The Cousins

by Karen M. McManus

  I’m feeling energized when Aubrey and I walk into Carson Fine’s office first thing in the morning. Being summoned from the dorms this early doesn’t bode well, but I’ve had three cups of coffee and I’m wearing my mother’s red dress. I’m not sure what’s about to get thrown at us, but I’m ready to fight it.

  Unfortunately, the man behind the desk isn’t our friendly, nautical-tie-wearing head of hospitality. “Have a seat,” Donald Camden says. He flashes his teeth or, more accurately, bares them. “Let’s discuss last night.”

  God. Last night. I can’t even think about it without wanting to throw up. After Jonah got escorted out, Aubrey and I were rushed back to the dorms by a couple of women I’d never met before. Not surprisingly, I passed out as soon as Aubrey wrangled me out of my dress. I woke up to two texts from Uncle Archer—surprise, surprise, he’s still on the island after all—and six from Jonah.

  I’m sorry.

  I screwed everything up.

  I never should have said that.

  Can we talk?

  I owe you an apology.

  And an explanation.

  I sent a single text back: Did you come here to get revenge on Uncle Anders? Yes/no answer only.

  He answered within seconds. Yes.

  Then he sent a bunch of other stuff, but I haven’t looked at it. He’s as big a liar as any Story, so I can’t trust anything he says.

  I still can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together about Jonah’s family. And I can’t believe…but no. I’m not going to think about him when I have to keep my mind clear for whatever’s about to go down with Donald.

  Who’s currently looking at Aubrey and me with undisguised irritation, waiting for us to take the seats he ordered us into. We both remain standing. “Uncle Anders is a liar—” I start, but Donald holds up a hand.

  “Yes, he is. And so are the two of you. So here’s what’s going to happen. As of this morning, you are no longer employed at Gull Cove Resort. You will be paid for the full summer, which in my view is very generous.” His lips purse on the last word. “You’re expected to make arrangements with your parents for your return within three days, and you have an open ferry ticket for today, tomorrow, and Tuesday. However, before you leave, Mrs. Story wishes to see you, Aubrey.” His gaze locks on her, and she stiffens beside me. “A car will pick you up at one p.m. sharp from the resort’s front entrance and take you to Catmint House.”

  “What?” she asks, at the same time as I ask, “Just Aubrey? Not me?”

  “Mrs. Story wishes to speak with Aubrey alone, as a representative for the cousins,” Donald says. His nostrils flare. “I advised against any further contact, considering the damage all of you have already done. But she was insistent.”

  Aubrey looks horrified as I ask, “A representative? What does that mean? Why not me?”

  Donald’s lip curls. “She didn’t say. If I were to guess, your behavior last night renders you…less suitable.”

  “Suitable for what?” I practically yell the words, which probably proves his point.

  “I don’t want to go,” Aubrey says.

  “That is, of course, entirely up to you,” Donald says. “The car will be there at one o’clock, and it will wait for fifteen minutes.”

  “What if we don’t leave?” I ask. “The island, I mean.”

  It gives me an ounce of satisfaction when Donald’s smooth expression briefly gives way to surprise. “If you don’t leave? Well that’s…I mean…you must.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “I don’t think we must do anything. You’re not the boss of us. And neither is Mildred anymore. We can stay here if we want.”

  Aubrey darts a nervous glance toward me as Donald’s mask of composure returns. “As I stated, your rooms at the resort dorms are only good through Tuesday morning. After that, we will be taking your keys and you will no longer have access to the building.”

  “There are other hotels,” I say.

  “Most of which your grandmother owns,” Donald points out. “Further, your severance package is contingent on you agreeing to the terms laid out by Mrs. Story.”

  “We don’t want her money,” I say. “You can keep it.” Then I look apologetically at Aubrey, realizing that I spoke for her without thinking. I know things are a lot tighter financially in her household than in mine, especially with the threat of divorce looming. But she’s nodding right along with me.

  Donald’s neck flushes a deep red, and it’s a beautiful sight. But he merely says, “You have nowhere to go except home.”

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?” I turn for the door, and Aubrey does too. It’s as good an exit line as I’m going to get, especially since he’s right.

  Aubrey clutches my arm as we speed-walk down the hallway. “You weren’t serious, were you?” she whispers. “About staying on the island?”

  “No,” I admit. “I wanted to give Donald a hard time, but he’s right. We don’t have anywhere else to go.” I pull out my phone, getting ready to send a text to my mother, and one flashes from Uncle Archer. I frown in momentary impatience, until a new idea hits me. I hold my screen up to Aubrey with a grin. “Or then again, maybe we do. Want to go for a drive? I never did return those keys to the Jeep.”

  * * *

  —

  An hour later, we’re sitting in the bungalow’s living room, fully caught up with Uncle Archer. Unfortunately, he comes with an unexpected roommate who was supposed to be gone already.

  I accepted Uncle Archer’s apology. I stopped Jonah’s attempt with a look. Every time I think about him abandoning me on the balcony so he could settle a grudge against Uncle Anders that he’d never bothered to tell me about, hurt stabs at my chest.

  “So you’re going home?” Jonah asks.

  “I guess we have to,” I mutter. When I’d imagined Uncle Archer’s bungalow as a temporary port in the storm, I didn’t realize we’d have to share it with Jonah.

  “What does your mother think about all this?” Uncle Archer asks me, then inclines his head toward Aubrey. “And your father?”

  Uncle Archer looks much better than he did the last time we saw him. There’s a red Solo cup in front of him half filled with clear liquid that he’s been sipping from the entire time we’ve been talking, and his hands never quite stop shaking, but he’s been coherent throughout the conversation.

  “They don’t know,” I say. “And we’re not telling them. Not yet.” Uncle Archer looks conflicted, and I add, “First we want to see what Mildred says to Aubrey.”

  Aubrey pales. “Only one of us wants that.”

  A knock sounds at the door, and Uncle Archer frowns. “Now, who could that be?”

  “Maybe it’s Uncle Anders. Coming back for another round,” I say, shooting a baleful look at Jonah. He has the grace to blush, and I hate how good it looks on him.

  “Oh God,” Uncle Archer says as he heads for the door. “I hope not. I’m really trying to stay on track here, and that would—oh, hi.” He steps back in confusion to reveal Hazel standing in the doorway. “Are you…do I know you?”

  “No,” she says. She’s clutching a brown envelope to her chest, her pensive expression clearing a little when she spots me, Aubrey, and Jonah. “But I know who you are, and I know these guys. I’m Hazel Baxter-Clement, Dr. Baxter’s granddaughter?”

  “Of course. Welcome.” If Uncle Archer is surprised that Hazel knew where to find him, he doesn’t show it. Since I’m the one who told her, I’m hoping he’ll gloss over that small detail and just assume she found out from her grandfather. “Please come in, have a seat,” he adds, gesturing to the living room. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Fred was a wonderful man.”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of why I’m here.” Hazel moves a few feet into the bungalow as Archer closes the door behind her, hovering beside the cou
ch instead of squeezing into the space Aubrey and I try to make for her. “I just—I didn’t know where else to go.”

  Uncle Archer cocks his head, concerned. “Everything okay?”

  “I don’t know.” Hazel fumbles at a string on her envelope. “I found this in my grandfather’s desk yesterday. It was addressed to me, but…it’s about you.”

  I exchange glances with Aubrey as Uncle Archer asks, “Me?”

  “Well, part of it. It’s, um…” She opens the envelope and pulls out a sheet of paper. “Maybe I should just read it.” She clears her throat. “ ‘Dear Hazel, I am so proud of the young woman that you have become. You are kind, thoughtful, and hardworking. Quite frankly, you are a legacy that I do not deserve. There are things you don’t know.’ ” Her voice falters, and she swallows hard before continuing. “ ‘I’m afraid to face the consequences of my actions, but even more afraid that soon I won’t remember them. So perhaps I should start with something that might yet be put right. I have done a grave injustice to Archer Story.’ ”

  She stops. I don’t think anyone in the room is breathing. I wait as long as I can stand it, to let Hazel collect herself, then burst out with, “What injustice?”

  “I don’t know,” Hazel says. “The letter ends there.”

  I groan as Uncle Archer runs a hand over his face. “Your grandfather asked to meet with me, right before he died,” he tells Hazel. “I didn’t get to him quickly enough. I have no idea what he wanted to talk about, or what he thinks he did to me. There’s nothing, on my end, that’s ever been a problem. He was our family doctor and always kind to me. That’s it. May I?” He gestures toward the letter, and Hazel hands it over. Uncle Archer scans it quickly, frowning. “He never said anything to you before this?”

  “No,” Hazel says. “He’d never even mentioned you. There’s something else, though.” She reaches into the envelope and pulls out a thin sheaf of paper. “This was here, too.”

  Uncle Archer takes it, his brow furrowing. “An autopsy report?”

  “Yeah. It’s, like, twenty years old.” My nerves start prickling as Hazel adds, “Twenty-four, to be precise. It’s for someone named Kayla Dugas.”

  “Kayla?” I echo, looking at Aubrey. “Oona’s sister Kayla?”

  Uncle Archer looks up. “You know Oona?”

  “She sold us our dresses,” I say. “And told us about her sister. How she dated Uncle Anders in high school and college. And then she died. Right around the time you were disinherited. We noticed the timing.” I look sideways at Aubrey and flush, remembering how rude I’d been to her at the library. “Well, Aubrey did.”

  Uncle Archer frowns at the report. “There’s no note or anything attached to this? No context for why he’d want you or me to have it?”

  “Nothing,” Hazel says.

  “Maybe I should get in touch with Oona,” he says. “It seems like this should have been left for her, not me. Although I would’ve thought her family got a copy long ago.”

  Aubrey speaks up. “What about the timing, Uncle Archer? You got the you know what you did letter from Donald Camden right after Kayla died, didn’t you?”

  “Before,” he says. “I don’t remember the exact timing, but it was a one-two punch. First the letters, then Kayla died. We came back for her funeral, and Mother refused to see us.”

  “Huh.” Aubrey chews her lip. “I thought it might’ve been a cause-and-effect thing. Like, something about Kayla’s death made Gran angry enough to disinherit you.”

  “No.” Archer looks puzzled by the idea. “Just coincidental timing. Mother was never Kayla’s biggest fan, to be honest. She wanted Anders to find a nice Harvard girl. Which he did, eventually.” Archer turns back to Hazel. “Was there anything else in your grandfather’s things addressed to you, or to me?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. I can look again. I have to get home anyway.” Hazel sighs and puts the letter back into the envelope. “We’re packing up Granddad’s stuff.”

  “Would you mind if I hang on to this?” Uncle Archer asks, holding up the autopsy report. “I’d like to show Oona. Maybe she’ll pick up on something I haven’t.”

  “Sure,” Hazel says. “See you guys around.” She tucks the envelope beneath one arm and slips past Archer out the door.

  Aubrey plucks at my sleeve. “We should go in another ten minutes or so,” she says. “Gran’s car will be on its way soon. Unless you want to stay here.”

  “No, I’m going with you,” I answer.

  “Will you come back?” Jonah asks.

  “Probably not,” I say, my words clipped. A small part of my brain registers that I sound an awful lot like my mother when she’s about to freeze someone out for disappointing her. The rest of me is too upset to care.

  “Milly, please.” Jonah leans forward, his voice low and urgent. “Can we just talk for a minute?”

  Uncle Archer clears his throat. “I’m going to make coffee, if anyone wants some,” he says, heading for the kitchen.

  “I do!” Aubrey, that traitor, jumps up to follow him.

  The seat beside me is empty now, but Jonah’s smart enough not to move there. “Milly, I’m sorry,” he says. “I should’ve told you about my parents and Anders. Believe it or not, I was actually going to—”

  “I don’t believe it,” I interrupt.

  “I was actually going to tell you the night of the gala,” he continues. “I tried, when we were on the balcony. But you, um.” He tugs at the collar of his T-shirt. “You wanted to talk about other things.”

  My cheeks flame. That night is more than a little hazy, but not so much that I don’t remember that I was less talking on the balcony than stumbling around drunkenly and hitting on Jonah. “Kind of late, don’t you think? You should’ve told us from the start. Aubrey and I deserved that much, after we kept your secret. But you couldn’t, right? That would’ve spoiled your revenge.” I pull my eyes up from the floor so I can glare at him. “I’m surprised you bothered waiting till the gala. You could’ve laid into Mildred at Catmint House.”

  “I was going to,” Jonah says, and that surprises me into silence. “When she asked how Anders was doing? I had a whole speech planned. But I couldn’t say it. I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t care anymore about hurting Anders. Not if it hurt you, too.”

  I ignore the warmth blossoming in my chest. “You didn’t seem worried about that last night.”

  “I screwed up,” Jonah says simply. “It was a nightmare moment and I just—I let my temper take over. You don’t know what it’s like, to have someone like Anders—”

  “No, I don’t know,” I interrupt, getting to my feet. “Since you didn’t tell me.” Ugh. I don’t want to keep going over this with him, but I can’t just drop it, either. “First you lied to me about who you are, and when I caught you in that lie, you lied to me about why you’re here.” I hold up a hand before he can protest. “A lie of omission is still a lie. You told a bunch of half-truths, and you let me think we were…friends….”

  My voice catches on the word and then all of a sudden there are tears in my eyes, which is infuriating. I never cry. I’m Allison Story’s daughter, after all.

  Jonah stands too, and grabs both my hands. “We are friends,” he says urgently. “Friends is like the minimum of how I feel about you. I care about you so much, Milly, you have no idea—”

  I pull away just as Uncle Archer and Aubrey reenter the room. “No, I don’t. Because once again? You didn’t tell me.”

  Aubrey looks chagrined as she holds out a red Solo cup filled with milky brown liquid. “Coffee to go for you, Milly. I’m sorry, but if we don’t leave now—”

  “Fine,” I say, brushing at my eyes. “I’m ready.”

  Uncle Archer comes up beside me and pulls me into a one-armed hug. Almost like he knows that’s as much contact as I can stand right now. He steers me
a little ways from the others, and bends his head toward mine.

  “It’s all right to be mad, Milly,” he whispers. “You’re entitled to that feeling. But give some thought to forgiveness too, okay? If there’s one characteristic I wish the Story family had more of, it’s that.”

  “Go on,” Anders said irritably. He poked Allison from their window seat in Arabella’s Coffee Shop, directly across the street from Brewer Floral. “He’s right there. He’s alone. Do what you came to do.”

  Allison swallowed hard as she watched Matt place flowerpots onto shelves. She couldn’t believe she was going to ask this, but…“Will you come with me?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Anders groaned. “No. I gave you a ride. My job is done. Don’t drag me any further into this.”

  Allison’s gaze stayed locked on Matt, her stomach churning. She didn’t know what she was going to do about the pregnancy. Some days, she was sure abortion was the only answer. Other days, she imagined going off to college pregnant without Mother knowing, and giving the baby up for adoption when it was born. Sometimes she even thought about keeping it. Why shouldn’t she? She had the kind of resources most people only dreamed of.

  The only thing she didn’t consider was not telling Matt. This was both of their problem. She wasn’t going to face it alone.

  “I just…” Allison paused as Matt opened Brewer Floral’s front door, then turned to lock it and stepped onto the street. “Never mind. He’s leaving. I’ll have to do it another time.” Relief washed over her, quickly replaced by panic when she saw where Matt was headed. “He’s coming over here. Oh no. I can’t talk to him in the middle of a coffee shop.” She slid off her stool and tugged on Anders’s arm. “We have to go.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “You’ll just trip over Matt if you leave now. Stop being such a coward and ask him to take a walk with you.”

  “Okay. Yes. Good idea,” Allison said as Matt came through the door. There was no way he could miss seeing her and Anders—they were directly in his line of vision—but he strolled right past them.