“Matt,” Allison called. Her stomach hurt. She hated everything about this already.
He turned, reluctantly. “Oh, hey, Allison. Didn’t see you there.”
“Bullshit,” Anders coughed. Because he was helpful like that.
Allison wanted the floor to swallow her up, but she also wanted to get this over with. “Do you think we could, um, take a walk real quick?” she asked.
“I can’t,” Matt said. “I’m just grabbing a couple of coffees and then I have to be somewhere.”
“How about I come with you, then?”
Matt heaved a sigh. “Look, Allison…I had fun hanging out with you at Rob’s, but that’s all it was. Fun. So maybe you could stop calling me, okay?” Allison just stared, struck silent with humiliation, and he added, “I’m not interested.”
“You’re not interested?” Anders snorted out a rude laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. You should be thanking my sister for giving you the time of day, you townie piece of shit.”
Matt’s jaw twitched. “Here’s a question for you, Anders. If I’m such a piece of shit, why’d Kayla pick me over you?”
Anders narrowed his eyes. “She didn’t pick you. You hooked up once. Big deal.”
“We didn’t hook up once,” Matt said. “We’re together. We have been for weeks. Haven’t you noticed that she stopped returning your calls?”
Allison stole a look at Anders. The tightening around his mouth was almost imperceptible, but she saw it, and she knew Matt’s words had hit their mark. Anders would’ve died before letting him know that, though. “I don’t keep track of Kayla’s calls,” he said dismissively. “She always comes crawling back to me eventually. Have fun while it lasts.”
“She’s not going to…no, you know what?” Matt shook his head, like he was disgusted with himself. “I’m not getting into this with you. You think you own people just because you have money, but you don’t. There’s a whole island full of people who don’t give a rat’s ass about Anders Story. About any Story,” he added, and Allison felt a gut punch of shame at being included like that. What had she ever done, except like him?
“You’re so wrong that it’s almost funny,” Anders said.
“Whatever. I’m out,” Matt said. He turned and left without his coffee, not sparing a backward glance for Allison.
“That asshole,” she seethed as the door closed. Hurt sent a sharp, stabbing pain through her stomach.
“Finally, we agree on something,” Anders said.
And yet, she still had to talk to Matt. She lifted her bag from the counter as she watched his rigid back through the window, then froze as he suddenly held his arms out to catch a girl who was flying toward him from across the street. Kayla Dugas.
Just grabbing a couple of coffees, Matt had said. Oh God. He was on a date.
Matt and Kayla kissed in the street, right in front of them. It felt like Matt was putting on a show, and Allison could feel the resentment coming off Anders in waves. “Come on,” Anders growled, getting to his feet. “I changed my mind. I can’t wait to go out there and tell him you’re knocked up.”
“No!” Allison hissed, digging in her heels. “I’m not doing this in front of Kayla.”
Kayla turned, and for a second Allison thought she’d heard them, even though she was too far away for that to be possible. But she definitely saw them. With one arm looped around Matt’s neck, she blew a dramatic kiss toward the window. Then she went back to making out with Matt even more enthusiastically than before.
Allison had never seen Anders so angry. His face was red and his jaw clenched as he said, “She’s going to regret that,” in a low, dangerous voice.
“Let’s just go,” Allison said. She looped her bag over her shoulder, then gasped as she caught sight of her leg. Her right thigh was streaked with blood beneath her tan shorts. “How did I…” She scanned the stool for something sharp that might have cut her, and nearly doubled over as a wave of pain hit her abdomen. Then she understood.
She wasn’t sick about Matt’s behavior. This was something else entirely.
* * *
—
It took a week for the bleeding to stop. On the night when she’d finally gone a full day without it, Allison took another pregnancy test. One line. She should be relieved—and she probably would be soon—but at the moment, she just felt empty.
She wandered downstairs afterward, drawn by the sound of voices. Her mother, Donald Camden, Dr. Baxter, and Theresa Ryan were sitting around the kitchen table with a bottle of wine between them. Allison paused in the hallway as Donald lifted his glass. “A toast to you, Mildred, and your indomitable spirit,” he said. Everyone clinked glasses, and then Donald lifted Mother’s hand and kissed it.
Allison frowned. Anders’s latest theory, which he shared constantly with his siblings, was that both Dr. Baxter and Donald Camden were pursuing Mother now that she was a wealthy widow. Never mind that Dr. Baxter was already married. “That’s what divorce is for,” Anders pointed out. “You can’t tell me he wouldn’t ditch his wife at a moment’s notice.”
“Mother’s not interested,” Archer always countered.
“They’re patient men,” Anders replied.
Allison cleared her throat now, and Mother beamed at her. “Hello, sweetheart. I didn’t hear you. Come join us.”
Allison wanted company, but she couldn’t keep up a smiling front right now. She wished, fiercely, that her mother was alone. If she had been, Allison felt sure she would’ve finally unburdened herself. “I was looking for the boys,” she said.
“Archer is out with friends. Adam and Anders are on the beach.”
With one of their father’s five-hundred-dollar bottles of Scotch, no doubt. “I think I’ll join them,” Allison said.
When Mother smiled, she almost looked like her old self. Being around people was good for her, even if it was only these three. “Take a sweatshirt. It’s chilly out there.”
“I will.”
Allison left the house and headed for her father’s favorite indulgence: the outdoor elevator that allowed them to bypass the long, steep, twisting path to the beach. It hummed quietly on the way down, and opened with a soft whooshing sound. Allison stepped onto the sand and headed for the small, protected cove that was her brothers’ favorite drinking spot.
She heard them before she saw them.
“…could get them both fired, you know,” Adam was saying.
Anders snorted. “Who cares if they lose a couple of minimum-wage jobs? Not me.” There was the clink of a bottle hitting glass. Her brothers couldn’t bring plastic cups to the beach like normal people; they brought crystal tumblers. Half the time they forgot them and Allison would find them embedded in the sand. “They deserve worse.”
“It’s bullshit what he did to Allison,” Adam said, and Allison froze. No, she thought. Please don’t let Adam be referring to Matt. Don’t let Anders have told him.
“Allison shouldn’t have screwed that loser in the first place,” Anders said dismissively.
Of course he told. Anders told Adam everything. Allison wanted to bang her head—or better yet, Anders’s head—against a rock.
“He shouldn’t have dared touch her,” Adam said. Even though it was none of Adam’s business, Allison felt a small surge of warmth at Adam’s protectiveness. Then, unfortunately, he kept talking. “It’s like it didn’t occur to him that our family is completely out of his league. Imagine Mother sharing a bastard grandchild with her assistant. That’s not how the next generation is supposed to start. Thank God it’s done with.”
Allison closed her eyes against the prick of angry tears. She shouldn’t have expected any better, but it still hurt that Adam managed to make even her miscarriage all about him.
“It’s not over,” Anders said. “He’s still with my whore of a girlfriend.”
“You have a one-track mind,” Adam yawned.
Allison had heard enough. She turned back for the elevator, Anders’s reply floating toward her just before she stepped out of hearing range.
“The world would be a better place without them in it.”
“Here we go again,” Milly murmurs as Gran’s chauffeur pulls the Bentley onto the main road leading to Catmint House.
“Thanks for coming,” I say gratefully. “I’m so nervous.”
“No problem. I don’t think she’ll let me in, though. She did specify just you.”
“I know. But why does she get to call all the shots, all the time?”
Milly’s lips quirk. “Probably because she has all the money.”
My cousin has been dry-eyed and composed ever since we left Uncle Archer’s, and she’s refused to talk about anything except this meeting with Mildred. Still, there’s a melancholy air about her that tugs at my heart, so I try again. “Do you think Jonah—” I start.
Milly shifts her eyes out the window. “Not yet, okay?”
I study her profile. I wasn’t surprised by her kiss with Jonah at the Summer Gala; if anything, I was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. And I’m not mad at Jonah for keeping quiet about Uncle Anders. I came here with my own secrets after all, and I’m not sure I’d have told Milly about my father and Coach Matson so quickly if she hadn’t caught me in a crisis moment. There’s something dangerously seductive about Story secrets; they snake their way into your heart and soul, burrowing so deep that the very idea of exposing them feels like losing a part of yourself. If anything, Jonah plotting against Uncle Anders while falling for Milly makes him more one of us than a borrowed birth certificate ever did.
But I understand Milly not seeing it that way.
We lapse into silence as the car glides smoothly along. I scroll through my messages, reading a new one from my father about how ungrateful and disappointing I am, plus an update from my mother sharing the kind of news he won’t: Coach Matson has gone public with her pregnancy. Mom doesn’t come right out and say that everybody knows who the father is, but she doesn’t have to. I know how our town operates; nothing stays quiet for long.
Oh, and the baby is going to be a boy.
I hope it’s okay to tell you this via text, Mom writes. You’ve been so hard to reach, and I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.
I feel a sharp pang of guilt. She’s right; ever since I stopped talking to Dad, I cut back on returning calls from my mother, too. Not because I’m angry at her—God no, not even a little bit—but because stepping away from the misery of Coach Matson’s pregnancy has been a massive relief. With everything that’s been happening this past week, I almost managed to forget about it.
It’s around ten in the morning in Oregon, so Mom’s at the hospital, at work, and won’t check her phone for hours. Still, I fire back a series of texts:
Thanks for telling me.
I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch. There’s a lot going on here.
I’ll call you soon to explain.
Also, just so you know, whatever you decide to do next in this mess: I’m with you.
Figuratively and literally.
Like, I will move out with you, if that’s what you want.
GLADLY.
I’m sorry I haven’t said that before now.
I love you lots.
Just as I hit Send on the last one, my phone rings, and I stare disbelievingly at Thomas’s number. “You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
“Who is it?” Milly asks. I hold up my phone, and she makes a face when she sees the name. “Ugh. Are you going to answer?”
“Might as well,” I sigh. “I’m ripping off all the Band-Aids today. Hi, Thomas.”
“Dude.” The word sets my teeth on edge. I’ve never liked that Thomas calls me dude, like I’m one of his volleyball teammates. “Did your dad seriously knock up your swim coach?”
We’re approaching the gate to Catmint House. The chauffeur eases to a stop and pulls the silver card he needs to open the gate from his sun visor. He’s about to get an earful he never asked for, but oh well. “Did you seriously just ask me that?” I say to Thomas.
“Dude, come on. That’s, like, insane.”
“Nice speaking with you too, Thomas. Work has been fine, thanks for asking. What have you been up to all summer?”
Milly smirks across from me as Thomas launches into an excruciatingly detailed monologue. Unsurprisingly, he took my sarcasm as actual interest. “Thomas,” I finally interrupt. “That’s great. I’m glad things are going well at Best Buy. But why are you calling me?”
“Because your dad—”
“Okay, no.” For the first time ever, I have zero patience with Thomas. “I get that you want the inside scoop. But you and I are broken up.”
“We are?” Thomas says uncertainly. Not like he’s upset about it. More like he’s surprised I brought it up.
“You ignored every single one of my texts as soon as I got here,” I remind him.
“I was busy,” he says defensively. “Anyway, when I did send some, you ignored them right back.”
“Right,” I say, thinking of Oona’s words in her shop. Life is complicated in the digital age. “Which means we’re through, doesn’t it?”
“So you want to break up?”
“Don’t you?”
“Well, yeah,” he finally admits. “I have for a while, actually. But I didn’t think you did.”
I suppress a sigh. We could argue back and forth about how crappy it was of him to leave me hanging like that, but I don’t exactly have the time right now. And it doesn’t matter. It’s been creeping up on me ever since I got to the island what my relationship with Thomas really is: something that should’ve ended a few months after it began in eighth grade, when he started treating me like an afterthought. But it didn’t end, because there was something almost comfortable about that. I was used to it.
The chauffeur eases the Bentley to a stop in front of Catmint House. “Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,” I say into the phone. “Enjoy the rest of your summer.” I disconnect, and Milly starts clapping softly.
“Can we just take a minute to appreciate how much better you’ve gotten at telling people off over the phone?” she says with a grin.
I execute an awkward seat bow. “Thank you.”
“Allow me to get your door, Miss Story,” the chauffeur says. He does, and doesn’t bat an eye when Milly climbs out the other door, unassisted.
“Let’s see what Mildred wants, huh?” she says, linking her arm with mine as we make our way to the wide slate steps. Before we get to the top, the door swings open to reveal Theresa.
“Hello, Aubrey. And…Milly.” Her placid smile falters as she takes in my cousin. “Mrs. Story is expecting you, Aubrey. Please come in.” She steps aside, then right back in front of us as Milly moves to cross the threshold with me. “Milly, this invitation was for Aubrey only.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Milly says sweetly. “We thought there must have been a mistake.”
“There wasn’t,” Theresa says. “You can wait in the car. It won’t take long.”
Well, that doesn’t sound promising.
Milly gives her an ingratiating smile. “Are you watching the game? Maybe I could join you until Aubrey’s done.” Theresa looks blank, and Milly adds, “The double-header? Yankees versus Red Sox? First one’s already started.”
“I don’t watch baseball,” Theresa says irritably. “I really do need to ask you to leave. Come along, Aubrey.”
I give Milly a helpless look as Theresa practically drags me inside, shutting the door in my cousin’s face. “Mrs. Story is on the balcony,” Theresa says, leading me to the same place where we had brunch. It’s like déjà vu all over again: Gran seated beneath a gauzy um
brella, dressed to the nines and sipping tea.
“Hello, Aubrey,” she says. “Please sit down.”
“I’ll be right inside, Mildred,” Theresa says, and closes the sliding glass door behind me.
I sit in the chair farthest from Gran, heart pounding. I might’ve handled Thomas with an ease that impressed even me in the car, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready for this. There’s a large tray in the center of the table that holds a teapot, a steaming carafe of what looks like coffee, and porcelain bowls of milk and sugar. No food, though. This is clearly not a brunch situation.
Gran gestures toward the table. “Help yourself to tea. Or coffee, if you prefer.”
“Coffee,” I mumble. I don’t know how to work the carafe, though—it’s one of those awkward tops that you have to twist a bunch of different ways before it opens—and Gran lets me struggle with it. When I finally start to pour, the coffee gushes out so quickly that my cup immediately overflows into my saucer. We both pretend not to notice.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here,” Gran says, taking a delicate sip of tea. Her hat today is smaller than usual, a jaunty sort of fedora pulled low over one eye, in a brown color that complements her plaid suit. Her gloves are a light tan, instead of the usual white. She looks like she’s taking a break from a World War II spy mission.
“Yeah,” I say, taking a big gulp of black coffee so I have room for milk. And then I nearly choke, because it’s scalding. My tongue burns and my eyes water, but I manage not to spit anything out.
“I’m speaking to you alone of your cousins. You seem like a sensible girl. Milly strikes me as unstable, and as for the other one—” Her expression darkens. “JT is clearly just as much of a viper as his father ever was.”
Surprise mingles with my nerves. “You don’t believe him and Uncle Anders, then?”
“I don’t believe any of you.” Gran takes another sip of tea, then sets her cup carefully on its saucer. She folds her hands under her chin, gazing at me so intently that I have to drop my eyes. “I should have sent you away as soon as you arrived. It’s what Donald and Theresa wanted, and they were right. But I was curious to meet you. Especially you.” The emphasis forces me to look up again, and I flinch. If I was ever under the impression that Gran was paying attention to me because she liked me best—wow, that was wrong. She looks like she hates me. “Adam has always held a unique place in my memory. I’ve wondered, over the years, if you were like him.”
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