The Identicals(69)

“You said earlier that you don’t know anything about me. And you don’t, really. I realize that I look just like Tabitha, and it must be disconcerting to discover that we’re so different—opposite, even.” She maintains eye contact with Ramsay, though it’s hard; his face is about to crumple with dejection. She looks at Ainsley’s chest rising and falling with breaths of ocean air, then she watches the encroaching and retreating of the waves. This is not her island. This is someplace she is visiting. Borrowing, even. “I need you to believe me when I say that the last thing I need is another boyfriend.”

Ramsay, to his credit, asks the right question. “What do you need?”

Harper gives him a small, sad smile. “A friend friend,” she says. Fish barks. “A human friend.”

“I’m in,” Ramsay says.





AINSLEY


She meets Caylee at the corner of Broad and Water Streets at eight thirty in the morning on Wednesday for breakfast. Caylee greets her with an enthusiastic hug and a kiss on the cheek, as though she is a sorority sister or a soul mate, and Ainsley stands up a little straighter.

She worked with Caylee on Monday, and although Caylee had been civil, even pleasant with Ainsley, there had been a distant reserve—or so Ainsley thought: no chatter, no confidences shared. Ainsley worried that Caylee no longer found her worthy of her friendship or tutelage. Ainsley had let her down. How had she so severely misread Caylee? Caylee was a good person in a cool body, whereas Emma Marlowe was a bad person in a cool body. Caylee had just come from church and wanted to stop by with flowers for Ainsley as a gesture of solidarity; she had been wearing the Roxie because it was appropriate for church and it was promoting the brand she worked for. Ainsley shudders when she thinks of how disappointed Caylee must have been to see Ainsley holding the vodka—which she had, indeed, stolen from Eleanor’s house. And then she had told Caylee to get off her property, which is something you say when you’re five years old.

Ainsley realizes she needs to clean up her act or she’s going to lose everyone close to her. Tuesday was Caylee’s day off, and Ainsley worked with Aunt Harper, but on Tuesday night, Ainsley sent Caylee a text that said: Are we still on for breakfast tomorrow?

Caylee had responded immediately: You bet.

Being “downtown”—and, yes, Ainsley knows that four square blocks of Nantucket hardly qualify as a downtown, but it’s what she has grown up with—used to be fun. Now it’s a place filled with pitfalls. Ainsley could bump into anyone from school at any moment, which is why she has kept her trajectory simple: home, work, home. She hasn’t been into Force Five to try on bikinis; she hasn’t shopped for earrings at Jessica Hicks; she hasn’t gone to the Juice Bar for ice cream. But when Caylee threads her arm through Ainsley’s, it’s like protection. Ainsley lets Caylee lead her across Broad Street and up the stairs of a Victorian house.

“Ainsley?”

Ainsley swivels her head around. Teddy is standing on the porch of the house, wearing a uniform of khaki pants and a white polo emblazoned with the name of the property: 21 Broad.

“What are you doing here?”

Wait. Ainsley is discombobulated. Caylee said they were going to some secret place for breakfast, and now they’re standing on the front porch of the hotel where Teddy works. It’s going to look like she’s stalking him. Ainsley takes half a step back, but Caylee holds her fast.

“We’ve come for breakfast,” Caylee says. “I’ve been invited by the owner.”

Teddy looks back and forth between Ainsley and Caylee, clearly confused but maybe also impressed. “Right this way,” Teddy says.

In back of the hotel is a charming porch, and set up on long wooden tables is what’s called the small plates breakfast. Ainsley hadn’t been excited about actually eating, but she’s never been anywhere that has a breakfast as enticing as this. There are locally roasted coffees and organic teas, glass pitchers of juice in jewel tones, and a platter of fresh fruit—fat berries and figs and fresh sliced peaches and plums, wedges of watermelon and rings of juicy pineapple. There are two kinds of smoothie—kale and strawberry—and there are freshly made scones with clotted cream and guava jam. There is overnight oatmeal with raisins, nuts, and dried cherries, and there is an elaborate platter of cheeses and meats and smoked fish.

Caylee picks a table in the corner, then she leads Ainsley over to the buffet, and together they start filling their plates.

“This is actually the prettiest breakfast I’ve ever seen,” Ainsley says. “How did you find out about this place?”

“The owner used to come into the Straight Wharf,” Caylee says. “He told me about it and invited me to come try it.”

“You are so lucky,” Ainsley says.

“There were a lot of perks in that job,” Caylee says. “I miss it.”

Ainsley feels a pang of fear. “But you like the boutique, right?”

“Right,” Caylee says.

Ainsley exhales. The worst thing that could happen now is for Caylee to quit the shop and go back to bartending.

“I’m so angry about how I lost my job,” Caylee says. “I have a revenge dream about the man who grabbed me. In the dream, I stick a corkscrew in his eye.”

“Nice,” Ainsley says.