Page 73 of The Fix
She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Indeed.” They both stood there awkwardly, Posey searching for something to say. “Would you like a slice of pie? Our cook just baked an apple crumble.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said it. It’d just sprung to her lips before she’d considered it. Perhaps she was ill.One of the first signs of a brain tumor is behavioral changes. Thirteen percent of all new brain cancers are diagnosed in those under twenty.
But all Tatum said was, “I’d love some pie. Lead the way, Posey Kiss.”
Over the next few months, Posey and Tatum spent time together whenever his father was there conducting business. Posey had told her father that she didn’t like people her age and they didn’t like her, but whenever she spotted Tatum’s father’s vehicle, she found herself heading in the direction of the library to seek him out.
Tatum looked at Posey as though she both amused and delighted him. And he waited for her answer the same way her father did—with interest in his eyes. But there was more than interest, and though Posey tried to categorize it, she was lacking in the ability to do so. And he seemed intent on asking questions that she had no answers to.
“What takes your breath away, Posey?” he asked one icy winter day as they sipped hot chocolate in front of a cozy fire in the parlor.
Posey paused before lowering the mug she’d just sipped from. The question confused her. But come to think of it, she did feel short of breath each time she was in Tatum’s presence. In fact, she felt mildlylightheaded right that very moment. Why was that? She set the mug on the coffee table in front of them. “Health problems may cause shortness of breath,” she said, a deeper worry about her health taking up. Perhaps it wasn’t a brain tumor. Maybe she was ill like her father. The chances of that were low, but not impossible. “Ailments such as asthma—”
“No,” he said, leaning in, his blue eyes twinkling, “what sings to your soul?”
She wanted to answer him. She did. Intelligent people had come to her for answers to difficult questions all her life. “Urr ... a soul ... I don’t believe can interpret sound. The quantification is such ...”
Tatum leaned in and kissed her. His lips nibbled at hers, his tongue moving slowly over her parted mouth before he slowly drew away.
It was terrible and disgusting, and she wanted him to do it again. What was happening to her? If not a brain tumor, then what?
“Have you been in love, Posey?” he whispered.
“No. Why would I do that?” she whispered back.
Again, he laughed, but his laughter didn’t feel mean, not like Anton’s. “You’re beautiful, you really are.”
“My father says so, as you know. But my features aren’t proportional. One eye is a millimeter higher than the other.”
He reached up and gently removed her glasses and looked in her eyes. He blurred before her, a watercolor of blues and browns and golds. “Are you trying to talk me out of thinking you’re beautiful?”
“Err . . .”
Later, when she was alone, Posey brought her fingers to her lips and recalled the way his mouth had felt on hers. Why had she enjoyed it? Why did she like the way he confounded her? It made no sense. She did a few calculations, but without clear variables, no answers were forthcoming.
Chapter Forty-Three
There he was—Hollis Barclay in the flesh. Even after all these years, Cami had expected to experience more emotions when she saw him. In some ways, in her mind, Hollis remained the golden boy, a frozen part of that sparkling, gilded era right before she’d lost everything of value to her. But other times, all she could remember of him was his backside as he’d raced for the door, abandoning her and their child.
But now? Now she felt neither nostalgia nor bitterness. She only felt a mild sense of distaste as she watched him with his plastered-on smile, moving from one donor to the next, shaking hands and taking photos, the consummate politician.
He was still the best-looking man in the room. He’d be any woman’s dream if said woman only wanted to go skin deep and was also searching for an antihero who would beat it out of Dodge at the first hint of challenge.
Good luck, state of Virginia.
She approached from the side, moving with the throng of people attempting to get his attention. Someone jostled her, and she stepped forward just as Hollis turned, and they collided. He gripped her upper arms, his mouth opening to greet her and then shutting, his lips returning to that same smile. It barely faltered, but itdidfalter, and she took satisfaction in the minuscule wobble. “Camille Cortlandt?” He let go of her arms and took a step back so he could look her up and down. “My God, how long has it been?”
“Eleven years,” she said. “Hi, Hollis.”
He stared and then leaned in and kissed her cheek, lingering for a moment in a way that made her want to push him away. She never wanted this man to touch her again. Not even in casual greeting. “You look fantastic,” he said, and his expression told her he meant it. “You haven’t aged a day.”
“Hollis, the Nelsons would like to meet you.” The staffer who’d interrupted them leaned in closer, but Cami heard his whisper. “They’re the ones who just made the six-figure donation.”
“I’ll be right there,” Hollis told the man. “This is an old friend from school.”
He turned back to her with a smile that was tighter than it’d been before. Now she was bothering him and keeping him from his six-figure friends. “What are you doing here?” he asked. He attempted to make it sound light and conversational, but it came out annoyed. Before she could answer, he glanced over her shoulder and lifted his hand in greeting to someone more important. It was clear he was ready to move on.
“I’m here to see you about something important. Can I have a minute?”
Another falter. Another dip of his smile.
