The Cousins(30)

“Are you an artist?” I ask.

“Me? No. Just interested in Gull Cove Island history.” Hazel pushes her stack of leather bracelets up her arm. “How’s everything going?”

“Pretty good. How’s your grandfather?”

“He’s fine.” She tilts her head and smiles. “I’d hoped to hear from you guys.”

“We’ve been really busy,” I say limply. Over Hazel’s shoulder, Milly is pointing toward that big gold watch of hers that doesn’t work and then toward the door. “We’re just heading out, actually. Time to get back to work.”

“Well, let me know if your schedules open up. Granddad is doing much better lately, so he could probably tell you a few stories about your parents.”

I pause, because that’s actually tempting. “Will you give me your number again? I know Jonah has it, but he’s kind of disorganized.”

“Sure,” Hazel says, brightening. She recites it and steps aside to let me pass. “Text me anytime.”

Milly is standing beside the door, holding it open with one foot while the other taps impatiently. “What did she want?” she mutters under her breath when I join her.

“She still wants to talk to us,” I say, handing her an iced coffee as we pass through the doorway. “She said her grandfather’s doing better. Maybe he could explain all the weird stuff he said when we met him.”



Milly looks skeptical as she puts on her sunglasses. “Or maybe she’s just saying that so she can turn us into a term paper.”

We head up the sidewalk, away from the ferry dock, passing a row of shops and restaurants. “It’s like a mini Fifth Avenue around here,” Milly says, pausing to look into the window of a store with KAYLA’S BOUTIQUE lettered across it. “Ooh, this looks cute. We should go dress shopping here.”

“Okay,” I say, still preoccupied with the picture on Sweetfern’s wall. I owe my father a call, and for the first time since I got here, I find myself wanting to talk to him. Something about seeing him so relaxed and happy with Gran reminds me of what it feels like when he turns that blinding smile on me. Before I can think too much about what I’m doing, I take out my phone and hit his number. “I’m just going to make a quick call,” I murmur to Milly.

It takes four rings for my father to answer, and when he does, his voice is clipped. “Aubrey.”

“Hi, Dad.” I start walking again and make a sharp turn down a less crowded side street, where tall trees behind a stone wall shade the sidewalk. Behind me, I can hear the tap of Milly’s sandals as she follows. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine,” he says coolly. And then he goes so silent that I’d think the call dropped if I didn’t know better. He’s punishing me for avoiding him all week. This is what my father does when he’s annoyed: withholds affection and approval to make his disappointment clear. I know that, and yet…

“I’m going to brunch with Gran next weekend,” I blurt out. “Did Mom tell you?”

“She did.” Another long pause. “That certainly took long enough.”



“Gran had to go to Boston,” I say, hating the defensive note creeping into my voice. I take a sip of iced coffee and almost gag. The cashier gave me hazelnut by mistake, and that’s my least favorite flavor in the world. I toss the nearly full cup into a trash can as I continue to walk.

“I heard,” Dad says. “I’m surprised you let that happen.”

I plug my free ear with an index finger, not sure I’m hearing him right. “What do you mean? I didn’t let anything happen. She just—went.”

“Of course she did. Because you weren’t proactive enough.”

“Not proactive enough,” I echo, stopping in my tracks. Milly pauses too. We’re beside an arched stone entranceway, the gold-rimmed plaque beside it indicating that whatever’s inside is either touristy or historically significant, but my vision goes too hazy for me to know which. “You think I should’ve been more proactive.”

“Yes. This is your biggest problem, Aubrey. You’re passive. You’d rather waste an entire summer than take matters into your own hands.” He gathers steam, like this is a topic he’s been meaning to address with me for a while, and I’ve finally given him the perfect opening. “Did it ever occur to you to get in touch with your grandmother yourself, or speak with her assistant?” I don’t reply, and his voice turns even more condescending. “I didn’t think so. Because you don’t act, you react. That’s what I mean by proactive.”

For a few seconds, I can’t reply. I’m rooted to the sidewalk, the words spoken by Dr. Baxter my first day on Gull Cove Island flashing through my head. Adam had seeds of greatness, didn’t he? But he wasted them. Foolish boy. Could’ve changed it all with a word.



I wonder which word that was, and if it’s half as enraging as—

“Proactive?” I say. It bursts from me like an icicle, sharp and cold and deadly. “Do you mean proactive like when you fucked my swim coach and knocked her up? Is that the kind of proactive I should be shooting for?”

Milly makes a strangled little noise as she presses both hands against my side, pushing me away from the scattered pedestrians on the sidewalk and through the stone archway. We’re someplace quiet and green, but nothing else registers beyond my father’s harsh, incredulous words thundering in my ear. “What did you say?”