The Cousins(18)

“Thanks. Baba bought it on that same trip to Japan when she got your gamaguchi,” Milly says, carefully running a brush through her already-shining hair.

“That was really nice of her,” I say. When we first got to our room and started unpacking, Milly handed me a gift from the grandmother she calls Baba. It was a beautiful little clasp bag with a pattern like blue waves, because, Milly said, “She knows you like to swim.” That put a lump in my throat. My mother’s parents are dead, so Gran is my only living grandparent. And yet, a woman I’m not even related to is a hundred times more thoughtful toward me.

It’s been four days since that strange, awkward introduction in Carson Fine’s office. As soon as Milly and I got to our dorm room, my cousin insisted that Gran didn’t know we were coming. “Didn’t you see her face?” she asked. “She was shocked.”

“Well, yeah,” I said. “She was unprepared. I’m sure she had something more formal in mind for our first meeting. But of course she knew we were coming, Milly. She invited us.”

Milly sniffed. “Someone invited us. I’m not so sure it was her anymore.”

“That makes zero sense,” I replied, and I meant it. I assumed Milly was just being dramatic. But since then we’ve heard from Gran exactly once—a short, impersonal note to let us know she’d been called away to Boston on business. I’ll be in touch upon my return, she wrote.

I still think Milly is overreacting, but…yeah, it’s weird. Who brings their grandchildren to visit for the first time ever, and then takes off?



Milly’s hairbrush strokes get more aggressive as she glares into her mirror. “Maybe Baba should’ve gotten us T-shirts that say ‘My Other Grandmother Is a Bitch Who’ll Stand You Up,’ but she’s not clairvoyant.”

I can’t help but snicker, which makes me feel guilty, so I quickly change the subject. “I wonder if Gran saw the article?” I say. On Sunday, the Gull Cove Gazette ran an article with the headline A NEW CHAPTER TO THE STORYS: GRANDCHILDREN RETURN TO GULL COVE. We’re not sure who tipped them off. Milly thinks it was that Hazel girl from downtown, but I’m guessing Carson Fine. He’s been treating us like island royalty ever since we arrived, offering us perks like use of the resort Jeep and giving us all the best shifts. I’m one of the lifeguards at a pool that opens at six a.m., but I’ve never had to be there before ten. Jonah and Milly work at two of the resort restaurants, and while I haven’t talked to Jonah much since we arrived, I know for a fact that Milly barely works three hours a day.

Milly snorts. “Well, we know someone did.”

Yesterday afternoon, creamy white envelopes appeared in our mailboxes. I thought it might be Gran again, but the note inside was something else entirely:

To: Aubrey Story, Jonah Story, and Milly Story-Takahashi





Donald S. Camden, Esq., requests the pleasure of your company at lunch Wednesday, June 30, 1:00 p.m.





L’Etoile Restaurant





RSVP to Melinda Cartwright





[email protected]





“Oh my God,” Milly said when we read it. “Donald Camden. He’s going to banish us from the island, isn’t he? Just like he did with our parents.” Her voice dropped an octave. “You know what you did.”

“He can’t do that,” I’d protested weakly, but I’m honestly not sure. The longer we go without hearing from Gran, the less confident I am about anything. At least we’ll find out soon, though. It’s twelve-forty-five, and the car Donald Camden is sending for us should be arriving any minute.

Milly fastens on her second earring. “Let’s talk about something more cheerful. How is your boyfriend? Is he pining away for you already?”

Instinctively, I pull my phone out of my pocket. Right before my plane took off from Portland last Friday, Thomas texted Have a great summer! with a GIF of rolling waves. It felt weirdly…final. I haven’t heard from him since, even though I’ve been sending constant updates and left a couple of voice messages. I know there’s a time difference, and he can’t use his phone at his summer job, but still. “Thomas isn’t really the pining type,” I say.

My cousin darts a quick glance toward my reflection in her mirror, like she’s weighing the pros and cons of a follow-up question, before picking up a tube of lip gloss. “Well, you have my permission to flirt with anyone in this…Tory program,” she says, stumbling over the word.

“Towhee,” I correct. That’s what Gull Cove Resort calls those of us in the summer hire program who are still in high school. We have separate housing with resident assistants plus extra team-building activities—so far a beach bonfire party our first night, and a volleyball tournament yesterday. We even got T-shirts with TOWHEE emblazoned on the front in cursive letters, which I was wearing until a few minutes ago when I changed to go to lunch. Milly shoved hers in the bottom drawer of her dresser as soon as she got it.



Most of the Towhees don’t really need to work. Jonah’s roommate, Efram, is the son of an R&B star from the early aughts. Another guy’s mother is a senator, and our next-door neighbor Brittany’s parents developed the messaging app that my entire school uses. Almost everyone in the summer hire program is here for the experience, or the prestige, or a chance to get away from their families.