The Identicals(50)

Why is Rooster calling? Maybe he wants her to come back to work. Maybe he has been unable to find anyone to replace her. It takes a very long time to learn all the little dirt roads in all the towns. It doesn’t make any sense to hire a college kid, because by the time he or she finally figures out how to do the job effectively, the summer will be over. Also, a spotless driving record is required—finding people with no speeding tickets, no accidents, and no DUIs is more difficult than one might imagine. Yes, Harper decides, Rooster is definitely calling to offer her her job back. He probably thinks she’s desperate for it, but he would be wrong. Turning him down will be a gratifying way to start her day. She calls Rooster back.

“Harper,” he says. He hits both syllables in a way that makes them sound like spikes. Harper has always liked her name for its Waspy androgyny, but it’s not soft or feminine. That name went to her sister.

“Wally,” Harper says, trying to lighten things up. Rooster’s real name is Wallace. “What’s up?”

“The rumors keep a-comin’,” Rooster says. “I heard a real doozy yesterday. Are you sitting down?”

She’s still in the Bronco, still belted in, which seems appropriate. They can’t hurt me, she thinks—all those Vineyarders who are so bored with their own lives that they have to titillate themselves by parsing Harper Frost’s questionable decisions.

“I don’t want to know,” Harper says. She means it: how will it help to know what people are saying? When the news broke about Harper’s association with Joey Bowen, she had tirelessly tracked who had said what to whom. She had written it all down on a piece of poster board and drew lines to connect people until the thing looked like a spiderweb. Harper had then set out to do damage control, calling all the principal rumor spreaders to explain her side of the story, which had led to secondary and tertiary rumors that fanned the fires of people’s interest and kept the gossip alive. It was a miracle Harper hadn’t ended up in jail with Joey Bowen.

From the distance of three years, Harper can see that what she should have done when the news broke was… nothing. She should have let people talk, then lose interest. It had been a one-time incident. What she’d done had been wrong—really, really wrong from Jude’s perspective—but Harper had been a very small cog in a far-reaching, well-oiled drug-selling machine. She had merely been guilty of delivering a package. It had ended up being three pounds of cocaine, but for all Harper knew, it was three pounds of potato salad.

“Just listen,” Rooster says. “I think you’ll get a kick out of it.”

“I won’t get a kick out of it,” Harper says. “It’s my life, Rooster.”

“Everyone knows you were having an affair with Dr. Zimmer,” Rooster says. “That was last week’s news. This week’s news is that you’re also sleeping with the messed-up surfer on Chappy.”

Harper groans. “Brendan Donegal? He’s a friend of mine, Rooster. I’m still allowed to have friends, right?”

“I’m your friend,” Rooster says. “That’s why I’m telling you this.”

“You’re not my friend, Rooster. You’re my boss. And you’re not my boss, you’re my ex-boss.”

“Then guess what I heard? I heard that Sadie Zimmer left Dr. Zimmer.”

Harper bites her tongue. Sadie left? This is something Harper hasn’t considered: instead of Reed leaving Sadie, Sadie might leave Reed.

“But then I heard she didn’t leave, he left. Dr. Zimmer took a leave of absence from the hospital.”

A leave of absence from the hospital? Harper thinks. She closes her eyes.

“Then I heard that you were gone and nobody knew where you went and no one knew where Dr. Zimmer went, so people are thinking the two of you are on the lam somewhere, like in Natural Born Killers, except not murdering anyone. Or maybe you are leaving bodies in your wake. Nothing would surprise me at this point, Harper, because the stories keep piling up like cars in a highway crash. So anyway, I’m glad you answered your phone. I have your final paycheck. Where would you like me to send it?”

She says nothing. There’s no doubt in her mind that Reed’s “leave of absence” was forced upon him by Adam Greenfield; there’s no way Reed would ever abandon his patients of his own volition. But he left the Vineyard? Where is he? Is he out in America looking for her?

“Harper?” Rooster says.

“I’m here,” Harper says.

“Where’s here?” Rooster says. “Where do you want me to send your check?”

She hates that people are now talking about her and Brendan. She shudders at the thought of Mrs. Donegal somehow hearing the rumor.

“Harper?” Rooster says.

She doesn’t want to tell Rooster where she is. The check is for six hundred and thirty-two dollars or thereabouts, too much to ignore, but she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s on Nantucket. She doesn’t want Sadie finding out, or Drew, or Drew’s aunties, or anyone else. Nantucket is, in so many ways, the perfect place to hide right in plain sight.

“Send it to my PO box,” Harper says. “Number 1888, Vineyard Haven.”

“So you’re here, then?” Rooster asks. “You’re on island?”

Before she can confirm or deny, there’s a beeping noise. It’s her call waiting. The number is unfamiliar, but underneath the number it says: Nantucket, MA. Harper disconnects Rooster without explanation, without good-bye. Let him think she’s in a place with poor reception—the Andes Mountains, the Yukon. It’s the only way.