The Cousins(20)

Milly adjusts her sunglasses. “This was Uncle Adam’s favorite beach?”

I turn to her. “Did you ever read his book? A Brief and Broken Silence?”

“Ah, no,” she says. “I tried, but it was kind of…”

“Boring,” I say. “I know. But the main character—who’s a stand-in for my dad, I always thought—constantly talks about a beach in his hometown. Cutter Beach. And one of the lines he repeats, over and over, is: That’s where it all started to go wrong.”

“Huh.” Milly is quiet for a few seconds, then points out, “But this is Cutty Beach.”

“I know,” I say. “My dad isn’t the most original thinker, though. His main character has a wife named Magda, and my mom is Megan. And his daughter’s name is Augie.”



Milly wrinkles her nose. “Augie?”

“Short for Augusta,” I explain.

“Okay, so—what? You think something happened to your dad at this beach?”

“Not necessarily,” I say slowly, because that’s exactly how my dad would put it. Things happen to him, like they’re out of his control. But that’s not how life really works; or at least, it’s not how it’s ever worked for him. “I just think it’s interesting.”

There’s a loud ahem noise behind us, and when we turn, Jonah is glaring out the window. “You done sightseeing?” he asks. “Or should we skip lunch so you can keep staring at the world’s ugliest beach?”

“Three more days,” Milly mutters as we start back toward the car. “That’s it. That’s how long until I kill him.”



* * *



—

L’Etoile is a classic old-person’s restaurant. The wallpaper is floral, the chairs are low and cushiony, and everything on the heavy, gilt-edged menu is baked and costs at least thirty dollars.

“If you want something that’s not on the menu, by all means let me know,” Donald Camden tells us as a server fills our water glasses. “The chef is a personal friend.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, studying him surreptitiously over the top of my menu. He’s about Gran’s age and equally well preserved, with thick silver hair and a deep tan. There’s a ruddiness to his cheeks, either from the sun or his already being on his second drink. Ever since we arrived at the restaurant he’s been affable and seemingly at ease, asking questions about our jobs and how we like the Towhee program. Meanwhile I’m getting more and more nervous, because I still have no idea why we’re here or what he wants from us.



“Can I get my hamburger with a bun?” Jonah asks, frowning as he studies his menu. He’s the least dressed-up person in the room, in a threadbare T-shirt, jeans, and ratty Van sneakers. At least Milly and I put some effort into our clothes after we looked up the restaurant online. But if Donald is annoyed by Jonah, he doesn’t show it.

“Of course,” he chuckles. “The regulars here are very carb-conscious, but that’s not something you need to worry about.” The server returns to take our orders, and when he’s finished, Donald leans back in his chair and sips amber liquid from a crystal tumbler. “Have you had a chance to enjoy our beaches yet?”

His glance around the table lands on Jonah, who slouches lower in his seat. “I’m not really a beach person,” he mutters.

As far as I can tell, Jonah isn’t an anything person. He hasn’t taken part in any of the Towhee activities so far. A lot of the girls on our hallway think he’s cute—Brittany in particular makes a point of inviting him everywhere—but if he’s interested in anyone, he doesn’t show it.

“I’ve heard Catmint Beach is nice,” Milly says. “You know, the one in front of our parents’ house.” She tosses her hair and adds, “It was my mother’s favorite.”

I can feel myself go red. Gauntlet thrown, before the entrées have even arrived. But Donald barely reacts except to take another sip of his drink. “Catmint Beach is lovely,” he says smoothly. “Exquisite sunrises.”

“What about Cutty Beach?” I ask.

That’s where it all started to go wrong. I watch Donald Camden’s face carefully for some sign that Cutty Beach matters—that maybe it’s even tied to why my grandmother disinherited our parents—but he just shrugs. “Unremarkable.”



Milly shifts restlessly in her seat. I think Donald picks up on the fact that she’s getting antsy with all the polite conversation, because he settles his glass on a coaster and leans forward, hands folded in front of him. “I could talk about our lovely beaches all day, but that’s not why I asked you here. May I be frank?”

“Please,” I say, just as Milly says, “I wish you would.” Jonah mutters something that sounds like “I don’t know, can you?” but it’s too low for me to be sure. The server reappears just then with our food, and Donald waits until he’s handed all the plates around before continuing.

“Your grandmother isn’t in the best of health. There’s no imminent crisis, but she’s increasingly delicate, and in my opinion, any disruptions in routine should be avoided. I fear she’s overextending herself with the hospitality she’s shown toward the three of you to date, and that burden will only increase as the summer progresses.”