The Identicals(71)

Ainsley told Teddy things she had never been comfortable sharing with anyone else—about her parents, their split, her father moving off island and starting a new family, effectively leaving Ainsley to be ruled by a two-woman dictatorship. Ainsley even told Teddy about her brother, Julian, who had been born premature and had, one night, simply stopped breathing, leaving Tabitha an emotional cripple.

Ainsley and Teddy didn’t have sex until Thanksgiving. Ainsley had enjoyed dinner with her mother and grandmother at Ramsay’s house with Ramsay’s family. Tabitha had been in one of her rare happy-drunk moods, taking Ainsley’s face into her hands and calling her honey bear and honey pear. She had been slurring her words, and Ainsley was anxious to get to the driveway, where Teddy idled in Uncle Graham’s truck. Teddy and Uncle Graham had gone to the Faregrounds for their Thanksgiving dinner—full-plate turkey and all the trimmings for $19.95, with seconds and thirds included—but now Graham was drinking with his scalloping buddies at the bar, and Teddy had the truck and no curfew.

They had gone to the carriage house and done it in Ainsley’s bed. It had hurt a little, but the hurt paled to how wonderful it felt to be that close to Teddy.



All these memories zip through Ainsley’s mind as she stares at her fruit salad. She looks up at Caylee, who is mixing dried cherries into her overnight oatmeal with the intensity of a chemist seeking the Nobel Prize. Caylee, she has noticed, isn’t afraid of food. She relishes eating, yet she remains slender. Such a thing is also possible, like being cool and going to church.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Ainsley says.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving your scone unprotected,” Caylee says. She grins. “Kidding. Go.”



Ainsley wanders out to the lobby of the inn, looking for Teddy. There is a stunning young woman with thick dark hair and olive skin and a beauty mark working at the front desk, and Ainsley feels a stab of jealousy. Maybe Teddy has left Candace. Maybe he’s dating this young woman now, or maybe he’s having an affair with one of the older, attractive divorcées staying at the hotel alone. For someone like Teddy, Ainsley supposes, the possibilities are endless.

Beauty Mark looks up from her computer terminal. “Can I help you?” she asks.

At the same time, Ainsley hears her name. Teddy is galloping down the stairs toward her. Beneath the white polo shirt of his uniform, Ainsley sees the leather strap and, dangling from it, the cross. She knows now that Teddy has been raised Pentecostal. She had always meant to google what that meant, but she never has. Candace probably knows. Maybe it’s similar to being Catholic.

“Hey,” Ainsley says.

“Hey,” Teddy says. He is tan under his freckles, and his hair is a shade lighter, golden glints in the red. He’s been in the sun, at the beach, probably with Candace and Emma and BC and Anna and all Ainsley’s former friends. The tan makes him look healthy and strong; it’s a blessing summer has bestowed upon him. At least Ainsley got to the beach on Sunday with Harper and Ramsay. Maybe she looks like she’s glowing, too, although she kind of doubts it. Most of her summer so far has been spent under the fluorescent lights of the boutique or in her bedroom, doing her summer reading. She is going back to school in the fall as one of the truly pathetic kids who actually found time to get it finished before Labor Day weekend.

“I was looking for the ladies’ room,” she says.

“Who is that woman you’re here with?” Teddy asks.

“My friend,” Ainsley says. “Caylee.”

“Never seen her before,” Teddy says. “Is she in college?”

“Out of college,” Ainsley says. “She used to bartend at the Straight Wharf. Your uncle probably knows her.”

“Probably,” Teddy says. “So is she, like, your nanny or babysitter, then?”

“No,” Ainsley says with a patient smile. “She’s just a friend. How is your summer going?”

He shrugs. “Fine, I guess.”

“How’s Candace?” Ainsley asks. She doesn’t mean to ask this; she doesn’t want to know. Yes, she does, but she doesn’t want him to know that she wants to know. “I heard you took her for dinner at Ventuno.”

Teddy’s forehead creases the way it used to when he didn’t understand the math homework. “I didn’t take Candace to Ventuno,” he says. “Emma did.”

“What?” Ainsley says.

“I don’t have the money to take Candace to Ventuno.”

“But you have a job.”

“I sign my checks over to Graham. He’s saving them for my college tuition. But Dutch gives Emma however much money she wants. She took Candace to Ventuno, and they both got really drunk, I guess, then Candace threw up in the street outside the Juice Bar, and I guess Mr. Duncombe was in line with his kids, and he called Candace’s parents to come pick her up.”

“Oh,” Ainsley says. She is vibrating with suppressed glee. Emma, not Teddy, took Candace. The announcement in the boutique was a bluff. The detail about the flower in Candace’s hair had been fabricated. And Candace—an altar girl at Saint Mary’s—had gotten sick in front of the Juice Bar, and Mr. Duncombe saw her! The only downside to this story is that Ainsley hasn’t heard it from anyone else. She is really and truly a social pariah if no one thought to share this news with her. Ainsley warns herself against being too judgmental. If she had stayed on her self-destructive course, she could easily have been the girl puking on the street. But it wasn’t her this time.