“Can I call you Dad?”
That’s the punch in the heart neither of us saw coming. The tears escape before I can stop them. Cooper isn’t faring much better, but his tears never leave his eyes. He says, “I’d really like that.” He wraps his arms around him, and they hug so tight that I think I’m going to need the Jaws of Life to separate them.
“Do I get to be a Haywood, too?”
Cooper taps his nose. “You always were, but if you want to add that into your name, maybe somewhere in the middle, we can ask Mom.”
I ask, “We don’t have to make a decision today, but do you like Reed Haywood Salenger or Reed Salenger Haywood?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. It’s a lot to figure out in one day, but no matter what he decides, Cooper’s right. He’s always been a part of both of us.
Popping off Cooper’s knee, Reed holds his hand out. When Cooper takes hold, Reed looks up and asks, “Can we get cotton candy, Daddy?”
Oh lordy, this kid. He knows how to work a situation to his advantage. I’m not sure if he gets that from Cooper or me, but I have a feeling we’re in trouble when he becomes a teen.
“Absolutely.”
Six Months Later
“You have a buyer,” Kathy whispers, pointing across the room. “Blond hair. Rich. Willing to spend her husband’s fortune to get back at him for having a mistress.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “That’s a lot of information. How do you know?”
She nods twice toward Louise. “She’s the mistress.”
I gasp, covering my mouth.
Kathy shrugs. “She also wants to build her art collection of up-and-comers.”
“I’m an up-and-comer.” I laugh at my joke, but when the gallery owner doesn’t, I ask, “Which photo is she interested in?”
“COOPER.” She shrugs again. “Guess she likes looking at your husband. A revenge purchase I can back. He’s also a gorgeous man.”
“But COOPER and REED aren’t for sale. It even says it on the placard.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Rich people think everything’s for sale. I’ve already told them so. Maybe figure out a price and throw it out to see if she bites.”
Hmpf. Not sure I like putting a price on my husband. I toss around numbers in my head as I cross the gallery, but nothing sticks. It feels dirty, like something his parents would do, and did.
The woman is dressed in designer clothes from head to toe. I can tell by the crazy mixture of patterns. Her thin legs dip from the knee-length skirt, and she’s in platform red heels. It’s a look I could never pull off but go her! “Hi, I heard you were interested in—”
“Cooper. Yes, very interested. How’d you get his picture?”
“I took it.” I stand beside her, staring at the matching pair of photographs—Reed and Cooper—peas in a pod and my little family. But her voice triggers bad memories of pearls in the grass. I look at her. Fuck.
Camille looks the same, maybe a little tired, but it’s after seven o’clock. Maybe she had a long day . . . or maybe her life decisions are catching up with her, and the fillers aren’t strong enough to fight against the evil polluting her pores. I wince, hating that I just sank to that level of depravity.
She rotates as if her neck doesn’t twist to the side. I rub the side of mine as she looks me over disapprovingly.
I could tug at my silk tank to straighten it or try to pull my jeans over the little muffin top I’ve developed, but why? Because she doesn’t approve? Camille Arden doesn’t matter to me. The people in those photos do.
She says, “You look familiar to me. Have we met?”
“A long time ago. I’m sure nothing you’d remember.”
Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she says, “What’s your name?” I point at the black letters on the wall. She hums and then adds, “Story Salenger? Nope, nothing.”
“Maybe you’ll recognize my married name? Mrs. Cooper Haywood.” I imagined that feeling a lot better when it played out in my head, it being a more you reap what you sow sort of moment.
Camille doesn’t huff and storm off. She just looks at me and then asks, “And that’s your son? Cooper Reed?”
“Yes. It’s our son.”
Looking back at the photos, she covers her stomach with her arm.
I touch her arm. “Are you okay?”
“No. I went to see my husband at the office earlier.” Her eyes water. “He told me he wants a divorce because he and his mistress are having a baby.”
My head whips around to see Louise laughing and touching her belly, celebrating the news. When I turn back to Camille, I say, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I went to see him to tell him that I’m pregnant.”
Oh. My heart sinks for her. Tears spring to her eyes, and she’s quick to dig a pair of large black Chanel sunglasses out of her bag. She puts them on and says, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I made your life miserable.” Her arms go wide. “You win. You won, Story. You got everything I ever wanted, and I got what I deserved.”
Other patrons look our way.
I lower my voice and try to see her eyes through the dark shades. “I was a single mom for years.” Her lips part in surprise as she stares. I continue, “So I understand what that’s like. I’m well-acquainted with the fear that comes along with it.” I dig a card out of my pocket. “If you’d like to grab a cup of coffee and talk about it, give me a call.”
With the card between her fingers, she asks, “Why would you do that for me?”
I shrug, not sure myself, quite honestly. “You just seem like you might need a friend.”
“I have friends. Lots of friends,” she says defensively.
“Okay. Use it or don’t. Either way, you have my number.”
She looks around with offense disfiguring her face, but then pockets my number in her purse. She looks awkwardly around the gallery, and then says, “You’re a very good photographer.”
“Thank you. Cooper’s not for sale,” I say, my husband or the photo, to make sure I’m clear.
She laughs lightly. “He never was.” Walking toward my Closet Collection—shoes, bags, candy wrappers, and diet drugs—she says, “I really like these and would like to buy them.”
“Really? Do you want to know the price?”
“No. Whatever it is, double it.” She hands me a black credit card. “But can we ring them up before my husband cuts me off?”
“Absolutely.”
“That’s wild,” Cooper says, spooning ice cream into his mouth.
“I thought so, too.”
“I don’t understand how you can be so nice to people who literally plotted for your demise.”
“Two reasons, I’d never want to be so lost in life that I’d wish that kind of ill will on another person. Secondly, everyone deserves a second chance.” Holding my finger up, I add, “Except your parents. They can rot in hell.”
He chuckles and then presses his cold, sticky lips to mine. I purr. “Delicious.”
“Just like you.” I thought he was leading that somewhere, like into the bedroom, but nope, he finishes the ice cream and sets the bowl down, and says, “Did I ever tell you about this girl named Eliza from back in college?”
I put my hands up. “Stop. We’re not going to do this. If you slept with her or anything else, I’m not interested in that part of your past.”
“Can’t I just confess?”
“No.” I tap his chin. “Just let it go. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Are you sure?”
Since he sounds like he really wants to get this off his chest, I ask, “Are you sure?”
“She’s been in the rearview for a long time.” He lies back on the couch, and I settle down next to him.
“Then that’s the answer.” Lifting up again, I say, “You’re not going to believe this. Camille bought four of my photos.”
He strokes my hair back and tucks some behind my ear. “That’s incredible.”
“They were revenge purchases, but she still bought them for forty thousand dollars.”
“Holy shit.”
“That’s what I said,” I say, my voice pitching.
Since we’re struggling to get comfortable, he’s the one now sitting up. “What’s a revenge purchase?”