The Cousins Read online

  We drive a few more minutes in silence until Milly turns into a driveway, so long and winding that we can’t see the Baxterses’ huge colonial until we’re halfway down it. “Ooh, nice,” Aubrey says as we approach. “I saw online that this place used to belong to a whaling captain. It’s a historic landmark.”

  “You saw online?” I echo, amused. “Doing a little light stalking?”

  She shrugs. “Hazel seems to know a lot about us. It’s only fair.”

  Milly eases the Jeep next to a black Range Rover and shifts into park. “So you guys will do all the talking, right?” I say as we climb out of the car.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Milly says airily. “It depends on what kind of questions Hazel asks, doesn’t it? Uncle Anders is a fascinating branch of the Story family tree.”

  She’s enjoying my discomfort way too much.

  Aubrey presses the doorbell, and we hear a muted “Be right there!” and the sound of footsteps before the door swings open to reveal Hazel. “Hi!” she says, stepping aside to let us in. Her eyes rove across each of us in turn, and I quickly drop mine. “You guys are right on time. I thought we could do the interview in our living room, if that’s okay? Granddad is already there.”

  “Sure,” Aubrey says. We follow Hazel down a hallway that’s filled with what look like family pictures spanning several generations.

  “Do you live with just your grandfather?” Milly asks.

  “No, my mom lives here too. She moved back in after she and my dad got divorced a couple of years ago,” Hazel explains. We pass a formal parlor, and I’m glad we’re not talking there because all the chairs look like they belong in a museum. This conversation is going to be uncomfortable enough as it is. “She travels a lot in the summer, though. It works out, because I’m home then to spend time with Granddad.” She lowers her voice. “We have a live-in nurse, but his dementia seems to get worse with no family around.”

  “You said he’s doing better today, though?” Aubrey asks in a hopeful whisper.

  “Totally,” Hazel says as we step into a sun-filled room. It’s much more casual than the rest of the house, with couches lining the brightly painted walls. Her grandfather is sitting in a corner of the biggest couch, a wooden tray with a teapot and a cup in front of him. As soon as he lifts his eyes, I can see the difference from the guy we met downtown. His gaze isn’t sharp, exactly, but it’s a lot more focused. “Granddad, the Story kids are here,” Hazel says, crossing in front of him and pouring more tea into the cup. “This is Aubrey, Jonah, and Milly.”

  “So nice to see you again, Dr. Baxter,” Milly says brightly. Aubrey echoes her greeting, while I shove my hands in my pockets and look at the floor. Operation Invisible, commenced.

  “My goodness.” Dr. Baxter’s voice is faint. “I thought I must have misunderstood you, Hazel. But they really are here.” I look up then, catching an expression of mild alarm on his face before he forces a stiff smile. “How wonderful. Please excuse me for not getting up to greet you properly. I’m not as steady on my feet as I once was.”

  “Do you guys want anything to drink?” Hazel asks. I shake my head as Milly and Aubrey murmur “No thanks,” and Hazel gestures around the room as she settles in next to her grandfather. “Have a seat wherever.”

  I sit as far from Dr. Baxter as I can manage, but Aubrey does the opposite. She perches at the edge of the sofa that’s at a right angle to Dr. Baxter’s, so there’s just an end table between them. “I’m Adam’s daughter,” she says with a friendly smile. “He talks a lot about how you helped him get back in shape after he blew out his knee in high school.”

  “Oh well.” Dr. Baxter wets his lips. “Adam was a very determined young man. Yes. He certainly was.”

  Aubrey looks like she wants to say more, but Hazel picks up a notebook from the cushion beside her and speaks first. “So, I’m really curious,” she says, flipping the notebook open and pulling a pen from its spine. “What was it like growing up knowing that you would’ve had a completely different life if your parents hadn’t been cut off?”

  “Wow.” Milly blinks, giving the full Milly Story-Takahashi eyelash effect. “You’re getting right to it, aren’t you?”

  Hazel smiles apologetically, but keeps her pen poised. “It’s really interesting, from a sociological perspective, how the knowledge of a theoretical parallel life might affect the goals and aspirations of a new generation.”

  I slouch deeper into the armchair, but Milly straightens beside me. “You know what else is interesting?” she asks. “What people on Gull Cove Island think about what happened between my grandmother and our parents. I’d love to know what the local theories are.”

  “Oh gosh.” Hazels lets out a guilty little laugh. “Do you really want to know? Some of the things people say are pretty out there.” There’s a clattering sound to my left as Dr. Baxter, who just took a noisy sip of tea, puts his cup back down and almost misses the saucer.

  “I really do,” Milly confirms.

  Hazel tugs at her earring. “Well, the most common theory is that your grandmother had a breakdown after your grandfather died. Like, she was practically a hermit for a while, refusing to see anybody except her kids. And then she wouldn’t see them, either. But Granddad has known Mrs. Story for years, and he never thought she was actually unstable,” Hazel adds, turning to Dr. Baxter. “Did you, Granddad?”

  “Well, no,” Dr. Baxter says hesitantly. He looks even more uncomfortable than I feel, which is…interesting. I forget my disappearing act and lean forward for a better look at his face. The motion makes him turn my way, and his forehead creases in a deep frown. “You look nothing like Anders,” he says abruptly.

  Shit. I slouch right back into the shadows as Milly quickly says, “What are some of the other theories, Hazel? The ones that are ‘out there.’ ” She puts the last two words in finger quotes.

  Hazel glances my way, and I rub a hand over my face like I’m thinking. Even though what I’m really doing is hiding. “Well, it’s funny what Granddad said about Jonah,” she says slowly. “He doesn’t look like Anders, does he? And Anders never looked like anybody else. Some people think Anders wasn’t actually Mildred’s son, that Abraham had a love child he forced his wife to raise as their own.” Aubrey’s eyes pop as Hazel adds, “They say Mrs. Story tried to disinherit only Anders when her husband died, and the other kids left the island with him in solidarity.”

  “That wouldn’t happen,” Aubrey says, so quickly that I snort.

  “Hell no,” Milly agrees.

  “And some things are just creepy,” Hazel says. “Like, there’s this gross rumor that one of Allison’s brothers got her pregnant, and the rest of them tried to cover it up. But Mildred found out, and went ballistic on all of them. And that the baby is still—”

  “What?” Milly interrupts in a piercing shriek. The look on her face is flat-out murderous. “People actually say that? That’s completely and utterly disgusting!”

  Hazel looks like she wants to crawl under the couch. I think she might’ve legitimately forgotten, for a few minutes, that she was talking about a real family. “I know. I’m sorry,” she says, slamming the cover of her notebook closed. “I didn’t mean— Look, no one actually believes it. Honestly. People just like to gossip and make shit up.”

  Milly stares blankly at Hazel, like she’s about to burst into furious tears, and I have the irrational urge to punch someone. Not Hazel, obviously. Or her grandfather. But someone. Even Aubrey, who always struck me as the kind of person who’d release bugs outdoors instead of squashing them, looks ready to fight. Her hands are curled at her sides as she says, “I’d more easily believe they all killed somebody than that.”

  There’s a crashing sound then, as Dr. Baxter’s knee knocks heavily into the tray table in front of him. The three girls turn toward him in unison as he fumbles for his teacup, staring at the bottom
like it’s disappointed him. “Where’s my hot chocolate?” he asks, moving his watery gaze somewhere over Hazel’s shoulder. “Katherine, it’s time for hot chocolate.”

  “No it isn’t, Granddad. You aren’t supposed to have refined sugar. And Mom’s not here,” Hazel says with a sigh. She gets to her feet and moves the tray table a safe distance from the couch. “Katherine is my mother,” she adds over her shoulder. “I think I’d better get him settled upstairs. It’s not a great sign when he starts mixing us up.”

  She helps her grandfather stand, and holds him steady as they begin a slow shuffle across the room. He’s still mumbling about hot chocolate when he passes Milly and Aubrey, both of whom look deeply unsettled. I’m pretty sure neither of them noticed that Dr. Baxter had clear, alert eyes on Hazel the entire time she was talking—right up until he deliberately bumped the table with his knee.

  I’ll admit, I overpacked for the summer. But when I got dressed for my visit to Donald Camden’s office this morning, I was glad for my navy sheath and high-heeled sandals. I was heading for the closest thing Gull Cove Island has to a corporate environment, and I wanted to blend in. Now that I’m seated in the plush waiting area, though, I’m not sure why I bothered. I haven’t seen a single other person except the receptionist, who’s currently filing her nails.

  I listen to the receptionist answer an incoming call—it sounds like someone is trying to sell her a new copy machine—as I smooth out the flyer that I grabbed from the GCI HAPPENINGS bulletin board I passed on my way here.

  Friday, July 9

  Rock on with the Asteroids

  Gull Cove Island’s Premier ’80s Cover Band

  9:00 p.m. at Dunes

  It’s super cheesy, and I only picked it up because of the small lettering at the bottom: FEATURING ROB VALENTINE, JOHN O’DELL, CHARLIE PETRONELLI, AND CHAZ JONES.

  I don’t know Chaz the bartender’s last name, but there can’t be that many people named Chaz on Gull Cove Island. He hasn’t come back to work yet, so I haven’t had a chance to ask him for Edward Franklin’s contact information. I’d love to track Edward down before brunch with Mildred on Sunday, so…it looks like I’m headed to eighties night at Dunes. Maybe I can rally a few Towhees to come with me.

  “Miss Story-Takahashi? Mr. Camden will see you now,” the receptionist calls. She stands and gestures for me to follow her down a marble-floored hallway. Trailing behind her, I pass a row of empty offices until I finally spot a young woman hunched over a phone, taking furious notes on the legal pad in front of her. It must be a big vacation week at Camden & Associates.

  The receptionist pauses in front of an office with one wall that’s nothing but windows, showing off a view of Gull Cove Harbor. She gestures for me to enter, and I step through the doorway. “Milly, hello,” Donald Camden says. He gets up from behind a black desk with such a high-gloss finish that I can see my reflection when I lean forward to shake his hand. The entire office is decorated in black, white, and chrome, including the futuristic-looking desk chair that Donald settles back into once I’m sitting across from him. “How wonderful to see you again.”

  “You too.”

  “Thank you, Miranda,” Donald tells the receptionist, who leaves without a word, shutting the door noiselessly behind her. My eyes stray to the large, silver-framed photo on the corner of Donald’s desk, expecting to see a bunch of artfully posed blond grandchildren. Instead, it’s a picture of Donald, Dr. Baxter, and Theresa Ryan, all dressed in formal wear, standing on what looks like the sweeping marble staircase at Gull Cove Resort.

  My grandmother’s surrogate family, I think, leaning in for a closer look. “That’s a nice picture. Is it from the Summer Gala?”

  “Yes, last year,” Donald says, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. The sun streams through the window behind him, glinting off his gold cuff links. “I was so pleased to hear you’re reconsidering my job offer, Milly. What else can I tell you about the opportunity?”

  Hell if I know. I didn’t come here with much of a plan beyond getting in the same room as Mildred’s favorite guard dog, to see whether he’d let something interesting slip. Or whether I could pry it out of him. “I was curious about, um, what kind of work your friend’s firm is doing for the movie? Because I’m interested in law as a career. I thought maybe I could help on that end of things.”

  An indulgent expression crosses his face. “I’m afraid their legal work is very specialized, and also very dry. A young lady like you wouldn’t enjoy it at all.”

  Ugh, what a condescending jerk. I know plenty about specialized legal work from my dad’s practice. But Donald seems like the type who might let his guard down if you encourage him to play the expert, so I ask, “Is it, like, contract stuff?”

  Donald launches into a long-winded explanation that I only half listen to, because I don’t actually care. Yesterday’s conversation with Hazel left me seriously shook. Last night I kept tossing and turning, sickened by the perverted rumors about my mother floating around Gull Cove Island, unchecked by the people who know what really happened.

  Including this guy, who’s willing to pay a small fortune to get rid of us.

  “That’s so interesting,” I say brightly when Donald finally stops for a breath. “It sounds like a great opportunity. I’m just torn because, you know…” I bite my lip. “I was excited at the chance to get to know my grandmother. I’ve never understood what happened between her and my mom. If I did, it would be much easier to leave.”

  “Milly.” Donald shakes his head. “This is exactly the sort of conversation you shouldn’t be having with your grandmother. It will upset her and threaten her fragile health.”

  “That’s why I’m not asking her. I’m asking you.” I deliver the words with as much wide-eyed innocence as I can muster, then add a little flattery. “Mrs. Ryan speaks so highly of you.”

  Theresa Ryan hasn’t said a word to me beyond emailing instructions about brunch, but Donald doesn’t need to know that. “How kind of her,” he says, but there’s a reserve to his response that I can’t quite read.

  “I didn’t tell her I was coming here,” I say, in case that’s his concern. “And I wouldn’t tell my grandmother, either. She’d never have to know we talked about this.”

  Donald sits straighter in his chair, frowning, and I realize I went too far with that last line. “I would never violate your grandmother’s confidence, Milly. It’s not only morally wrong but also illegal. I am her counsel, after all.”

  “Okay, but…” I keep my fake smile firmly in place and take another tack, even though I know I’m losing him. “But couldn’t you suggest that she talk to us about what happened? Clear the air? Maybe she’d be healthier, and happier, if everything was out in the open.”

  Donald regards me steadily. “Milly, will you take a word of advice from an old man?”

  Definitely not. “Of course.”

  “Leave the past where it is. You and your cousins seem wonderfully well-adjusted—which was not, to be frank, the case with your parents when they were your age. There’s nothing to be gained from reopening old wounds, and a lot to lose.” He smiles at me with what he probably thinks is grandfatherly charm. “Now, can I put in a call to my friend and confirm you and your cousins for the Agent Undeclared set?”

  He’s obviously not going to tell me anything useful, but at least I get the satisfaction of watching his face drop when I say, “No.”

  * * *

  —

  It’s hot and crowded at Dunes, and hard to carry on a conversation because the Asteroids are covering Journey at top volume. Chaz is in the shadows, on a stool toward the back of the stage. All I can see clearly are his jean-clad legs and the edge of his guitar.

  “Milly! Question for you,” Brittany shouts into my ear above the music. We’re crowded around a small table with Efram, Aubrey, and a couple of other kids f
rom the Towhee program. Behind us, Jonah is playing pool with an older guy I don’t recognize. Probably somebody from here, since the crowd at Dunes is much more townie than tourist. Efram snuck a flask of rum in and has been doctoring all of our Cokes, except for Aubrey’s. I’m at that pleasant, slightly buzzed point of the night where everyone around me seems more likable than usual, so I beam cheerfully at Brittany even though we don’t usually talk much.

  She taps my arm, and I realize I owe her an answer. “What?” I yell back. The band wraps up their song and the crowd cheers loudly, shouting for more.

  “Does your cousin have a girlfriend? He’s so cute.” I follow Brittany’s gaze to where Jonah is lining up a shot, dark brown hair flopping into one eye and the lean muscles in his arms flexing. Objectively, yes, that’s an attractive pose for him. And his face hits all the right notes: straight nose, full lips, square jaw. It still feels weird, and a little wrong, to notice that. Just like it did on the ferry, when I realized the hot guy on the staircase I’d been checking out was my cousin.

  But now he’s not.

  Jonah looks up and meets my eyes, then winks and flashes a wicked grin before taking his shot. My cheeks warm and I glance at Brittany, who’s looking between us with a confused expression. “You should go talk to him. He just winked at you,” I say.

  “I don’t think he was—” Brittany starts.

  I swirl the ice in my drink before finishing it. “You know what, I don’t actually know if Jonah has a girlfriend or not. We’re not particularly close, but I’ll find out. For you.”

  The distinctive piano opening of “Don’t Stop Believin’ ” rings out as I slide off my stool, and the crowd goes wild. Jonah is finishing the last of his rum and Coke, glaring at the cue ball like it betrayed him, when I nudge his arm with mine. “Don’t tell me you missed a shot,” I say.