“Oh, I can’t see colors. That’s for professionals like Mrs. Dolly.” She laid both hands on the table, splaying her fingers wide. “I feel emotions.” She touched her forefinger and thumb together on each hand, forming a loose triangle. “Plus, I ask a lot of questions. Some may call it meddling, but I figure it’s part of my service. The advice portion of the beautification routine.”
“Of course,” he agreed, thinking this might be the oddest conversation of his life.
“There’s this…sadnessabout her. Something soft beneath those unfortunate clothes. But also something sturdy enough, capable enough, to make you hesitate before prying.” Her brow wrinkled in deliberation. “Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “It does.”
“I’m not surprised, you know.”
He tilted his head, trailing his finger along a phone number—Scott, 555-1676—scratched into the wood. “About?”
“That it’s Fontana.”
Campbell let out a short laugh and lifted a hand, physically shoving the idea away. “Hold on, you’ve got the wrong idea.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Listen,” he said, annoyed—when a month ago, this conversation would have amused him. “Any differences in mymodus operandiare on me, and nothing but. Call it old age if you want, but I’m just evaluating my business methods.”
“Business methods? Jeez, Camp, you’re a case.” Tammi spun her glass on the table, grinning. “You and Fontana’ll be great together. Two turtles who don’t want to share their shells. Loners, when it comes right down to it.” She shrugged. “Cameras and trees. Really not much difference. Something to hide behind.”
“That isn’t it.”
“What is it then, sugar?”
“I’m just…it’s”—he paused long enough to down the remains of his watery scotch—“I’m not...I’m not sure I want to bemeanymore. Campbell True, ace photographer. Able to leap small buildings in a single bound, screw like Casanova, and compose pictures like Gustave Le Gray. But a horrible guy when it comes to the rest. The important stuff.”
“Gustoff Le who?”
“Never mind. Coming home induces a troubled mental state. Forget I mentioned it.” He set his empty glass down with a quietthunk, then ran his finger absently over the phone number scratched into the table. Scott was just another poor fool looking for love. “Hell, honestly, I’m exhausted. Mostly with myself.”
Tammi reached for his hand. This time he noticed the difference—warmth without heat—and he didn’t pull away. “Your father did a number on you with his mumbo-jumbo crap. What abad boyyou were. How much grief you caused him once he married Celia.”
She let out a slow breath, fingers tightening around his. “I know what a truly awful human being she was. I felt her poison clear to my toes whenever she came into the shop to buy her fancy conditioner. Never stopped for a cut or color. The place wasn’t near good enough for her. The people weren’t good enough.” She gathered a breath, and he was almost afraid of what she was gearing up to say. “I had her ticket a long time ago. I watched her whenever the two of you were in the same room. Her eyes ate you up like a slice of pie. Did I ever tell you that?”
“No,” he said, his stomach starting to churn. “No, you didn’t.”
“Reminded me of a spider spinning a web.Lor-dy, she couldn’t forget I got to you first.”
“Shenevergotto me.” He yanked his hand free, the pulse in his head running wild.
“I didn’t say she did.”
“But you believe it. Everyone in town believes it.”
“To the devil with what everyone believes. Just follow your heart, Camp.”
He barely covered his amazement. “Myheart? Tam, are you crazy?”
“Of course I am. How stupid of me.” She let out a muted laugh, swiped her lipstick again, and gave him a lopsided smile. “Go forth and conquer, Campbell. And try—for me, for old times’ sake—to be happy.”
Rising from the booth, he looked down at her, flashes of the past flickering through his mind. And, for once, that felt okay. “Those days, I want you to know I wouldn’t trade them for anything. You were a safe haven in the midst of chaos.”
“Go.” Tammi waved him off with a flick of her fingers. “Seeing how growing boys and grouchy old farts sleep later than the rest of us, you have until morning. And, anyway, you’ll be just across the field.”
She made the familiar pick-a-lock gesture against her lips, golden eyes glistening.
“Until morning,” he whispered as the Nook’s door swung shut behind him, the humid rush of air against his face carrying the promise of rain. He tipped his head back, studying the endless night sky, stars peeking through like jewels scattered across black velvet. A late-night jog might be in order, to help clear his mind. Mary Francis had decided to stay at the Rise, so the boys weren’t alone.
