Chapter 41
CAMERON
“Posey, you look like a princess,” Mrs. Bellows says, as my daughter makes her way down the staircase like a debutante off to a shimmering ball.
Once she reaches the first floor, Posey twirls, satin hem catching the light.
“I feel like a princess. Will you take lots and lots of pictures of me so I can show Tara when she gets back?"
"Of course," I say, exchanging a glance with Mrs. Bixby.
I'm glad that Posey has accepted my white lie that Tara will return soon. It makes things easier. For all of us.
Posey stops to look at Mrs. Bellows, who's exchanged her housedress and apron for a sparkly dress.
"You look beautiful too!"
The housekeeper had been astonished to learn that Miss Swain had extended her invitation to see Moby Dick to my entire household.
She revealed that she had brought her 'best dress' to appear on par with what she termed 'her betters.'
“You’re coming too! Goodie!”
“As you see,” Mrs. Bellows says, smoothing her white dress studded with rhinestones. “I dusted off my finery. Haven’t worn it in ten years—but it’s the Nantucket Opera.”
"Henry is waiting for us in the Rolls. Let's go."
"I'll take my own car if you don't mind, so I can drive home directly," Mrs. Bellows says.
As I help Posey into the Rolls, I fight the urge to call Tara again.
What more is there to say? Until Posey's custody suit is decided, we can’t risk being seen together.
It's a short drive to the playhouse.
As soon as we enter, I feel a surge of pride to see that the lobby is buzzing with activity.
But then I think of Tara, and feel a pang of regret.
How Tara would have loved to be here on this night, even only as an observer.
“Would you like drinks?" I ask my ladies once they settle onto a red velvet sofa in the lobby.
They hurl their orders at me.
"And please bring a 'Shirley Temple' cherry cocktail for Posey, Mr. Crow," says Mrs. Bellows. "It was my favorite drink when I was a girl."
At the bar, I nearly collide with Salty, looking spry in his tuxedo.
"You holding up okay?" he asks, gazing at me with those all-seeing blue eyes.
Social protocol demands I slap him on the back and tell him everything's great.
But I can't do that.
"Holding up, but barely," I sigh. "Tara's gone back to New York. I think it’s best to lie low until my new lawyer launches the countersuit."
"That's probably the best choice," he says after a moment of thinking it through. "But have faith. Things aren't always what they seem."
I let Salty's words resonate with me as I distribute the refreshments to the ladies.
They've barely had a chance to enjoy them before the bells chime.
Showtime.
We file into the theater.
My heart swells with pride to see Posey, a miniature 'fine lady,' as she accepts a libretto from a uniformed attendant.
And to think I never wanted a child.
Now I can’t imagine life without her.
Once we take our red velvet seats, the curtains rise.
The music director I met last night, Mr. Rudin, steps forward, all charm and gravitas.
“Ladies and gentlemen, an announcement. Our esteemed diva, Miss Fabiana Farr, cannot perform tonight.”
Groans ripple through the crowd.
My gut twists.
Tara would have killed for this moment.
What a cruel twist of fate that she had to leave before her shot at fame.
But then Mr. Rudin finishes his announcement.
"Instead, her understudy will make her debut. Please welcome… Miss Tara Thompson.”
Applause fills the auditorium.
“Tara’s back!” Posey squeals, turning to me. "Did you make this a surprise for me, Daddy Cameron?"
"Shhh," I say, startled myself. How did this all happen?
But I put my finger in front of my mouth as I face Posey.
"Quiet now. The performance will begin shortly."