Dr. Baxter was the attending physician after the accident.”
“Of course he was,” Milly snaps. “This is Gull Cove Island we’re talking about. He was probably the only physician.”
Aubrey finally looks up, her brow creased. “Are you…mad about something?”
“I’m just—what even is all this?” Milly asks, gesturing between the filing cabinet and the microfilm machine. “What are you trying to prove? That our parents murdered some girl and Mildred kicked them off the island because of it?”
Aubrey blinks. “I’m just trying to understand what happened.”
“Why don’t you ask Mildred?” Milly says. “Since the two of you get along so well.”
“We don’t—” Aubrey starts, but I break in.
“We’re going to be late. The funeral starts in fifteen minutes,” I remind them. This conversation isn’t headed anywhere good, and we’ve already been here too long.
“I’ll wait outside,” Milly says. She spins toward the door, ponytail flying.
Aubrey watches her go, hurt and confusion written all across her face. “What is going on with her?”
“Come on, Aubrey. You know,” I say. I always thought Aubrey was pretty in tune with other people, especially Milly, but she just stares at me blankly until I spell it out. “Your grandmother basically ignored her on Sunday and spent the whole time talking to you and me. It made Milly feel like shit.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“She didn’t have to.”
“But Milly doesn’t care about Gran!” Aubrey insists. “She doesn’t even have a grandmother name for her.”
“You really think that?” I ask. “You think Milly wears that watch every day because she doesn’t care about her grandmother? Because she doesn’t want your grandmother to care about her?”
“She…” Aubrey bites her lip, her face conflicted. “She’s Milly. She’s already the best grandchild. The best Story out of all of us. Well, you don’t count—no offense—”
“None taken.”
“But JT’s horrible and I’m…Nobody’s ever thought I was anything like my father. Milly is beautiful and glamorous and stylish and—”
“And none of that mattered to Mildred,” I finish.
Aubrey’s face crumples. “Oh God. I could tell something was off when we were shopping for dresses. But it didn’t hit me, till you said it—Gran was ignoring Milly.” She twists her hands. “I was just happy that she seemed to like me. I never thought she would.”
“It’s not your fault. The more I see of your grandmother, the more I think JT might’ve been right all along. She likes to play games.” I almost add what I’ve been thinking since Sunday; that Mildred wasn’t interested in us so much as Adam and Anders. All of her questions were just a roundabout way of forcing us to talk about them. But Aubrey doesn’t need to hear that; she already believes she’ll never be as important as her dad. Instead, I point toward the clock on the wall. “Look, we really have to get out of here. I haven’t been to a funeral in a while, but I’m pretty sure it’s bad form to walk in late.” I reach for the machine to start the rewinding process, but Aubrey stops me.
“Hang on. I want to print this page.”
I wait, impatient, while the machine takes what feels like ten minutes to crank out a single page. Milly’s gone by the time we get outside, and I feel a sharp stab of regret that I stayed with Aubrey instead of going after her. We walk the few short blocks to the church, out of place in our funeral clothes among all the tourists. When we arrive at St. Mary’s, a familiar, silver-haired figure greets us somberly at the door.
“How good of you to come,” Donald Camden says.
I haven’t seen the guy since he tried to bribe us with movie jobs. It already feels like that happened months ago. He looks older and more tired than he did at lunch that day, with bags under his eyes that I don’t remember seeing then.
Aubrey blinks at him like he’s a mirage. “Aren’t we late?” she asks. Donald looks at her with a quizzical expression, and she adds, “I mean, I would’ve thought you’d be inside already. With our grandmother or something. The funeral starts at eleven, right?” She’s babbling now, and turning red, but Donald just holds out his arm.
“I’m an usher for the service. Fred Baxter was one of my oldest and dearest friends.” The phrase sounds like an echo, and it takes me a minute to remember where I heard it last. On the steps of Catmint House, spoken by Theresa. Fred Baxter was one of your grandmother’s oldest