The Cousins Page 14

  Uncle Archer grimaces. “Fred Baxter, of all damn people. He was our family doctor when I was a kid, and he has dementia now. I ran into him in Mugg’s Pharmacy last week. He was by himself, looking lost, and I figured he’d given his nurse the slip. I offered to help him find her, and he said, ‘No thank you, Archer. I could use some time alone.’ ” Uncle Archer shakes his head. “Here I am thinking the guy can’t even find the door, and he’s the only person on the entire island to see through the Chaz Jones facade. He asked me where I was staying, and I…I was so rattled that I actually told him.”

  “Well, he might’ve forgotten,” I say consolingly. “We’ve met him. He does that a lot.”

  “You met Dr. Baxter?” Archer asks, just as Jonah says, “Does he, though?”

  I look between them, but Jonah doesn’t say anything else, so I answer my uncle. “Mostly we met his granddaughter, but he was…there.” And then I shut up, because there’s no way I’m heading down the rabbit hole of sharing Hazel’s ugly rumors.

  Uncle Archer looks nonplussed. “Okay, well…whether Fred Baxter remembers seeing me or not, once I tell Mother the truth, my time here is up.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, looking suddenly exhausted. “You guys probably think I’m out of my mind. Maybe I am. But I really did mean well.”

  My phone buzzes then. I pull it out of my pocket automatically and without much interest, but my eyes widen when I see the name on my screen. Thomas: What’s up?

  I almost laugh. How much time do you have, Thomas? And why is he getting in touch now, after two weeks of silence?

  But I know why; it’s because I stopped thinking about him.

  Thomas has a sixth sense about stuff like that. For years, I’ve showered him with attention while getting scraps in return, and the only time that dynamic has ever shifted is when I pulled back. Even unconsciously. Like sophomore year, when he wasn’t going to take me to the spring dance because “dances are boring,” until I got partnered with a new boy in biology and couldn’t help noticing what a nice, deep brown his eyes were. I never even mentioned the boy’s name, but Thomas could tell I wasn’t as fixated on him as usual. And suddenly, we were going to the dance as if he’d been planning it all along.

  Because Thomas only really pays attention when the adoration he thinks he deserves starts to fade. Just like…

  Oh God. When it hits me I want to throw up. Not only out of disgust with myself for putting up with him for so long, but because it never occurred to me until right now that I’ve basically been dating the Ashland High version of my father.

  Milly’s elbow digs into my side again, bringing me back to the present. “Are you okay with that, Aubrey?” she asks.

  I blink around the room. Everyone is looking at me except Uncle Archer. He’s slumped against the sofa cushions, as though whatever burst of energy carried him through the conversation has deserted him. “With what?” I ask.

  “We’re going to sleep on this and talk more tomorrow,” Milly says.

  “I’m just—” Uncle Archer gestures unsteadily with one hand, knocking a pile of envelopes from the end table beside him onto the floor. “Damn it. What are those?” he asks as I crouch down to gather them up.

  “Your mail,” Rob says, showing the first hint of impatience all night. “In the exact same place I put it every time I bring it by.”

  “Eh, it’s all junk anyway,” Uncle Archer mutters. “Dear Occupant, blah blah.”

  I shuffle the mail in my hand. “You got a letter,” I say, holding out an envelope with Archer Story written neatly across the front. There’s no stamp or address, as though someone simply slipped it into the mailbox.

  “I did?” Uncle Archer takes it with a bemused expression and opens the flap. “Who the hell would send me a letter? No one even knows I’m here, except…” He pulls out a single sheet of paper, the crease between his eyes deepening as he reads. “This is—I don’t understand this.”

  “What is it?” I pluck the paper from his unresisting hand and turn it over. I scan the brief lines, then meet my uncle’s eyes. His confusion mirrors my own as I say, “I guess he remembered after all.”

  “Who?” Milly asks. “Remembered what?”

  I raise my eyebrows at Uncle Archer in a silent question, and when he nods, I read the note out loud.

  Archer,

  I have not been able to rest easy since seeing you the other day.

  There are things I should have told you long ago.

  And I fear my time is running short.

  Would you be so good as to meet with me?

  Yours,

  Fred Baxter

  “Hey, Matt, it’s Allison. So, Independence Day is playing at Gull Cove Cinema, and I was thinking about going next weekend. Can’t get enough of those alien invasions. Let me know if you want to come with? You can call me here, or whatever. Okay, talk to you later. Bye.”

  Allison hung up the phone and immediately started pacing her bedroom in a haze of mortification. Can’t get enough of those alien invasions? What was wrong with her? But then again, it hardly mattered what she said or didn’t say. Matt hadn’t returned her two previous messages, so he’d probably delete this one without even listening. It was time to face facts: what she’d considered a romantic, possibly life-changing (or at least summer-changing) night on the beach at Rob Valentine’s party was just a one-night stand.

  Matt Ryan was blowing her off.

  She’d only seen him once in the three weeks since Rob’s party, when he was delivering flowers to Donald Camden’s waterfront office. Allison had actually followed him inside, rehearsing the Oh, I was just dropping something off from my mother excuse she’d use when he noticed her. But Kayla Dugas, who was working that summer as part of the office’s cleaning crew, got to Matt first. “Hey, stranger,” she called, pushing her mop toward him with a little shimmy that made Matt laugh. Even in a shapeless blue smock and plastic gloves, Kayla looked gorgeous. Allison ducked behind a pillar, but she might as well have been invisible. Neither of them took their eyes off one another, and Allison ended up slinking right back outside.

  She’d told herself all kinds of stories to explain Matt’s silence. He’s playing it cool. He’s worried about what his mother will say. He’s intimidated by my family. But too much time had passed for any of those to be true.

  Which sucked, but wasn’t even close to her biggest problem right now.

  Allison’s room suddenly felt too small and too lonely. She stepped into the hallway, listening for signs of life in Catmint House. Her brothers were on the beach, an invitation she declined because she’d wanted to be alone while she called Matt. On the off chance that he would pick up, which seemed ridiculous now.

  Mother had to be around somewhere. She barely left the house anymore.

  Allison padded downstairs and, sure enough, her mother was seated at the window table in the kitchen, poring over home design catalogs. She’d recently redone the backsplash behind the Viking double stove with hand-painted tiles from Italy, then decided they were too “showy” and needed to be replaced with something else. “Allison, what do you think of these?” she asked, turning the catalog face out as Allison approached the table.

  Allison gazed down at a page’s worth of unremarkable white tiles. “You’re going to break Theresa’s heart, you know,” she said. Theresa had recommended the Italian tiles, and Allison happened to agree with her that they were stunning—little works of art that brought color and vibrancy to the kitchen. But Mother needed a distraction that didn’t require her to leave the house, and she’d chosen redecorating.

  “Well, Theresa doesn’t live here, does she?” Mother asked, taking the catalog back.

  “Actually, she does,” Allison reminded her. And then, because she was at that point of unrequited crushdom that she’d take any excuse to mention his name, she added, “M
att must be lonely without her.”

  “Boys that age don’t miss their mothers,” Mother said. “Or listen to them. That’s a universal truth I know all too well.” Her voice hardened as she turned a page in the catalog. “Anders is seeing that girl again, isn’t he?”

  “What girl?” Allison asked, even though she knew perfectly well that her mother meant Kayla. And Mother was right; despite whatever Kayla might have going on with Matt, she had fallen right back into old patterns with Anders.

  Mother’s lips thinned as she flipped pages faster. “He’s getting too old for this nonsense. There are so many wonderful girls at Harvard, the kind he could build a real future with. Your father and I were engaged by the time we were sophomores.”

  Allison would have laughed if her mother hadn’t looked so serious. “Anders is nineteen, Mother. He’s not thinking about marriage.”

  “I guarantee you she is,” Mother sniffed. “He’d better watch out if he doesn’t want to find himself trapped.”

  The conversation was becoming uncomfortable on too many levels. “I’m going to see if the boys are back,” Allison said, getting to her feet.

  “I expect you all home for dinner tonight,” Mother said without looking up from the catalog.

  “We will be,” Allison promised.

  She hurried out of the kitchen, down the hallway that led to the foyer, and nearly bumped into Theresa, who was accepting a delivery at the front door.

  “Hi,” Allison gulped, pasting on a smile. God, she hoped Theresa hadn’t heard any of that kitchen conversation.

  But Theresa just smiled distractedly. “Hi, Allison. Right over there,” she told the delivery man, who wheeled his dolly containing a large, rectangular cardboard box into the foyer. “New sculpture,” she added as an aside to Allison. “Another bronze.”

  “Ah.” Enough said. Allison’s mother was having a bronze moment lately, and each sculpture was uglier than the next. It was heroic, really, that Theresa managed to keep a straight face when talking about them. “Have you seen the boys?”

  “Driveway,” Theresa said, pointing to the still-open door. Adam’s cherry-red BMW convertible was visible through the frame. “I think they’re headed downtown.”

  “Really?” Allison perked up. Downtown was a useful destination. She dashed through the door, waving wildly at Adam as he started to back up.

  “What?” he asked impatiently, hitting the brake.

  “I’m coming with you,” Allison said, climbing into the backseat with Archer. “I have an errand to run.”

  * * *

  —

  Hurley Street was packed, and Adam had to slow to a crawl to accommodate all the tourist traffic. Allison watched her brother adjust his Ray-Bans in the rearview mirror, and flex the tanned bicep that he’d draped out the car window. Adam liked nothing better than performing for an audience, and he considered all of Gull Cove his personal stage.

  “How is there no parking?” he complained, as if it wasn’t the height of vacation season. “I hope Sweetfern isn’t a zoo.”

  “I’m going to the comic book store first,” Archer said, with a sideways glance toward Allison. Only she knew why: because he was crushing on the cute guy working the register this summer. Archer had told Allison over Christmas that he was gay, and she’d been touched that he trusted her with information he hadn’t shared with anyone else in their family. He’d intended to approach their mother next, but Father had died soon after. The timing, Archer said, was never right after that.

  “Save me a seat?” he asked her now.

  “I’m going to Mugg’s first,” Allison said.

  Anders yawned loudly in the front seat. “I’ll come with you. I need a razor.”

  “I’ll get you one,” Allison said quickly.

  He made a dismissive noise in his throat. “You’ll get the wrong kind.”

  “Not if you tell me what you want.”

  “It’s easier to get it myself. Plus I don’t have any cash to give you.”

  “I’ll pay for it,” Allison said, trying to keep her voice casual. She desperately didn’t want Anders trailing her through Mugg’s Pharmacy, but if he knew that, she’d never get rid of him.

  Anders twisted in his seat to look at her. “It’s an artisan-made razor that costs more than two hundred dollars. You want to cover that for me?”

  “Sure. Fine,” Allison muttered. Thank God for credit cards. Anders recited details about his ridiculously overpriced razor as Allison kept her eyes on the street.

  “Got it,” she said.

  “Oh, sweet! Look at that.” A car pulled out of a prime parking spot right in front of them, and Adam expertly parallel parked the BMW. “The streak continues,” he gloated as he shifted into park. Parking spots always opened up for Adam. It was annoying, actually.

  “Congratulations,” Allison said flatly. “See you at Sweetfern.” As soon as Adam turned off the engine, she launched herself out of the car without waiting for her brothers. They had parked just a block from Mugg’s Pharmacy, and Allison strode quickly down the crowded sidewalk until she reached the distinctive brown-and-white striped awning. She pulled the door open to the discreet jingle of a bell.

  “Hello, Allison. What brings you here today?” Mr. Mugg’s twentysomething son Dennis was behind the cash register, because of course he was. It couldn’t be a college student here for the summer whom she’d never see again.

  “Hi,” she said, forcing a smile. “Well, first off, I’m getting the Zephyr AS single-edge razor for my brother. He said it would be behind the counter?”

  “Indeed. Excellent choice,” Dennis said, unclipping a set of keys from his belt loop. He unlocked the glass case behind him and removed a black velvet box, as though Allison were buying a piece of jewelry. “It’s a solid block of stainless steel with a satin matte finish,” Dennis said, opening the box to reveal the razor inside. Allison had to admit that, as far as razors went, it was a good-looking one. Maybe Anders could hang it on his wall, since he barely needed to shave. “Very slim and ergonomic. Will you be wanting a set of blades with that?”

  Anders hadn’t specified blades, and since they were probably another two hundred dollars, he could buy them on his own. “No, just the razor.”

  “Anything else?” Dennis asked, putting the box into a brown-and-white paper bag.

  “Yes, but I’ll get it myself and come back.” Allison unzipped the top of her bag, then said the words that would guarantee Dennis wouldn’t try to extend the conversation when she returned. “I need some tampons.”

  She ducked into an aisle before Dennis could turn red and start stammering. He hadn’t mastered the art of the poker face when it came to feminine hygiene products.

  At least Mugg’s Pharmacy was empty. Tinny music piped through the speakers as Allison worked her way to the back of the store. She grabbed a box of Tampax, then moved farther down the aisle to find what she’d really come for.

  Early pregnancy test

  Results in five minutes!

  Accurate within two weeks of conception

  Allison said a silent prayer of thanks that Mr. Mugg was too old-fashioned to install security cameras, before she plucked a pregnancy test off the shelf and dropping it into her bag. Then she turned, and froze.

  “Well, well, well.” Anders was standing a few feet from her, with a smirk that left no doubt he’d seen exactly what she was about to shoplift. “What do we have here?”

  A persistent ringing wakes me up Saturday morning. My room is stuffy and hot, and I push aside the tangle of sheets weighing me down before reaching for the floor to pick up my phone. Efram is gone, probably working an early shift at the pool. I’m not due at The Sevens until noon, so even though it’s past ten I don’t need to get up for another hour. And wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for…Oh hell.

  My dad. I want
to let it go to voice mail, but I can’t. I know why he’s calling. “Hey, Dad,” I say, heaving myself into a sitting position. “How was bankruptcy court?”

  “Postponed,” he says.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Your mom and I need a little more time to finish the restructuring plan we’re proposing. So we asked the trustee for an extension until next week, and he said yes.”

  “Okay,” I say cautiously. “Is that good or bad?”

  “It’s good. Gives us a better shot at hanging on to Empire.”

  Empire is Empire Billiards, named after my mother’s favorite movie, Empire Records. My parents bought it when I was too young to remember what life was like before Empire became the family business. My first memory of it is the two-year anniversary when I was five; my dad carried my mother through the door with me trailing behind, into what felt like the biggest party I’d ever seen. Even though, looking back on it more than ten years later, it was probably just our relatives, a few of the construction workers and plumbers who’d become Empire regulars, and a lot of balloons.

  It didn’t matter. I loved that place. It felt magical to me; someplace where I could learn a new game and where grown-ups were always happy. It took a lot of years for me to recognize how much of that good mood came from the bottles behind the bar, and how many times the bartender, Enzo, diplomatically cut off regulars when they’d had too much. But nothing ever got out of hand at Empire. It was my dark, musty, sticky-floored second home.

  “Jonah?” Dad’s voice yanks me back into the present. “You still there?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “You said you’ll have a better shot at hanging on to Empire. But it’s not a sure thing, right?”

  “None of this is for sure. We’re doing the best we can.”

  I had prepared myself, when I worked the late shift at Empire the night before I left for Gull Cove, that it might be shut down by the time I got home. I thought I was ready. But every time one of my parents calls with an update, I get hit with the same stomach-curdling mix of resentment and anxiety. Nothing ever seems to get resolved; it’s always delays, and meetings with creditors, and a bunch of legal terms I don’t understand. It’s death by a thousand cuts, and even though I told my parents I wanted them to keep me in the loop, I’m starting to wish they’d spare me the details.