Oh God. Milly.
She’s still on the balcony. I push through the crowd, making my way through the French door until I’m beside my cousin. One look at her glassy eyes, and I know the combination of shock and champagne has rendered her sharp tongue useless. Any other night, Milly would’ve gone toe-to-toe with Uncle Anders. But when I thread my fingers through hers, she just stares down at them like her hand is an alien appendage she’s never seen before.
“I should’ve known,” she says, her voice thick with alcohol. “I’m so stupid.”
“No you’re not.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. “Should’ve known what?”
“That it was Jonah’s parents.”
“Huh?” I’m still not getting it. I know Milly’s more than a little drunk, but I need her to focus. “Can you explain things to me like I’m in kindergarten?”
She presses a hand to her forehead, like that’ll help her collect her thoughts. “I read an article in the Providence Journal about how all these families lost money because of Uncle Anders’s financial advice. One man said he’d declared bankruptcy, and he— God. His name was Frank North. But I didn’t make the connection.” Her face hardens, eyes flashing with a shadow of her usual fire. “Because Jonah didn’t tell me. Didn’t tell us. All this time we’ve been protecting him, keeping quiet about who he really is, and he never bothered to let us know that oh, by the way, he has a massive grudge against our family.”
“Ohhh,” I breathe. Jonah’s just like you manipulated my parents comment—which had flown right over my head in the heat of the moment—suddenly comes back to me, and his whole demeanor makes a lot more sense. No wonder he Hulked out at the name Anders. “So he hates Uncle Anders.”
“And us, probably.” Milly folds her arms tightly across her chest. “He’s been using us for cover. Stringing us along till he could do something like this, and humiliate our entire family. I gave him the perfect opportunity, didn’t I?”
“No,” I say quickly. “He wouldn’t do that.” Milly doesn’t respond, and I squeeze her arm. “Milly, come on. Even if Jonah were a complete jerk, which I don’t think he is, he’s not that good of an actor. You saw through him in a flash, remember?”
“I didn’t see this,” she says dully.
I want to find the right words to comfort her, but before I can say anything else, Donald Camden leans through the doors, his face a cold mask of fury.
“You two. You’re going back to the dorms. I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”
Of all the ways I thought my time on Gull Cove Island might end, I didn’t picture two guys in suits standing over me in a dorm room while I stuff everything I own into my duffel bag.
“Am I under arrest?” I finally blurt out.
Suit No. 1 huffs out a laugh. They’re both blond guys in their thirties, but he’s taller and broader. He’s holding the bag with my rental tuxedo, which they told me to change out of as soon as we got to the dorm. At least they waited in the hall while I did it. “We’re not cops, kid. We’re security detail. Our job is to get you off resort premises and into a hotel downtown. You get one night to make arrangements with whatever parent or guardian is responsible for you. Mrs. Story expects you to be off the island by tomorrow afternoon.” His tone is even, almost bored, as he adds, “What happens to you after that isn’t our problem.”
I zip my duffel in response, which Suit No. 2 takes as his cue to grab my arm again. “All right, let’s get moving,” he says.
“I’m coming,” I say tersely, shaking free. “But I need to send a text. I have to get in touch with my parent or guardian, right?”
His neutral expression doesn’t change. “Make it fast.”
He propels me toward the door and shuts it behind us. I blink in the fluorescent lights of the hall, too bright after the dim dorm room, until the dark spots in front of my eyes fade to reveal a half-dozen curious faces. Every Towhee who’s not working or attending the gala is in the hallway to watch my walk of shame. News travels fast on a twelve-mile island.
“So long, Jonah,” Reid Chilton’s roommate calls. “If that is in fact your name.”
“Get back in your rooms,” Suit No. 2 says. “Show’s over.”
Nobody listens. I keep my head down as the Suits lead me outside, scrolling through my contacts. But I’m not looking for father’s number; I’ll deal with that later. Instead, I pull up Milly’s.
I’m sorry, I text once I’m buckled into the backseat of the car. I screwed everything up.
Every time I think about what I did tonight, I feel sick. When Donald Camden burst in on my kiss with Milly, my time as Jonah Story was officially up. I knew it, and part of me was even relieved. What I should’ve done next was this: grab Milly’s hand and tell everyone within earshot that I wasn’t her cousin so they’d stop looking at her with shock and disgust, and focus all that negative energy where it belonged—on me. Then I could’ve taken the brunt of what happened next, or maybe Milly and I would’ve dealt with it together. Which is what I’ve wanted ever since she snagged my wallet and called me out.
Instead, I launched into my Anders Story revenge fantasy. Even though I’d already decided, that day we had brunch at Catmint House, that I needed to let it go. It wasn’t worth putting Milly and Aubrey in a bad situation. But tonight, when I was humiliated and stressed and goaded by Mildred, I let my bitterness take over. And not only was that a shitty thing to do to Milly, but it didn’t work. All I managed to do was give Anders an opening to spew lies.
I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t even notice we’ve arrived downtown until I see the bright lights of the dock. Suit No. 1 is driving, and Suit No. 2 is on the phone as we pull in front of a redbrick building. “All set,” he says into the handset, then lowers it and twists to face me. “This is the Hawthorne Hotel, your home for the night. You can order from room service, with a cap of fifty dollars. You’ve got an open one-way ticket for tomorrow’s ferry waiting for you at will call. The earliest leaves at seven a.m., the latest at four p.m. Understood?”
“What if I miss it?” I ask.
His voice doesn’t shift from the monotone he’s been using all night. “I wouldn’t advise that. Come on, I’ll check you in.”
Suit No. 1 stays in the car with the engine running as we head inside Hawthorne Hotel. If the clerk at reception thinks it’s strange that a guy in a suit is checking a teenager in at nine o’clock at night, she doesn’t show it. “You’re in room 215,” she says, eyes on the computer in front of her. “The elevator is down the hall to your left, or you can take the stairs around the corner to your right. Do you need help with your bags?”
I hitch my duffel higher on my shoulder. “I’m good.”
“One room key or two?” she asks.
Suit No. 2 answers before I can. “Just the one.”
She hands it to me with a bright smile. “Enjoy your stay!”
I thank her and turn away, Suit No. 2 right on my heels. The front door opens, and I stop in my tracks when I see Anders and JT coming through it. They’re alone, not flanked by security guards like me, and that makes my temper spike all over again.
“You fucking liars,” I snarl.
Anders Story looks cool and collected. You’d never guess that he’d just gotten thrown out of his own mother’s party. He peers past me to a silver bowl on the reception desk, and grabs a plastic-wrapped mint. “I took a shot, Jonah,” he says, unwrapping the candy and popping it into his mouth. “It was the only one you and JT left me with.”
I glare at JT, still skulking in his father’s shadow. “This whole thing was your idea.”
JT shrugs with a ghost of Anders’s bravado. “You’re the one who couldn’t manage to lie low. Getting your picture taken at a funeral and making out with my cousin weren’t part of the deal. Technically, all of this is your fault.”
“Technicall
y, it’s his,” I say, shifting my gaze to Anders. “I wouldn’t have gone along with this if you hadn’t ruined my parents. You’re a liar and a thief.”
I wait for him to deny it, but he just lifts a shoulder, chewing and swallowing the mint with deliberate slowness. “Your parents are adults, making decisions about how to manage their money of their own free will. Stop shifting blame. It’s pathetic.”
“Enough.” Suit No. 2 tugs on my arm. “Time for you to get to your room. We taking the elevator or the stairs?”
“I’ll go on my own,” I say, trying to wrench free.
It doesn’t work. Suit No. 2’s grip is like a vise. “My orders are to get you safely to your room so that’s what I’m doing,” he says mildly. “Elevator or stairs?”
“Stairs,” I grit out. Because the only thing worse than getting sent to my room in front of Anders and JT would be waiting for an elevator while they watch.
Suit No. 2 and I climb the stairs silently, pushing through the door on the second floor into an empty hallway. Room 215 is easy to find—it’s right next to the stairwell and across from a vending machine. Probably the noisiest and therefore cheapest room in the place. A light on the door panel flashes green when I insert my key, and I pause after turning the handle.
“Please tell me we part ways here,” I say.
“We do.” Suit No. 2 allows an amused glint to enter his eyes. If nothing else, tonight must’ve been a break from routine. “Good luck, kid.”
I heave a sigh of relief when the door shuts behind me. Alone at last. I pull my phone from my pocket, hoping for a text from Milly or Aubrey, but there’s nothing. I think about sending one last message to Milly, but I can’t bring myself to keep bugging her. If she wanted to talk to me, she’d have answered by now.
This room isn’t as luxurious as the ones at Gull Cove Resort, but it’s better than the dorms. There are two twin beds with nautical-striped bedding, a small desk in front of the window, and a large-screen television that takes up most of one wall. The air-conditioning is noisy and set so high that goose bumps rise on my arms. The bathroom is clean and bright, and the muscles in my shoulders ache at the thought of a hot shower. I should call my father, but that can wait another five minutes.
It ends up being more like twenty. A shower was a brilliant idea because it lets me shift into autopilot, going through motions I’ve done thousands of times before. I can pretend for a little while that everything is fine. Normal, even. But eventually, when I’ve used up every tiny bottle available and the entire bathroom is enveloped in a cloud of steam, it’s time to leave the cocoon of the shower stall. I step out and towel off. Carson Fine had our clothes washed and pressed yesterday, so I actually have something clean to wear. My sweatpants are weirdly stiff with starch, but whatever.
Once I’m dressed, I can’t put it off any longer. I sit at the foot of one of the beds, phone in hand, and debate how to start the conversation. So, Dad. About that sweet summer job…
Maybe I should start with a text. I open my messages, and blink when I realize that I missed one from him earlier today. The preview reads Hey, Jonah, bankruptcy court went, and I groan. I was so worried about the Summer Gala that I forgot my parents’ hearing had been rescheduled for today. “When it rains, it pours,” I mutter, opening the message. It’s classic Dad: one giant paragraph instead of a bunch of individual texts.
Hey, Jonah, bankruptcy court went better than expected today. Looks like your mom and I will be able to keep Empire open after all. More to come, but we’re feeling optimistic for the first time in a while. Enzo’s working at Home Depot. We talk to him every day and we’re hopeful that we’ll be able to bring him back before the year is out. Try not to worry, ok? Enjoy your weekend and we’ll talk soon.
I drop the phone onto the bed, put my head in my hands, and let out a deep, shuddering breath. My eyes sting as I press my palms against them. I hadn’t been letting myself hope, but…they did it. My parents have been working nonstop trying to show the bankruptcy trustee that they can pay back their creditors and still run a business, and I guess he listened.
Stop shifting blame. Anders Story might be an asshole with no conscience, but maybe he’s not wrong. “You can’t prove fraud. And you can’t get your money back,” the lawyer my parents consulted said. “All you can do is dig yourself out and move on.” My parents didn’t want to hear that for a long time, and neither did I. It felt good to be angry. But it didn’t help, and it didn’t change anything. I feel another sick stab of regret when I think about Milly, and how differently tonight might’ve gone if I’d let go of all that useless rage sooner.
A sharp knock interrupts my thoughts. “Oh, come on,” I grumble, my head still in my hands. “Now what?” The knock sounds again, louder this time. “Hold your horses,” I call, managing a slight grin at the homage to Enzo. When I open the door I expect to see Suit No. 2, making sure I haven’t crawled out the window or something, but that’s not who’s standing in front of me.
I almost don’t recognize him. He’s clean-shaven, dressed neatly in a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, with clear eyes and a tired smile.
“Hey, Jonah,” Archer Story says. “Can I come in?”
* * *
—
Archer raided the minibar before we started talking, and now he has four small bottles lined up on the desk in front of him. Only one of them is open, the vodka, and he’s taken two small sips. “I apologize for drinking in front of you,” he says. “I’m trying to get back on track, but I can’t go cold turkey, especially for difficult conversations. I’ll just backslide if I do.” His eyes stray to the row of bottles. “I’m not intending to have all of these. Or even most of them. There’s just something comforting about knowing that I could.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “How’d you know where I was?” There’s limited seating in the room, so I’m sprawled across one of the twin beds, while Archer sits in the desk chair.
“I still have friends at the resort,” he says. “I don’t deserve them, but I have them.” He rubs one hand over his thin, angular face. I can’t get used to the lack of mountain-man beard. “Just to keep things straight, because I’ve been hit with a lot of new information tonight: you are not, in fact, my nephew. Correct?”
“Correct,” I say. He gives me such a regretful smile, like maybe he wishes that I was, that I find myself telling him the whole sordid story about how I got here. When I finish, he shakes his head and takes a small sip of vodka.
“Gotta admit, you as Anders’s son never really fit.”
“So I keep hearing,” I say. “Were you at the gala tonight?”
“Oh no. I was distinctly not invited. But I heard all about it. Including my brother’s return.” Another small sip. “I need to try to contact Milly and Aubrey. As far as I can tell they’re back in the dorms. But I’d like to make sure they’re okay. And to apologize,” he adds, his voice getting heavy. “Which is why I’m here. I owe you an apology too. I dropped out of sight after we talked. I saw the article about me in the Gull Cove Gazette the next day, and it hit me hard. I felt like I’d ruined everything, and I panicked. And when I panic, well…I tend to lose what little control I have.”
Archer looks like he desperately wants another sip of vodka, but he doesn’t take one. “I brought you guys here, and then I abandoned you. Which is unconscionable. You’re just kids. I’m sorry that my refusal to act like an adult human at any point in the past few weeks—or the past two decades, really—led to the horrible evening you’ve just experienced.”
I’m quiet for a moment, absorbing his words. “That’s a pretty far-ranging apology.”
The ghost of a smile flits across his face. “I felt like I needed to cover a lot of bases.”
“It’s okay. I mean, I was lying to you the whole time, so I guess we’re even.” I wait until Archer picks up the vodka bottle again, then ask
, “Did you get a chance to talk to Dr. Baxter about that letter before he died?”
He pauses before taking another drink. “No. I was too much of a wreck to leave the house that day.”
“What do you think he wanted to tell you?”
Archer sighs heavily. “No idea.”
“So now what? Are you going back to Rob’s?”
“Yeah, but not for long. I’ve taken too much advantage of his goodwill already. I just need a few days to get my act together, and then it’s time for me to leave the island.” He sighs again. “Return to real life, whatever that is.”
An idea hits me, so suddenly that I sit bolt upright. “Can I come with you?” I ask.
Archer blinks. “Say what?”
“Can I come with you?” I repeat. “I haven’t called my parents yet. And I—I left things really bad with Milly.” I flush, remembering her frozen face after I went off on Mildred. “I need to apologize.”
“I understand the compulsion,” Archer says cautiously. “But you can do that long distance, after tempers have cooled. I think it’s in your best interest to head out as planned.”
“Please? Just for a day or two.”
He regards me steadily. “Jonah, in case this wasn’t perfectly clear—I’m an alcoholic.”
“I know,” I say.
“You can’t depend on me. And I can’t be responsible for you.”
“I’m almost eighteen.” In ten months, but close enough. “I’ll be responsible for myself. I have been since I got here.” Archer hesitates, and I press. “Come on. Do you want your mother to get her way every time she orders Donald Camden to kick somebody off Gull Cove Island?”
“Well.” A smile tugs at the corners of Archer’s mouth. “I’ll say one thing for you: you know how to make an appeal.”
The Cousins Page 20