needs to escape, but isn’t willing to leave without a drink in hand.
“Great, but I can’t talk right now,” I say shortly, pushing between him and another boy in a blue polo shirt. The second boy laughs as I pass.
“Damn, Reid. She’s not feeling you at all.”
I keep weaving through the crowd until I’m close enough to grab hold of Chaz’s sleeve. I tug hard, and he turns. The eyes that meet mine are so familiar that I’m annoyed with myself all over again for not seeing it sooner. Conversation buzzes loudly around us but I still lower my voice, bringing my lips close to his ear so he can hear me.
“Hey, Uncle Archer,” I say. My mother’s youngest brother’s eyes widen in alarm as I add, “Are you the one who brought us here?”
“I’m nowhere near drunk enough for this conversation,” Uncle Archer mutters, running an unsteady hand over his mouth.
“Oh yes, you are,” the band’s lead singer says grimly. We’re in his house now—or, more accurately, the bungalow behind his house where Uncle Archer lives. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but inside it’s surprisingly large and clean.
The singer’s name is Rob Valentine, he told us back at Dunes. He runs a painting business on the island, and used to be a friend of Uncle Archer’s in high school. Without him, Uncle Archer probably would’ve escaped through the back door of Dunes as soon as Milly used his real name. “Come on,” Rob said as he half wrestled Uncle Archer toward a battered Honda SUV in the parking lot. Milly, Jonah, and I trailed behind them, too shell-shocked to do anything except watch. “No more hiding. Tell the kids what’s going on.”
“I will at the house,” Uncle Archer mumbled when he finally gave up and let Rob push him into the Honda’s passenger seat. Then he promptly passed out, or pretended to.
The drive to Rob’s house was short, just enough time for him to awkwardly ask after our parents before we reached his driveway. Then we went through another lengthy production of getting Uncle Archer out of the car, into the bungalow, and onto a small sofa. He’s sitting upright now, but sagging against the plaid cushions as Rob takes a seat at the opposite end of the sofa. Milly, Jonah, and I are lined up on a futon across from them, waiting.
Uncle Archer finally clears his throat and says, “So…this isn’t exactly how I’d planned on introducing myself to the three of you.” His glance skitters in our direction without ever really settling on us. “In retrospect, I shouldn’t have…” He trails off, and Milly fidgets beside me. Her impatience for getting some kind of explanation is coming off her in waves. “Played that song,” he finishes.
Milly sits up straighter, frowning. “That’s what you’re leading with? Song choice?”
“It’s kind of my signature song,” Uncle Archer says, as though Milly were looking for an explanation instead of expressing frustration. “Well, my family’s signature song, back when we lived here. I guess your mom told you that. And people here…”
He trails off, and Rob finishes for him. “Remember. So much for being incognito, Chaz.”
“My cover was already blown,” Uncle Archer mutters. “Blew it last week.”
“You don’t know that,” Rob says. His tone is one of patient forbearance, like he’s made the same argument more than once. “He hasn’t said anything yet, has he?”
Milly and I exchange confused glances. “Who hasn’t said anything?” she asks. “What are you talking about?”
“Tell them, Archer,” Rob says. “From the beginning.”
Uncle Archer’s head just droops in response. We all wait for him to speak again, until Rob heaves a sigh and shoots us an apologetic glance. “This might be one of those nights that we need to let him sleep it off,” he says.
“So tired,” Uncle Archer mumbles.
Milly gives them both an assessing look before getting up and heading for the kitchen. When she comes back, she’s holding a glass half full of water. She stands in front of Uncle Archer, raises the glass, and throws the water in his face.
His head jerks up and his eyes pop open, shocked but alert. “What the hell?” Water droplets cling to his beard and soak into his shirt as he wipes a sleeve across his face.
“You owe us answers,” Milly says.
“Hey, now.” Rob’s voice is gentle, but firm. “I understand that you’re frustrated, but your uncle isn’t being difficult by choice. You’re dealing with someone who has a disease, and unfortunately, sometimes