"Us working girls have to stick together." Then her tone lightens. "Speaking of which—there's a party tonight. Young workers, seasonal staff. Nothing fancy, but it beats counting tipsalone in your room. Want to come? I can pick you up and drive you there."
"I'd love that."
Chloe smiles. "So what's your story, Tara Thompson? Besides escaping trendy Manhattan clubs for the summer. Give me your nutshell bio.”
"I'm a student at NYU. Early childhood development major. But I minor in opera.”
“Really? Fascinating. Tell me more.”
“I sang the lead in the school production of Moby Dick last year. And that’s partly why I’m here. I heard the Met Opera was rehearsing its own production of Moby Dick on the island this summer. And I thought I once I’m here, I can find a way to get involved. Do you know anything about that?"
Chloe laughs. "Congrats on singing lead, but I wouldn't know about any of that. French rap is more my style." She crushes her cigarette. "But tonight will be a blast. I'll pick you up at eight o'clock."
As she heads inside, I feel lighter than I have all week, a buoyant relief spreading through my chest. A friend. A party.Tonight should be fun.
CHAPTER 7
CAMERON
The limousine's engine purrs to silence in front of a mansion that looks like a feature in Architectural Digest—all weathered gray shingles and pristine white trim. Gardens stretch in every direction, manicured to magazine perfection.
"This is for real," I mutter. I may live in a twenty-million-dollar penthouse in a high-rise hotel, but this is Old Money rich.
When I exit the limo, Edison bounds out behind me, his black coat gleaming in the afternoon sun. My Lab immediately investigates the Nantucket scents, so different from New York City.
Radha emerges from the limo gracefully, not a hair out of place despite the flight and car ride. Her crisp Armani pantsuit makes her look like she belongs here more than I do.
But who cares about belonging here? I'm comfortable in my jeans and black Versace T-shirt. Especially as it shows off the muscles I spent months building in the gym.
We make our way up the stone steps to massive double doors that probably predate the Revolutionary War. A man in a conservative suit opens the door.
"Ms. Kumar and Mr. Cameron Crow. I am Mr. White, the family solicitor. Mr. Jason Abernathy is waiting for you in the main salon."
Edison barks out a sharp, authoritative greeting that echoes through the marble foyer. The sound bounces off the oil paintings of dead Abernathys along the wall. They probably made their fortunes whaling or whatever rich bastards did back then.
"Easy, boy," I murmur to my dog. Yet honestly, I'm glad he's here. Edison stays close to my side as we walk through rooms that smell like old money and furniture polish.
We're led into a salon with enough antiques to stock the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
"May I present Mr. Jason Abernathy, the child's uncle. Jason, this is Mr. Cameron Crow and Radha Kumar."
Jason Abernathy steps forward with a politician's smile. He offers a firm handshake I don't take.
"Please sit down," Jason continues, like he owns the place. Then again, I realize he and Alice must have grown up here. Radha was vague about when and why his parents disowned him.
The silence stretches like when one of my old cheap guitar strings was about to snap.
"I understand the funeral was yesterday," Radha begins, her voice cool and professional. "Why wasn't my client informed?"
Mr. White clears his throat. "Terribly sorry. It was arranged at the last minute. Let us turn to the immediate matter." Mr. White adjusts his glasses. "Which is the child's welfare and living arrangements. As executor of the Abernathy estate, I need to establish temporary guardianship protocols."
"Meaning what, exactly?" I ask.
"Massachusetts law requires a period of evaluation before a biological father can relocate a minor child out of state, particularly when said father has had no previous contact." His tone is neutral, lawyerly. "We're looking at approximately two weeks."
Two weeks. I feel my jaw clench.
"Two weeks here? On this island?"
