The Cousins(76)

“Strange how?” Oona asks, her eyes roving over the report.

“Well.” Aubrey purses her lips. “I asked if there was anything unusual about how Kayla died, and she seemed…I don’t know. Not surprised, exactly, like you would be if something like that came at you out of the blue. More as though she was alarmed that I’d asked. But I spilled coffee on her before she could answer.”

“That’s odd,” Oona says, still staring at the paper. “And so is this.”

Archer shuts off the grill and starts handing burgers around. “So is what?” he asks.

“This says Kayla had lorazepam in her system. That wasn’t in the report my family has.”

“Loraza-what?” I ask, before taking a big bite of my hamburger.

“Lorazepam. It’s a sedative, I believe,” Oona says, brow wrinkling. Milly has her phone out and is already looking it up.

“Yeah, it is,” she says.

Oona’s frown deepens. “I don’t understand. Kayla was a drinker—she was drinking that night, unfortunately—but she didn’t take drugs. I don’t know where she’d even get something like that. And why is it in this version of the report, but not ours?”

“What if…” Milly hesitates, toying with the edge of her hamburger bun. No one except me is eating. “What if someone gave it to her? The drug, I mean.” She darts a worried look toward Oona, who blanches. “And Dr. Baxter covered it up? He said he’d done ‘a grave injustice,’ didn’t he?”



“To me,” Archer says. “And I wasn’t…I mean, I cared about Kayla, of course I did, but if a grave injustice was done to any of us, it would’ve been Anders. He was gutted when she died. Even though she’d just dumped him again.”

“I remember that,” Oona says. She puts the autopsy report down with a trembling hand. “She went to see him at Harvard that Thanksgiving and came back so upset. She wouldn’t tell me why. All she would say is, ‘I have to talk to Mrs. Ryan.’?”

“Mrs. Ryan?” Milly blinks. “My grandmother’s assistant?”

Oona nods. “Yes. I don’t know why. They weren’t particularly close. Kayla dated Theresa’s son briefly, but…” A corner of her mouth lifts in a wry smile. “It wasn’t the kind of relationship where they spent time with one another’s parents.”

“Wait. Hold up.” Milly looks like her brain is about to explode. “Mrs. Ryan has a son?”

“She did,” Archer corrects. “His name was Matt. He died, too. The year before Kayla.”

“So Anders dated Kayla, who dated Matt, and now…both Kayla and Matt are dead?” Milly asks. She turns wide eyes to Archer. “How did Matt die?”

“Drowned at Cutty Beach,” Archer says, and Aubrey makes a choking noise. He reaches over to pound her on the back before he realizes she’s not eating. “What’s wrong, Aubrey?”

“Cutty Beach?” she gasps. “My dad, he…he sort of wrote about that beach, in his book. And my mom said he’s never liked the place.”

“Well, Matt’s death was very traumatic,” Archer says. “It happened at a party, and we were all there. It was this wild, stormy night, and everyone had been drinking. No one realized Matt was gone until it was too late. We looked everywhere for him, and Allison got so worried that she insisted we call the cops, who ended up bringing in the Coast Guard, and…well. They searched all night, but didn’t find Matt’s body until the next day. It was horrible.” He runs a hand over his face. “Why are we talking about this, again? I’m losing track of the conversation.”



“I’m not sure either,” Oona says. She keeps getting paler. “But I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite. The idea that Kayla might have been drugged by someone—”

“We don’t know that she was,” Archer says quickly. “All we know is that Fred Baxter had two copies of an autopsy report. Maybe this version is a mistake.”

“Maybe,” Oona says, her expression troubled. “All these years, I’ve felt so guilty about Kayla’s death. I knew she was struggling with something, but instead of trying to help, I got angry with her for drinking too much. And then, to have her die like that…”

Archer turns tired, compassionate eyes toward Oona. “There’s nothing you could have done,” he says. “Nobody can stop a person who’s determined to drink from doing it.”

She holds his gaze, a sad smile playing across her lips. “Perhaps not. But they can try, can’t they?”





Uncle Archer nods off on the futon after Oona leaves, so Aubrey, Jonah, and I tackle cleanup from the cookout. There’s not much to it beyond scrubbing the grill, putting away the few utensils we used, and shoving paper cups and plates into a trash bag. When we finish, Jonah goes off in search of a bin to put the trash in, and Aubrey and I head back to the patio.

“I’m tired of sitting in these chairs,” Aubrey says, surveying their rigid metal backs with distaste. “They’re not very comfortable. Hang on a sec.” She slips into the house, and comes back a minute later holding a large, fluffy blanket. I help her spread it over a patch of grass, and we both collapse onto our backs, staring up at the stars.