Chapter 8 - The Nursery in the Clouds
The transition from a two-room basement apartment in Bridgeport to the sprawling stone estate in Lake Forest had taken Hope six months to fully accept.
During the first three weeks, she had insisted on sleeping with her canvas shoes on, her small fingers clutching the straps of her backpack, terrified that if she closed her eyes without her luggage packed, a landlord would knock on the door at midnight to tell them their time was up.
It was Cameron who had cured her of that terror.
Every evening at seven o'clock, regardless of whether he was negotiating with maritime delegates from Tokyo or closing credit agreements with Wall Street underwriters, Cameron would walk into her second-floor bedroom, take off his heavy work boots, and sit cross-legged on the sheepskin rug.
He didn't read her fairy tales about princes in towers.
He taught her how to read nautical charts. He showed her how to track commercial container vessels using satellite AIS transponders on his tablet, letting her trace the blue shipping lanes across the Atlantic while he explained how deep-water draft works in winter channels.
"Look, Mr. Cameron," Hope said one evening in late October, pointing her small finger at a blinking green icon on the screen. "That one is called The Sovereign Star. Is that one of ours?"
"That is one of ours, Hope," Cameron smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Carrying eight thousand tons of Canadian wheat into the St. Lawrence Seaway. Built by union welders in South Chicago."
"And who tells the captain where to steer?"
"Your mother does," Cameron replied, his voice rich with quiet reverence. "She sits in the high office on Wacker Drive, looks at the weather reports, and makes sure the ships don't hit the rocks."
Hope tilted her head, her dark hazel eyes wide with unchildlike wonder. "Did my other dad have ships?"
The air in the room contracted slightly, but Cameron didn't flinch. He had spent eight months ensuring that the ghost of Adrian Cole was never treated as an unspeakable curse in this house, but as an object lesson in the difference between blood and honor.
"Your other father had paper, Hope," Cameron answered gently, his hand resting warm and steady against her shoulder. "He had deeds, and he had stock certificates. But he never understood that a ship doesn't move because you have your name on the mast. A ship moves because the men in the engine room trust you to bring them home."
Hope leaned forward, resting her chin on his knee, looking up into his weathered, scarred face.
May you like
"I like our ships better," she whispered.
"Me too, little bird," Cameron murmured, lifting her into his arms, setting her under the heavy down comforter, kissing her forehead as her eyes fluttered shut beneath the soft glow of the nightlight. "Me too."
