He shrugs. "Longer than we want."
"But Posey is your daughter! I see you in her. Not just her appearance. But your mannerisms. You're so alike."
"The law doesn't see it that way."
We sit in silence.
I finish my scotch even though I rarely drink hard liquor. It doesn't make me tipsy. It just steadies my nerves.
"What's going to happen to Posey?" I finally ask.
"I'll fight it. You know I will. I have the money for the best lawyers. Radha already gave me a list. We'll interview them together."
"No," I say, looking into his eyes.
"No? No what?"
"I mean, no. I can't stay here. It will ruin everything for you and Posey. You and whatever lawyer you hire must work together to defuse what Jason said about you being a bad father. I'm sure this attorney would advise you to distance yourself from me. At least until the battle is over."
"When it is, we'll work to clear your name. So you don't have a criminal record."
I nod. That seems so far in the future. "I better go upstairs and pack."
"But where will you go?"
I try to smile. "Zaza said Keesha was having trouble with her new roommate. I'll couch surf until she's gone."
"I'll give you enough cash to survive this summer until Posey and I move back to New York."
The unspoken words 'if he can move back to New York' hang invisible in the air.
When I turn to go upstairs, I half expect him to follow me up to my bedroom.
But I hear him playing “Shelter from the Storm” on his guitar, its familiar melody reawakening that magical experience we shared.
CHAPTER 39
TARA
The next morning, I pack with brutal efficiency. There isn’t much to pack—a few pairs of jeans, T-shirts, my journal, and the scraps of a life I don’t really want to leave.
A handful of days that were the best—and the most excruciating—of my life.
They say it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Whoever wrote that never had to walk away from Cameron Crow.
Just thinking his name is a knife between my ribs. What did I do to deserve this?Love him? Love him too much?
When the zipper finally closes, I tiptoe into Posey’s room. She’s sprawled sideways across her bed, curls tangled on the pillow, breathing in soft little huffs. An angel in chaos.
I pull the blanket up around her shoulders, rescuing Mr. Froggy from the floor and tucking him beside her.
He stares up at me with that silly grin. “Bye, Mr. Froggy,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his green fabric head.
“Keep her safe.”
Then I back out, leaving the door cracked open, already feeling like a ghost in this house.
In the kitchen, Edison barrels toward me, paws skidding on the tiles.
