The Identicals(36)

“I have an identical twin, actually. She and my mother live on Nantucket.”

Dr. Zimmer had slapped a hand down on the green painted wood of the picnic table. Like most doctors, he had beautiful hands; he didn’t wear a ring, but Harper knew he was married to the woman who owned the pie shop in Vineyard Haven. She had, at least, done that much research. “An identical twin on Nantucket?”

Harper pulled off a chunk of muffin, then opened one of her three foil-wrapped pats of butter. Normally Harper dragged the muffin through the butter, making a mess of the butter and her fingers, but that day, in the polite company of Dr. Zimmer, Harper had used a plastic knife. The muffin was already rich and moist, and adding butter was like dipping jelly beans in icing. “You wouldn’t be able to tell us apart.”

“Come on.”

“I’m serious. We look exactly alike. The teachers at our school never figured it out. Neither did our camp counselors or our friends. Our own parents. Lots of other people.”

“And she lives on Nantucket with your mother. That’s crazy, right? You and your father live here, and your identical twin and your mother live on the other island?”

“Crazy,” Harper said in agreement.

“Are you close?”

“No,” Harper said. “Our parents’ divorce drove a wedge between us, then my sister and I had a pretty serious falling-out fourteen years ago now.”

“That’s too bad,” Dr. Zimmer said.

Harper shrugged. “I talk to my mother periodically, although she’s tough. Her name is Eleanor Roxie-Frost. Have you ever heard of her?”

“No,” Reed said. “Should I have?”

“I guess not,” Harper said. “She designs dresses. She’s a pretty big deal in the fashion world, or she used to be.”

“You’re single, right?” Dr. Zimmer asked. “Are you dating anyone?”

Again, Harper shrugged. “I date here and there. I’ve never been married, no kids. Do you have kids?”

“No, no kids,” Dr. Zimmer said. “I want them; my wife doesn’t. And to be fair, when we got married I didn’t want them, either. Apparently changing one’s mind about wanting children isn’t allowed…” He let his voice drift off. “What do you do for work?” He was changing the subject. No kids with Mrs. Zimmer was a sore spot.

Harper smiled. He obviously hadn’t heard about her involvement with Joey Bowen. “I deliver packages for Rooster Express.”



The next time Harper saw Dr. Zimmer, they were back at the hospital. It was late evening, and Billy had been urinating blood. Dr. Zimmer had him admitted and told Harper she could go home for the night. He was leaving the hospital as well, and he had walked her to her car. It had been the quintessential autumn night, cool but not yet cold, the air smelling of wood smoke and leaves.

“Would you like to go get a drink?” Dr. Zimmer asked.



They went to the Brick Cellar at Atria, a place Harper liked but where she would never go alone. Reed ordered a glass of wine, and Harper followed suit, although she preferred a beer and a shot. Reed—as soon as they got out of their respective cars to go inside, he had insisted Harper call him Reed instead of Dr. Zimmer—said he was hungry, and since Harper could always eat, they ordered a grilled Caesar salad, the lobster tacos, and the peach-blueberry cobbler and shared everything. When Harper groaned over the cobbler—which was a rather orgasmic groan, because the cobbler was so good—Reed turned to her and said, “You know that’s arousing, right?”

That had been the start of things, Harper supposed. Her inadvertent food groan elicited Reed’s choice of the word arousing, which automatically gave their new friendship a sexual edge.

It had been Reed who ventured there first, not Harper.

They each had another glass of wine, then a glass of some persimmon cordial that the bartender pressed on them—she had received a complimentary bottle from her wine rep and was anxious to be rid of it—and the next thing Harper knew, she and Dr. Zimmer were kissing like teenagers in the backseat of his Lexus. The details were hazy, but Harper knows that she did not invite herself into his car, so he must have enticed her.

It went on like that—clandestine meetings whenever Reed worked late. They would meet by the East Chop Beach Club or in the back parking lot of the ice rink. And then, in the spring, Reed finally agreed it would be safer to meet at her duplex. Three weeks ago, when Harper told Reed she was going on a date with “Sergeant Andrew Truman of the EPD—you know him, right?” Reed had left the hospital to meet her at her duplex in the middle of the day.

He was jealous, he said. He knew it was unfair, but he didn’t want Harper to start dating Drew.

She had laughed. You can’t ask me to do that, she said. You can’t ask me to do anything. You’re married.



Harper stares at the Lexus a few seconds longer. It’s a black car, baking in the sun.

Good-bye, Reed, she thinks. Her stomach is hollow and sour. She wants to leave him a note or a sign—a heart drawn in the yellow pollen on his back window—but she can’t.

She pulls out of the parking lot and considers driving by the Upper Crust to see if it’s open, if Sadie is there. Harper would just as soon believe that Sadie is back at work as that she has hung a sign on the door that reads: CLOSED: HUSBAND CHEATED ON ME. Harper is afraid to drive by the shop; she’s afraid that Sadie will see her. She’s afraid to drive around the island. She could bump into Dee, Billy’s nurse, who sold Harper and Reed out, or she could bump into Franklin Phelps, Sadie’s brother, whom Harper had always counted as a friendly acquaintance. She loved going to hear Franklin sing at the Ritz—now she can’t show her face in the audience again. She could bump into Drew or Chief Oberg or one of the Snyder sisters, all of whom would know by now that Harper is a faithless catastrophe.