The Cousins(86)

Foolish boy. Could’ve changed it all with a word. Finally, I understand what Dr. Baxter meant when he said that about my father, and I feel a sudden rush of sympathy for the woman standing next to me. Then, an ominous click beside my ear drains away every emotion except fear. “The problem with Adam is that he hasn’t suffered enough,” Theresa says tightly. “He doesn’t know what it’s like to lose a child.”

Uncle Archer’s eyes grow round and alarmed. “Theresa, no.”

“What else am I supposed to do with Adam’s daughter?” she asks. “Just let her walk away? Like Adam let Matt walk away?” My breath starts coming shallow and fast. Somewhere in the back of my panicked mind, I register the smell of gasoline. Or is it smoke?

“You’re angry with my family, I understand that. You have every right to be,” Uncle Archer says urgently. “But if you think there’s still a score to be settled—settle it with me. Not Aubrey.” His hands, which have been up all this time, fold over his heart like he’s offering her a target. “Take it out on me. I was there. I could have done something to help, and I didn’t. That’s the story of my entire goddamn life.”

“Don’t,” I say. My heart is threatening to crawl into my throat.

“Kayla said you didn’t know,” Theresa says sharply. The smell of smoke is getting stronger. “Are you telling me that you did?”

Uncle Archer’s gaze darts between Theresa, me, and the gun before finally settling on me. The tense lines of his jaw soften. My heart constricts and then swells, painfully, when I recognize the look on his face. It’s one I’ve never seen on anyone before. It’s fatherly.



Then he says, very simply, “Yes.”

Everything happens in a lightning-quick blur after that. The gun leaves my neck. Theresa’s arm shifts, and I react instinctively. I crash my shoulder into hers, knocking her off-balance and to the floor. A deafening blast fills the room, followed by a high-pitched scream of anguish. Sharp pain shoots through my elbow when I hit the ground, half on top of Theresa, and someone screams again. Red pools on the floor beside me as I twist my neck left and right, my eyes scanning wildly for Uncle Archer.

“Aubrey!” He’s above me, Theresa’s gun dangling from one hand, and I almost pass out in relief. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” I lift myself from Theresa, and she groans. Her left leg is covered in blood, and so is the floor beneath her. Her face is buried in the crook of her arm, and she’s not moving other than breathing heavily. “I think I shot her.”

“She shot herself,” he says grimly. “We’d better call for help. Do you have your phone? I forgot mine.”

“It’s dead.” I stand, the adrenaline that’s been coursing through me draining fast, and the stench of smoke finally hits me in full. The air outside the sunroom looks thick and hazy.

Paula, why don’t you light a fire in the south parlor?

That’s what Theresa had said, just before her sister left the room. I step halfway through the door and peer into the hallway. There’s a crackling, hissing noise coming from somewhere. The floor is slick and wet.

Tess, are you sure?

Positive.



“Something’s wrong,” I say.

Then the hallway explodes into flames.

“Jesus!” Uncle Archer shouts as I stumble backward into the sunroom. “We have to get out! Come on.” He reaches down to haul Theresa to her feet. She moans in protest, limp as a rag doll, and he heaves her into his arms. “Stairs, Aubrey! To your left.”

“We can’t!” Within seconds, the scene in front of us has transformed. Fire is everywhere, flames dancing and rolling through the hall. Smoke billows toward us and I choke when the first wave hits me, sending me back into the sunroom, my eyes streaming.

“We have to,” Uncle Archer says, pushing past me with Theresa in his arms. He backtracks just as quickly, gasping. “Okay. New plan.” He drops Theresa into one of the leather armchairs in a corner of the room, then picks up the second chair and hurls it at the nearest window. The glass shatters, flying everywhere.

I cover my nose and mouth with my hands as more smoke pours into the room. Uncle Archer picks up a long, old-fashioned umbrella from a decorative stand and swings it against the edges of the pane, clearing away jagged chunks of glass. I grab another umbrella to help, and look down at the ground. My heart plummets. “It’s too far.”

“We’ll make a rope,” Uncle Archer says, pulling a blanket from the back of the couch. I rip gauzy curtains from the window and turn to see what else might be in the room. There’s a roaring sound at the door, and I watch in horror as flames zip up the crown molding that surrounds it, then spread to the nearest bookcase. At first its’s just a small orange line running along the top shelf, and then the books catch fire.

The couch nearest the broken window is old-fashioned and heavy. Uncle Archer ties an end of the blanket to one of the couch’s legs in a tight double knot and the other end to the curtain I’m holding. It feels weightless in my hands. “Will this work?” I gulp. He knots the ends firmly, tests the hold, and doubles the knot. “Is it strong enough?” I ask.



Uncle Archer looks around the room. The bookcase is consumed in fire, the ceiling above it also alight. The smoke is gray and black now, stealing breath from our lungs even with fresh air streaming in through the window. Flames lick an area rug and spread across its surface. “It’ll have to do,” he says, tossing the loose end of the knotted material out the window. “You first, Aubrey. Keep your body relaxed and try to land on your feet.”