"Why did the police take him? Why did that man buy me cotton candy and take pictures of me? What was so wrong about him doing that?"
Despite my shock at seeing Cameron taken away—almost literally in chains—I force myself to put on a bright demeanor for Posey. Even though my hands are still shaking and my heart feels like it might beat right out of my chest.
"Your daddy is famous, and famous people have fans. Sometimes fans get possessive about their favorite stars. They cross boundaries."
I smooth her hair back from her tear-stained face, my maternal instincts blazing stronger than I knew possible.
Posey looks at me with those wide, trusting eyes, waiting for me to make sense of this nightmare.
"Remember when you were at the library telling children the story about Salty and the whale?" I ask, keeping my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
She nods, lower lip still quivering.
"Remember how popular you were afterward? How they flocked around you and kept asking more questions?"
She nods more vigorously, some of the fear fading.
"That day, you created a fan club. A group of kids who loved the way you tell stories. That man was just overstepping his bounds. He was trying to get too close. And your dad overreacted. But don't worry. Your father will be back home soon."
"I hope so," she whispers, curling against my side as Henry navigates us through the narrow Nantucket streets.
My throat tightens watching her small fingers twist anxiously in her lap. Posey's already lost so much. Her grandparents—her entire world — upended.
And now she's witnessed her newfound father being dragged away in handcuffs. The protective fury that rises in me is almost overwhelming.
When we arrive home, I leave Posey in Mrs. Bixby's capable hands, briefly explaining what happened out of her hearing.
Mrs. Bixby's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. Then she gets that look. The one that clearly says: That's what happens when you let a rockstar into Nantucket.
I ignore her judgment and head up to my room, my body finally allowing the tremors I've been suppressing all afternoon.
My hands shake as I reach for my phone to call Radha. When Cameron first gave it to me for an emergency, I thought I'd never have to use it.
By the time I reach her, Radha’s already in motion. "I'm in a car for the airport," she says without preamble. "I posted bail as soon as Cameron called me. With luck, he'll be released before my flight lands. What happened, Tara? Cameron couldn't speak freely at the police station."
I tell her briefly what transpired, my voice catching as I relive the moment Cameron's control finally snapped. The sound of that expensive camera exploding against brick. Posey's terrified screams. The cold click of handcuffs around his wrists.
"Thanks for hanging in there," Radha says when I finish. "I don't know you well, but you seem like a good person."
When she hangs up, I feel suddenly, achingly alone in this big house without Cameron's presence filling it. The silence presses against me like a weight. I can hear Mrs. Bixby running Posey's bath. It feels reassuring to know Posey’s in good hands.
I call Zaza, needing to hear a familiar voice.
“Hey there, diva,” Zaza says when I answer the phone. Her silly nickname for me usually makes me smile, but tonight it barely registers.
"You sound down,” she says a few minutes later. “What’s wrong?”
I take a deep breath. “I’ll tell you because you'll probably read it in Vanessa Sinclair's column soon. But Cameron was just arrested for busting a guy's camera today."
"You're kidding!"
“No. And I'm afraid for him, Zaza."
"Why? He has the money to bail himself out, right?"
"It's not just about the money."
I can't burden her with Jason and the paternity case—that's not my story to tell.
So I let her comfort me in her own inimitable way, her familiar silly chatter washing over me like a balm.
When we finally hang up, the house feels even quieter. I pace my room, unable to settle. I check the time obsessively. How long will it be before he's home?
Cameron and Radha arrive just as Mrs. Bellows is putting dinner on the table. Relief floods through me so powerfully it nearly brings me to my knees.
Upon meeting Radha, I’m struck by how beautiful Cameron’s lawyer is in person. She's older than me—maybe twenty-seven. But she has a polished Manhattan sophistication that money and connections bestow on women with high-profile careers.
Her beige Armani pantsuit is nothing I'd ever wear—too corporate, too severe. But she makes it look effortlessly sexy.
I feel suddenly young and underdressed in my simple jeans and cotton shirt.
Seeing Radha, Edison darts over to bark his hello. I watch as Radha kneels and rubs her beautiful face against his warm fur.
"Good to see you, Ed," she says. "Looks like you enjoy Nantucket."
Edison woofs his reply.
"Mr. Cameron," Mrs. Bellows says, looking surprised as she appears from the dining room. "We weren't expecting you or your guest. I'll set another place."
"I can't stay," Radha says with that cultured voice.
"Please," Cameron says, his voice sounding weary. "You haven't met my daughter or her nannies."
He looks toward Mrs. Bixby, holding Posey's hand. "This is Mrs. Bixby, who's been with Posey since she was an infant. And this," his eyes find mine, sending heat spiraling through my chest, "is Tara."
"Two nannies for such a little girl," Radha observes with polite curiosity. "But I suppose this is Nantucket."
The statement makes me smile. That does seem to be the trend, as the Swain-Black family also had two nannies. I step forward before the comment can create any awkwardness.
"It's nice to meet you in person," I say, extending my hand.
Her handshake is cool and elegant, her fingers soft in a way that speaks of manicures and hand cream. Luxuries I could never afford after my father's misfortune. No wedding ring. It irks me that I even looked.
During dinner, Posey peppers Radha with questions about her life in New York. Her childish curiosity is a welcome distraction from my growing discomfort.
"Are you like the lawyers I see on TV?" Posey asks.
"There are many different kinds of lawyers," Radha answers with a sly smile at Cameron. That smile they share irks me as well.
"Are you a good lawyer or a bad lawyer?"
"I hope I'm a good lawyer. That's for your father to decide," she says, catching his eye again.
"She's one of the best," Cameron says.
I feel another flash of jealousy, sharp and unwelcome.
After dessert, I rise to put Posey to bed.
"It's all right," Mrs. Bixby says. "You stay and help Mr. Cameron entertain his guest."
"Come on, Edison," Posey says, gesturing for the dog to join her upstairs.
I turn my attention to Radha, curious to hear more about the legal situation now that Posey's out of earshot.
Mrs. Bellows efficiently clears the table and retreats to the kitchen, leaving the three of us alone in the dining room.
"So what really happened?" I ask Cameron, leaning forward in my chair. "Did you have to post millions in bail?"
He laughs, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders.
"Not millions—but close."
I want to ask why he felt compelled to destroy that camera. But with Radha here, I hold my tongue.
"I'm really concerned about what this means for Jason's case," I say, looking between them both. My stomach has been tight with worry ever since I witnessed his explosive rage at the marketplace.
"Well," Radha says, biting her lower lip thoughtfully, "it's not good. But while I was waiting for my flight, I researched several stellar custody attorneys. I'll interview them when I'm back in New York. Then Cameron can make the final selection."
"Should it come to that," Cameron interjects. "We still don't know what Jason's planning."
Radha glances at her watch again. "I really must go now." She turns to Cameron with a smile that's entirely too warm for my liking.
"You have an adorable daughter," she says as she rises. "You're really a lucky man."
Cameron considers her words. "I know I am.”
Then he does it—he kisses her goodbye. Right there in front of me.
Okay, maybe it's not a romantic movie-style kiss. But still.
When he walks her to the door, I'm left alone with the taste of jealousy bitter in my mouth. And the realization that I have no claim on him.