I pose—awkward at first, then stronger as the flash pops.
I can feel eyes on me—donors, patrons, strangers. My heart soars to see Cameron watching me with Posey by his side, pride etched across both their faces.
“Is that your family?” the photographer asks suddenly, glancing at Cameron and Posey. “Would you like them in the shot as well?”
I think of Jason and how he’d twist this to suit his objective.
Cameron and I had already agreed: the less we’re seen together, the better—for Posey’s sake.
“Thanks, but no.”
“Reconsider, please. It always makes for a stronger feature if we can show a singer’s roots.”
When I glance at Posey, her hopeful smile disarms me completely. She’s overheard Mr. Kane’s offer of a family photo and is already tugging at Cameron’s sleeve, as if begging him to say yes.
“Okay,” I hear myself say, voice steady, even though my heart is hammering. “Why not?”
Posey squeals and rushes forward, her tiny arms wrapping around my waist.
Cameron’s eyes cut to mine. In them, I see surprise. Then understanding. As if to say:Forget Jason. Let’s memorialize this magic moment.
He takes his place by my side.
Mr. Kane signals to the photographer. “Perfect. Hold just like that.”
Flash. Flash. Flash.
Mrs. Bixby hovers nearby, her face tight and unreadable.
But Mrs. Bellows’s face seems to reflect a thousand emotions: pride, happiness—and something I can’t name.
She rummages frantically in her oversized handbag until she unearths a crumpled tissue and dabs at her eyes.
I try to smile through the glare of the camera, but my chest twists.Why is she crying like this?It’s Moby Dick, not a sentimental tragedy like La Bohème.
Time passes. The crowd thins.
I notice Mrs. Bellows blotting her eyes with the now ragged tissue.
“Mrs. Bellows? Are you all right?”
She startles, as if caught. “Oh—yes, dear. Just proud, that’s all. You’ve done well tonight.”
Her voice cracks halfway through. She turns quickly, shoulders stiff. Her tissue is soaked through.
I frown. Before I can press her, Cameron steps to my side.
“Let’s get Posey settled. Too much excitement for one night.”
We move, but heavy footsteps follow.
“Wait,” Mrs. Bellows says, her voice low, urgent. “Mr. Crow. Miss Tara. Please.”
Cameron signals to Mrs. Bixby to keep Posey close, then returns to me. Mrs. Bellows stands near a velvet bench, wringing the limp tissue between her hands.
“I shouldn’t say this,” she whispers. “I swore I never would. Jason… he was like my own boy. I raised him after my Michael died.”
Before Mrs. Bellows continues, she breaks down again into a torrent of tears.
