The Cousins by Rona Jaffe Page A

parties and put them at the places she had set for herself and Grady.
    “Can I help you?” Grady called from the kitchen.
    “It’s okay.”
    “I’ll take the spaghetti out,” he called. “It’s ready.”
    She wanted to say
be careful
, but she didn’t. And suddenly there was a loud, horrendous scream from the kitchen and Grady came running out with his sleeve on fire. “Owwwww . . .” he yelled, weaving around in pain. He ran to the window as if he were going to set the drapes on fire in his panic, and then he came running full tilt toward her as if he were going to set fire to her. He was drunk and frightened and she was terrified.
    “Come to the sink!” she cried and tried to take hold of him, but he was too fast for her and went back to the kitchen screaming. The dogs were barking hysterically, getting underfoot. “Grady!”
    She heard water running. Then he walked calmly out of the kitchen with his eyes gleaming in mischief, and the sweetest little smile, holding a wet towel to his blackened shirtsleeve, and then lifted the towel like a chef taking the silver cover off a special dish, revealing his completely normal, unburned arm.
    “Gotcha,” he said.
    “Grady! You shit!” She almost fainted from relief.
    “I tested the spaghetti before I lit the match,” Grady said. “It should be ready about now.”
    “How did you
do
that?”
    “Zel Gel. I took some home from the set on my last job. It’s a fire-retardant gel. I coated my arm and hand with the gel in the bathroom, put on my shirt, put rubber cement on my sleeve, and set fire to that. Were you scared?”
    He was her little cousin Grady again, and she didn’t know whether to hug him or shake him, so she did both, although he was too big and too solid to shake and she ended up rocking against his chest. “Yes, I was scared. Don’t do anything like that to me again.”
    He grinned and moved away, and helped her prepare the rest of the lunch. They sat in the dining room and ate, and drank the first bottle of champagne while soft jazz played on the stereo. His playful mood faded.
    “My father committed suicide,” he said quietly. “No one in my family would ever admit it. They called it an accident. Big Earl said he lost his nerve and went out to test himself. Taylor made up some fanciful scenario that he got a phone call in the middle of the night and had to go save somebody. She had to make him a tragic hero. I agree with the cops.”
    It was the first time he had ever mentioned Stan’s suicide to her. She was touched and saddened. “Do you have any idea why he did it?” she asked.
    “No. We were so young. He was away a lot on location. But he was a wonderful father when he was with us. Whatever was bothering him had to be the most important thing in the world to him to make him leave us.”
    She remembered them again as children, and her throat closed with the threat of tears. “It always is,” she said.
    Grady’s eyes filled for an instant and he looked away, and then he sniffed. “My sinuses are still bothering me,” he said. Now he didn’t look sad anymore but only angry. “I had my nose fixed after you saw me last, because I got hurt and my sinus collapsed, but I don’t think it’s going to work.”
    “Your hip, your nose . . . These jobs . . .”
    “It didn’t happen on a job. Big Earl got drunk and knocked me down one night when I was seventeen, and she kicked me in the face and broke my nose. It never healed properly.”
    “Your mother?” she said in horror.
    “Yep.”
    “Knocked you down? Kicked you in the face? Oh, my God, I never knew it was that bad.”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    Oh God, poor Grady. Poor Taylor. She remembered Earlene, big and drunk and frightening, but at seventeen Grady had been as large and strong as she was. He was an athlete. He could do a back flip over a bar. But that was then, and the back flips were now and the fights were faked. Still, he could have protected himself, he could even