The Cousins Page 13

  The townie guy Jonah is playing against descends on the table, cue in hand. “Excuse me, small-town girl,” he says loudly as the lead singer of Chaz’s band screams the same lyrics behind us. I roll my eyes and step aside.

  Jonah squints at me with a half smile. “I was distracted,” he says.

  “Stop that,” I hiss.

  “Stop what?”

  “Flirting with me.”

  “I’m not flirting with you.” Jonah props his pool cue against the wall and leans beside it with a lazy grin. The alcohol is obviously hitting him as hard as it is me, because I’ve never seen him this loose before. “You’re kind of full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “You winked at me!”

  “That was a cousinly wink. The kind that says, Hey, cuz, hope you’re having a good time stalking our grandmother’s bartender. Not Hey, Milly, you look really pretty tonight.” He dips his head toward mine. “Even though you do.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” I mutter, fighting off a smile. Damn it. I haven’t been interested in anyone for nearly a year, and I can’t start now. This summer is enough of a mess without adding that particular complication. “I’m going back to the table.”

  “Don’t.” Jonah’s hands briefly circle my waist and he spins me to face the pool table as I studiously avoid whatever incredulous look Brittany must be sending our way. I can’t even blame her. “He already missed, so it’s my turn again. And you’re good luck.”

  I should leave. This is beyond weird to the casual observer. But while I can handle asshole Jonah and imposter Jonah, I’m completely unprepared for this version. I stand rooted in place while the band plays on and Jonah circles the table like he owns it. He sinks four quick shots plus the eight ball, and just like that, the game is over. Jonah’s opponent puts his hands together in a praying motion, bowing in an exaggerated manner that, somehow, still seems kind of respectful. Then he extends his hand for a fist bump before melting back into the crowd. The band wraps up to loud applause, but instead of launching into their next song, they start conferring onstage.

  “One of these days you’re going to explain how and where you acquired your mad skills,” I say as Jonah places his cue in a wall rack. I mean it as a compliment, but the confident smirk drops from his face like I just wiped an eraser across it.

  Before I can apologize—for what, I don’t even know—the Asteroids’ lead singer leans into his microphone. He has the same Gull Cove townie look about him as the guy Jonah just beat: deeply tanned, weather-beaten, and older than he probably is. “Evening, all, and thanks for coming out,” he says. “We’re just about done for the night, but before we take off, we’ll be switching things up a little. Our guitarist, who’s usually a stay-in-the-shadows kind of guy, has asked if he can close things out with his favorite song. So please give it up for Chaz!”

  “Let’s go listen,” I say to Jonah, starting for the table where Aubrey, Efram, and Brittany are still sitting. He follows me, so closely that when I suddenly turn, I nearly bump into him. I should probably back up, but I don’t. “Oh! One more thing. I was supposed to find out whether or not you have a girlfriend.” My voice comes out breathier than I’d intended, and I try to inject a more businesslike tone when I add, “For Brittany.”

  Jonah stares at me for a beat, brown eyes sparkling with reflected light from the stage. “No,” he says. “I don’t have a girlfriend. But I’m not interested in Brittany.”

  My face is way too hot. “All right. Noted,” I say, turning before he can pick up on my blush. We reach the table just as Chaz steps into center stage, blinking like he’s not quite sure how he got there. Even from this distance he looks rough, and I have no problem believing he’s still on that days-long bender everyone at Gull Cove Resort keeps gossiping about.

  I slip back onto my stool, avoiding Brittany’s gaze. Chaz mumbles, “This one’s for my family,” his voice crackling against the mic, and strums a familiar chord. The band kicks in seconds later, and Aubrey straightens in her seat.

  “Is that—” she starts.

  “Weezer,” Brittany says. “ ‘Africa.’ ”

  “Not originally.” Efram leans forward. “Toto did it first. This band is all about the eighties, remember?” He frowns a little. “This song is really…a product of its time, isn’t it? Like, they’d probably never been to Africa, but they decided to sing about it anyway. In a supremely cringey way.”

  He’s right, but that’s not what I’m thinking about as I try to catch Aubrey’s eye. Was this song as much a part of her childhood as mine, or did Uncle Adam not share this particular bit of Story lore? Has she seen the video of my mother, her father, and their brothers, singing this song at the top of their lungs when they were kids?

  Aubrey is staring intently at the stage, so I shift my gaze from her to Chaz. He tilts his head and closes his eyes as he sings the chorus and— Ohhhh.

  Oh my God.

  I’m on my feet in an instant, shouldering my way through the crowd until I’m almost at the front of the stage. I’ve been closer to Chaz in The Sevens than I am here, but I can see him clearly beneath the bright lights of the stage.

  I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out.

  As soon as the song finishes to loud applause, Chaz drops his guitar onto the stage and lifts one hand in the air, signaling to the bartender as he walks offstage. I turn and head for the bar, too, but get stuck behind a group of guys my age. I have to start breathing through my mouth when the smell of too many competing colognes overpowers me.

  “Hey, Milly, how’s it going?” Reid Chilton says, smiling widely as I crane my neck to see past him. Chaz looks slightly panicked, but also determined. Like he just realized he needs to escape, but isn’t willing to leave without a drink in hand.

  “Great, but I can’t talk right now,” I say shortly, pushing between him and another boy in a blue polo shirt. The second boy laughs as I pass.

  “Damn, Reid. She’s not feeling you at all.”

  I keep weaving through the crowd until I’m close enough to grab hold of Chaz’s sleeve. I tug hard, and he turns. The eyes that meet mine are so familiar that I’m annoyed with myself all over again for not seeing it sooner. Conversation buzzes loudly around us but I still lower my voice, bringing my lips close to his ear so he can hear me.

  “Hey, Uncle Archer,” I say. My mother’s youngest brother’s eyes widen in alarm as I add, “Are you the one who brought us here?”

  “I’m nowhere near drunk enough for this conversation,” Uncle Archer mutters, running an unsteady hand over his mouth.

  “Oh yes, you are,” the band’s lead singer says grimly. We’re in his house now—or, more accurately, the bungalow behind his house where Uncle Archer lives. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but inside it’s surprisingly large and clean.

  The singer’s name is Rob Valentine, he told us back at Dunes. He runs a painting business on the island, and used to be a friend of Uncle Archer’s in high school. Without him, Uncle Archer probably would’ve escaped through the back door of Dunes as soon as Milly used his real name. “Come on,” Rob said as he half wrestled Uncle Archer toward a battered Honda SUV in the parking lot. Milly, Jonah, and I trailed behind them, too shell-shocked to do anything except watch. “No more hiding. Tell the kids what’s going on.”

  “I will at the house,” Uncle Archer mumbled when he finally gave up and let Rob push him into the Honda’s passenger seat. Then he promptly passed out, or pretended to.

  The drive to Rob’s house was short, just enough time for him to awkwardly ask after our parents before we reached his driveway. Then we went through another lengthy production of getting Uncle Archer out of the car, into the bungalow, and onto a small sofa. He’s sitting upright now, but sagging against the plaid cushions as Rob takes a seat at the opposite end of the sofa. Milly, Jonah, and I are lined up on a
futon across from them, waiting.

  Uncle Archer finally clears his throat and says, “So…this isn’t exactly how I’d planned on introducing myself to the three of you.” His glance skitters in our direction without ever really settling on us. “In retrospect, I shouldn’t have…” He trails off, and Milly fidgets beside me. Her impatience for getting some kind of explanation is coming off her in waves. “Played that song,” he finishes.

  Milly sits up straighter, frowning. “That’s what you’re leading with? Song choice?”

  “It’s kind of my signature song,” Uncle Archer says, as though Milly were looking for an explanation instead of expressing frustration. “Well, my family’s signature song, back when we lived here. I guess your mom told you that. And people here…”

  He trails off, and Rob finishes for him. “Remember. So much for being incognito, Chaz.”

  “My cover was already blown,” Uncle Archer mutters. “Blew it last week.”

  “You don’t know that,” Rob says. His tone is one of patient forbearance, like he’s made the same argument more than once. “He hasn’t said anything yet, has he?”

  Milly and I exchange confused glances. “Who hasn’t said anything?” she asks. “What are you talking about?”

  “Tell them, Archer,” Rob says. “From the beginning.”

  Uncle Archer’s head just droops in response. We all wait for him to speak again, until Rob heaves a sigh and shoots us an apologetic glance. “This might be one of those nights that we need to let him sleep it off,” he says.

  “So tired,” Uncle Archer mumbles.

  Milly gives them both an assessing look before getting up and heading for the kitchen. When she comes back, she’s holding a glass half full of water. She stands in front of Uncle Archer, raises the glass, and throws the water in his face.

  His head jerks up and his eyes pop open, shocked but alert. “What the hell?” Water droplets cling to his beard and soak into his shirt as he wipes a sleeve across his face.

  “You owe us answers,” Milly says.

  “Hey, now.” Rob’s voice is gentle, but firm. “I understand that you’re frustrated, but your uncle isn’t being difficult by choice. You’re dealing with someone who has a disease, and unfortunately, sometimes this is what addiction looks like.”

  Milly opens her mouth, then closes it and drops back onto the futon, red-faced. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her look chastened, and I have to admit—I’m glad she does. Normally I like her hard-charging style, but seeing Uncle Archer like this makes my chest hurt. Milly said on the way over that we should’ve realized who he was earlier, but I don’t see how we could have. My last memory of Uncle Archer is of him handsome and laughing, crouching on the floor with me to build a Lego town when I was a little kid. There’s nothing familiar about this version unless you know to look for it.

  “I’m sorry,” Milly says quietly.

  “It’s okay,” Uncle Archer says, blinking through still-wet eyes. “I deserved that. And hey, what do you know? It might’ve done the trick.” He laughs shakily and swipes the last of the water droplets from his beard. “I owe you an apology, too. All of you. You asked me, in Dunes, if I brought you here. Truth is, I did.”

  And there it is: the answer to a two-week mystery. But it only raises more questions, and for once, Milly seems reluctant to ask them. Jonah’s basically useless, since he’s too worried about saying the wrong thing, so I guess it’s up to me. “Why? And how?”

  Uncle Archer looks longingly at Milly’s discarded glass, like he wishes it were still full and holding something stronger than water. “It started with Edward—you remember Edward Franklin?” He looks at us questioningly, and we all nod. Milly recovers enough to elbow me in the side with a self-satisfied smirk, since she’s been trying to follow the Edward Franklin thread all week. “Well, Edward and I were introduced by a mutual friend in Boston last winter, and we hit it off. When I found out where he worked, it seemed like fate. I’d been thinking a lot about family, and home, and I just—I wanted to come back. But I knew I couldn’t waltz in here as Archer Story. I asked Edward to set me up with a bartending job at the resort, and Rob if I could pose as a friend from out of town while I got my bearings.”

  “Bearings?” I echo, and Archer sends me a wry smile.

  “I had this silly fantasy at first that I’d run into Mother at some point, and all the anger she’s been holding on to would melt away. That she’d realize she wants to be reunited just as much as I do. But that didn’t happen. I haven’t even caught a glimpse of her the entire time I’ve been here. She keeps herself very isolated. Even when she comes to the resort for business reasons, she only sees a handful of people.”

  I inch a little closer to the edge of my seat. “Uncle Archer, do you know what the letter meant?” He furrows his brow, and I clarify. “The you know what you did letter that Donald Camden sent. Do you, um…know what you did?”

  “I have no idea.” He spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. “I’ve never been able to understand what she meant. I’d give anything if I could.”

  It’s the same answer Dad has always given, and that I’ve always accepted without question. But now that I know how duplicitous my father can be, I’ve been considering his response through a different lens—his eyes would shift just a little, his jaw tighten, and his nostrils flare. Small tics that make me wonder what he might have been hiding. When I search Uncle Archer’s face, I don’t see any of that, though. All I see is sadness, and confusion.

  “Did you ever think about trying to see Gran?” I ask.

  “Constantly,” he says. “But the longer I was here, the more I realized I’d been kidding myself to imagine that I could become part of her life again. Me, Adam, Anders, Allison—none of us can. Whatever happened to change Mother’s feelings hasn’t faded in more than twenty years. Our chapter of the Story legacy ended a long time ago. And then I saw an article about you, Aubrey.”

  I tilt my head, confused. “Me?”

  “Yeah. Your swim team was in that national meet that USA Today covered. I read the article, and it hit me all over again how fractured our family is. It felt like such a waste, to know so little about you that I hadn’t even realized you’d become an elite swimmer.”

  “I’m not elite,” I say, my cheeks warming. “It was a team thing.”

  “It’s a tremendous accomplishment!” Uncle Archer insists, and I have to blink back sudden tears. My father didn’t even go to that meet. He said he wasn’t feeling well, but he probably just didn’t want to run into his girlfriend with his wife there. “I was proud of you, and I wanted to congratulate you. But I was afraid that would seem strange and out of the blue, since we hardly know one another. Then I thought about Mother, and how she’s never met any of you. I told Edward that if she did, maybe she’d realize what a mistake she’d made cutting off her entire family tree. That’s when the idea took hold of me, and wouldn’t let go.”

  Milly’s held her tongue the entire time Uncle Archer and I were talking, but she can’t keep quiet any longer. “To bring us here under false pretenses?” she blurts out.

  Her words are harsh, but her tone isn’t, and Uncle Archer smiles ruefully. “It seemed a lot more virtuous in my head, but—yeah. In a nutshell, I guess that’s it. Edward was planning on leaving Gull Cove anyway, so I convinced him to invite you guys under Mother’s name.” He clears his throat. “I, um, don’t have the best of relationships with any of your parents, so I didn’t clue them in. I figured they’d forgive the deception if things worked out like I hoped.”

  My head is starting to hurt from all the new information I’m trying to process. “Were you the one who tipped off the Gull Cove Gazette?”

  “Yes,” Uncle Archer admits. “I thought it would buy you some time, since Mother cares a lot about appearances. I didn’t expect you’d run into her on the very first day.
But I’m glad you did, because—I was right, wasn’t I? She does want to know you. She’s invited you to Catmint House, and to the Summer Gala, hasn’t she?”

  “Well, yeah, but only after ignoring us for two weeks. Which seems more like she’s trying to save face than mend fences.” Milly frowns, shaking her head. “I mean, what’s the long-term plan here? Did you think she’d never find out that you’re the one who brought us here?”

  “Oh no.” Archer looks shocked at the suggestion. “I’ve been planning to tell Mother everything after the gala.” He rubs a hand across his face. “In a letter, probably. It’s highly unlikely she’d agree to see me.”

  Milly stares at him like he’s just sprouted a second head. “But she’d be furious at you for pulling something like that. You’d never get re-inherited.”

  Uncle Archer’s brow creases. “Re-inherited?”

  “You know. Back in the will. An heir once more,” Milly says. “Isn’t that what you want? It’s what my—it’s what our parents were hoping,” she adds, glancing first at me and then at Jonah. “Right?”

  Jonah clears his throat. “It’s definitely what my, um, parents were hoping.”

  “Mine too,” I say.

  “Well.” Archer blinks. “This is going to sound naive, I suppose, but all I really wanted was for her to get to know you. And vice versa.”

  We’re all quiet for a minute, absorbing that. I almost don’t believe it—a Story who doesn’t care about his lost fortune? That goes against everything I’ve ever known about my father’s family. But the thing is, I can’t imagine any scenario where this situation turns out well for Uncle Archer. Even if Gran ends up happy to have us here—which feels like a big if—she’d still have been duped by her youngest son. And we already know she’s not the forgiving type.

  “Anyway, I’m sure I’ll be fired the next time I show up at work.” Uncle Archer sighs and looks at the floor. “Which is why I’ve been avoiding it. So to speak.”

  “Why?” I ask, and then remember his conversation with Rob from earlier. My cover was already blown. “Did someone recognize you?”