sight. But he merely says, “You have nowhere to go except home.”
“Then you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?” I turn for the door, and Aubrey does too. It’s as good an exit line as I’m going to get, especially since he’s right.
Aubrey clutches my arm as we speed-walk down the hallway. “You weren’t serious, were you?” she whispers. “About staying on the island?”
“No,” I admit. “I wanted to give Donald a hard time, but he’s right. We don’t have anywhere else to go.” I pull out my phone, getting ready to send a text to my mother, and one flashes from Uncle Archer. I frown in momentary impatience, until a new idea hits me. I hold my screen up to Aubrey with a grin. “Or then again, maybe we do. Want to go for a drive? I never did return those keys to the Jeep.”
* * *
—
An hour later, we’re sitting in the bungalow’s living room, fully caught up with Uncle Archer. Unfortunately, he comes with an unexpected roommate who was supposed to be gone already.
I accepted Uncle Archer’s apology. I stopped Jonah’s attempt with a look. Every time I think about him abandoning me on the balcony so he could settle a grudge against Uncle Anders that he’d never bothered to tell me about, hurt stabs at my chest.
“So you’re going home?” Jonah asks.
“I guess we have to,” I mutter. When I’d imagined Uncle Archer’s bungalow as a temporary port in the storm, I didn’t realize we’d have to share it with Jonah.
“What does your mother think about all this?” Uncle Archer asks me, then inclines his head toward Aubrey. “And your father?”
Uncle Archer looks much better than he did the last time we saw him. There’s a red Solo cup in front of him half filled with clear liquid that he’s been sipping from the entire time we’ve been talking, and his hands never quite stop shaking, but he’s been coherent throughout the conversation.
“They don’t know,” I say. “And we’re not telling them. Not yet.” Uncle Archer looks conflicted, and I add, “First we want to see what Mildred says to Aubrey.”
Aubrey pales. “Only one of us wants that.”
A knock sounds at the door, and Uncle Archer frowns. “Now, who could that be?”
“Maybe it’s Uncle Anders. Coming back for another round,” I say, shooting a baleful look at Jonah. He has the grace to blush, and I hate how good it looks on him.
“Oh God,” Uncle Archer says as he heads for the door. “I hope not. I’m really trying to stay on track here, and that would—oh, hi.” He steps back in confusion to reveal Hazel standing in the doorway. “Are you…do I know you?”
“No,” she says. She’s clutching a brown envelope to her chest, her pensive expression clearing a little when she spots me, Aubrey, and Jonah. “But I know who you are, and I know these guys. I’m Hazel Baxter-Clement, Dr. Baxter’s granddaughter?”
“Of course. Welcome.” If Uncle Archer is surprised that Hazel knew where to find him, he doesn’t show it. Since I’m the one who told her, I’m hoping he’ll gloss over that small detail and just assume she found out from her grandfather. “Please come in, have a seat,” he adds, gesturing to the living room. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Fred was a wonderful man.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of why I’m here.” Hazel moves a few feet into the bungalow as Archer closes the door behind her, hovering beside the couch instead of squeezing into the space Aubrey and I try to make for her. “I just—I didn’t know where else to go.”
Uncle Archer cocks his head, concerned. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t know.” Hazel fumbles at a string on her envelope. “I found this in my grandfather’s desk yesterday. It was addressed to me, but…it’s about you.”
I exchange glances with Aubrey as Uncle Archer asks, “Me?”
“Well, part of it. It’s, um…” She opens the envelope and pulls out a sheet of paper. “Maybe I should just read it.” She clears her throat. “ ‘Dear Hazel, I am so proud of the young woman that you have become. You are kind, thoughtful, and hardworking. Quite frankly, you are a legacy that I do not deserve. There are things you don’t know.’ ” Her voice falters, and she swallows hard before continuing. “ ‘I’m afraid to face the consequences of my actions, but even more afraid that soon I won’t remember them. So perhaps I should start with something that might yet be