The Cousins(74)

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Milly says sweetly. “We thought there must have been a mistake.”

“There wasn’t,” Theresa says. “You can wait in the car. It won’t take long.”

Well, that doesn’t sound promising.

Milly gives her an ingratiating smile. “Are you watching the game? Maybe I could join you until Aubrey’s done.” Theresa looks blank, and Milly adds, “The double-header? Yankees versus Red Sox? First one’s already started.”

“I don’t watch baseball,” Theresa says irritably. “I really do need to ask you to leave. Come along, Aubrey.”



I give Milly a helpless look as Theresa practically drags me inside, shutting the door in my cousin’s face. “Mrs. Story is on the balcony,” Theresa says, leading me to the same place where we had brunch. It’s like déjà vu all over again: Gran seated beneath a gauzy umbrella, dressed to the nines and sipping tea.

“Hello, Aubrey,” she says. “Please sit down.”

“I’ll be right inside, Mildred,” Theresa says, and closes the sliding glass door behind me.

I sit in the chair farthest from Gran, heart pounding. I might’ve handled Thomas with an ease that impressed even me in the car, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready for this. There’s a large tray in the center of the table that holds a teapot, a steaming carafe of what looks like coffee, and porcelain bowls of milk and sugar. No food, though. This is clearly not a brunch situation.

Gran gestures toward the table. “Help yourself to tea. Or coffee, if you prefer.”

“Coffee,” I mumble. I don’t know how to work the carafe, though—it’s one of those awkward tops that you have to twist a bunch of different ways before it opens—and Gran lets me struggle with it. When I finally start to pour, the coffee gushes out so quickly that my cup immediately overflows into my saucer. We both pretend not to notice.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here,” Gran says, taking a delicate sip of tea. Her hat today is smaller than usual, a jaunty sort of fedora pulled low over one eye, in a brown color that complements her plaid suit. Her gloves are a light tan, instead of the usual white. She looks like she’s taking a break from a World War II spy mission.

“Yeah,” I say, taking a big gulp of black coffee so I have room for milk. And then I nearly choke, because it’s scalding. My tongue burns and my eyes water, but I manage not to spit anything out.



“I’m speaking to you alone of your cousins. You seem like a sensible girl. Milly strikes me as unstable, and as for the other one—” Her expression darkens. “JT is clearly just as much of a viper as his father ever was.”

Surprise mingles with my nerves. “You don’t believe him and Uncle Anders, then?”

“I don’t believe any of you.” Gran takes another sip of tea, then sets her cup carefully on its saucer. She folds her hands under her chin, gazing at me so intently that I have to drop my eyes. “I should have sent you away as soon as you arrived. It’s what Donald and Theresa wanted, and they were right. But I was curious to meet you. Especially you.” The emphasis forces me to look up again, and I flinch. If I was ever under the impression that Gran was paying attention to me because she liked me best—wow, that was wrong. She looks like she hates me. “Adam has always held a unique place in my memory. I’ve wondered, over the years, if you were like him.”

My mouth is bone dry. “I don’t think I am.”

“No.” Gran’s stare doesn’t waver. “He must be quite proud of you.”

Not really, I think, but I don’t say it.

She waits for a response, and when none comes, she lets out a small sigh. “At any rate, my curiosity has been satisfied. What I’d like to tell you now is that the ties I severed with my children twenty-four years ago are absolute. It was a mistake to allow you into my life, and it’s not one I’ll make again. I can’t force you to leave the island, of course, but I hope that you do. This is my home, and you are not welcome here.”



I was ready for this, so I’m not sure why her words land like a slap. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had anybody say, so plainly, what I’ve always felt about being part of the Story family. You are not welcome here.

Gran sips her tea while I grapple for an appropriate response. Finally, I just say what I’m thinking. “Don’t you even want to get to know us? Or our parents, the way they are now?”

My grandmother’s eyes are cool and appraising. “Do you think your father is a man worth knowing?” she asks.

My phone sits heavy in my pocket, full of all the reasons why he’s not. My father is a cheater, and a liar, and he’s never—not once—failed to put himself first in any given situation. But then I think back to the picture of him and Gran in Sweetfern: her hand placed lovingly on his cheek, both of them beaming real, genuine smiles. The kind I’ve never gotten from him, no matter how hard I tried to please him. “He could have been,” I say.

Gran refills her cup. “We don’t live in the world of ‘could have been,’ though, do we? We live in this world.”

“You made this world.” My directness surprises us both.

“I had no choice,” my grandmother replies, looking me up and down. “You should understand that. As I said, you strike me as a sensible girl.”