Jonah clears his throat as Aubrey and I exchange startled glances. How can this guy not know who we are? It seems like the sort of thing people would talk about here, even if they’re not running the summer hire program. “We are related,” I say. “We’re her grandchildren.”
“Right, wouldn’t that be nice,” Carson chuckles. When no one else cracks a smile, his vanishes. “Wait. Are you serious?”
“Didn’t Edward tell you?” I ask. “We’ve been talking to him about it since April.” And then, because I feel a sudden urge to prove myself, I pull a folder full of our correspondence out of my laptop bag. “It’s all here, if you want to see.”
Carson takes the folder, but barely glances through it before handing it back. “He never said a word. I can’t believe him! Oh, Edward, you utter incompetent. If you hadn’t already quit, I’d fire you. Let me see if he left some notes.” He taps furiously at the keyboard while we stand in uncomfortable silence. Then his expression brightens. “Okay, I’m not seeing any background, but the good news is, your grandmother is actually at the resort as we speak. We just finished renovating the ballroom for the Summer Gala, and she’s conducting a site visit. So if you can hold tight for just a few minutes, I’ll bring her right by.”
Aubrey’s eyes widen in alarm. “What, now?”
Carson jumps to his feet with the energy of someone determined to right a grievous hospitality wrong. “No time like the present. Be right back!” He darts into the hallway, leaving the three of us standing awkwardly around his desk.
I swipe suddenly damp palms against the skirt of my dress. I thought I was prepared to meet my grandmother, but now that it seems imminent, I’m—not. My mind goes blank, and the room falls silent except for tinny Muzak piping from a speaker somewhere. After a few seconds I recognize a familiar chord, and almost laugh out loud. It’s “Africa,” by the band Toto, and it was my mother’s favorite song growing up. The only family video she has, which I’ve watched dozens of times, is of her and my uncles singing “Africa” on the beach when they were kids.
The music seems like a strangely fitting backdrop as footsteps approach, accompanied by Carson’s eager voice. “So lucky that I caught you before you left, Mrs. Story!”
I hear Aubrey gulp and then—there she is. Standing directly in front of me for the first time in my life. The elusive, eccentric, mysterious Mildred Story.
My grandmother.
I take her in bit by bit: First the jewelry, because of course I would notice that. Mildred is wearing a double strand of lustrous gray pearls, striking against her sharp black suit, and matching drop earrings. Her heels are impressively high for a woman in her seventies, and she’s topped off the outfit with a small netted hat. She looks like she’s going to some elder statesman’s funeral. Her purse is gleaming black crocodile, with a distinctive gold lock on the front. I’ve seen enough fake Birkins in New York to recognize the twenty-thousand-dollar real deal.
Mildred’s famously high cheekbones have softened with age, but she’s still as impeccably made up as she was in every photo I’ve seen of her as a younger woman. The most eye-catching thing about her, though, is her hair. It’s tied back in a low bun, and is such a pure, snowy white that I can’t believe it’s her natural color.
Her gaze flits between Aubrey and Jonah—neither of whom look anything like their fathers—before settling on me with a spark of recognition. “So it’s true,” she says in a low, throaty voice. “You really are here.”
I have to fight off the irrational urge to curtsy. “Thank you for inviting us.”
Mildred inhales sharply, her brows drawing together. “Inviting you,” she repeats. We stare at one another until Carson nervously clears his throat, and our grandmother’s face transforms into a smooth, expressionless mask. “Indeed,” she says, transferring her Birkin from one arm to the other. “You must be exhausted after your travel. Carson, please bring them to the dormitories. I’ll have my assistant reach out to arrange a more fitting time for us to talk.”
Over her shoulder, Carson looks crushed. “Right, of course,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I should have taken them there first thing.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself,” Mildred says coolly. “It’s perfectly fine.”
But I know better. In the seconds before my grandmother regained her composure, one of my tangled thoughts separated from the rest with total, piercing clarity.
She had absolutely no idea that we were coming.
The ferry approached from the opposite side of Gull Cove Island, so when Allison sat on the upper deck of Catmint House, all she saw in front of her was smooth water melting into blue sky. But the buzzing activity around the house made it clear: the summer season was about to begin, and her brothers would be home soon.
Their mother had wanted to throw a party for Adam and Anders’s return, but before she’d even started planning, she’d become overwhelmed at the amount of work involved. So her assistant, Theresa, had stepped in like the quietly efficient savior she’d become ever since Allison’s father died six months ago. Now a small army of people was setting up for the party tonight: stringing fairy lights on every available tree, building a temporary stage for the live band, and constructing white tents along the side lawn where guests would dine on lobster, mussels, and the Gull Cove Island specialty of quail eggs à la russe. Allison couldn’t see the beach below, but she knew a crew was down there getting ready for a fireworks show that would put the Fourth of July in most major American cities to shame.
“Think we’ll get this kind of homecoming when we come back from college?”
Allison’s younger brother, Archer, flopped onto the patio chair beside her with a grin. His legs dangled awkwardly off the end; at seventeen, Archer had gone through his growth spurt late, and had only recently reached the same six-foot height as Adam. He still didn’t know what to do with his newly long limbs.
“Well, it’s not like Mother did this for Adam last summer,” Allison pointed out. Their oldest brother had started at Harvard two years ago, and the next oldest, Anders, had joined him there the past fall. Allison was breaking family tradition by going to NYU in September. “I think it’s just that things are different this year.”
“I know.” Archer hunched his broad shoulders, looking suddenly much smaller and younger. “It’s weird, isn’t it, how the house can be so full right now but still…empty.”
Allison’s throat tightened. “It doesn’t feel like a Story party without Father here,” she said, and Archer smiled ruefully.
“Especially since they’re serving mussels as a main dish. God, he hated those.” Archer deepened his voice as Allison joined in his imitation of their father: “Snot of the sea.” They both huffed out almost laughs, and Archer added, “I mean, he wasn’t wrong. You can put all the butter and cream and salt or whatever you want on those things, but they’re still disgusting.”