The Identicals(75)

Tabitha Frost is uptight, she thinks.

She unties her bikini and goes racing into the water.

The feeling is novel and delicious. The water is soft as it envelops her, all of her; she feels coddled, like a baby in embryonic fluid. And she enjoys the daring of it. For the moments when she is in the water, she is free.

Franklin scoops her up. When he kisses her, he tastes like salt water. She is weightless in his arms.



Back on her towel on the warm beach, she raises her face bravely to the sun. Her shoulder blades melt into the sand, and she falls asleep.



When she wakes up, the sun is lower in the sky, dappling the surface of the water. Tabitha turns her head to see Franklin on his side, his head propped on his arm, staring at her.

“You are so beautiful,” he says.

Her stomach swoops.

This is happening.



Franklin has chosen a place called the Outermost Inn for dinner.

“It’s in Aquinnah,” he says. “You’ll see all of up island on the way.”

Tabitha puts on an orange Alexander Wang sundress with skinny straps that crisscross her now tanned back. It’s the sexiest thing she owns, and she congratulates herself for deciding to bring it.

Franklin whistles. “Or we can just stay here and I’ll eat you for dinner.”

As they drive out South Road through Chilmark, Franklin plays the dutiful tour guide and shows Tabitha Beetlebung Corner. A beetle, he explains, is a mallet used to bang bungs—or stoppers—into barrels.

Tabitha laughs. “Thank you for telling me that. It sounds like something that infests your attic.”

She loves all the low stone walls and the family farms. “And the cute street signs. Look at that one!” She points to a small wooden sign that says: SHEEP XING.

“Good old Sheep Crossing,” Franklin says. The tone of his voice is suddenly arch. “The first cottage after the turn is where my brother-in-law is hiding out.”

“Your brother-in-law?” Tabitha says. She tries to remember what Franklin has told her about his family. She isn’t good with this kind of thing. The parents—she has lost their names—the father was the high school principal, the mother… she can’t remember. Did Franklin mention a brother-in-law? The husband of his sister? His sister’s name is… Charlotte? Nope, that’s Ramsay’s sister.

She waits for him to say more, but he merely shakes his head. “Never mind,” he says.



Any awkwardness vanishes as they approach the Outermost Inn. It’s set way up over the cliffs of Aquinnah; even from the parking lot, the views over the water are dramatic. Franklin is a perfect gentleman, ushering Tabitha inside, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. Tabitha thinks briefly of Ramsay—his manners were impeccable, bordering on stuffy—but he never electrified Tabitha with his touch, as Franklin does.

The hostess at the intimate restaurant is roughly Tabitha’s age. She has curly blond hair and wears a silk broomstick skirt that reaches to her ankles.

“Franklin!” she says. “Baby doll!”

“Annalisa,” Franklin says. He kisses her on the lips, Tabitha notices. Okay, she’s jealous. She feels a tightening across her shoulders and tries to fight it. She loves the decor of the inn, the candlelight, the smell of garlic, herbs, roasting meat, butter, good wine. She has only known Franklin for a few days. He has lived here for forty years.

Tabitha smiles at Annalisa, hoping she will not be mistaken for her sister. “Hello,” she says. “I’m Tabitha Frost. I live on Nantucket.”

“Oh yes, I know,” Annalisa says. “The folks at the Steamship Authority send out an alert when someone from ‘the other island’ broaches our shores.”

Franklin squeezes Tabitha’s shoulder, and Tabitha manages a smile.



Annalisa sits Franklin and Tabitha at the best table in the house—out on the wide, gracious porch in the corner closest to the water. Franklin selects a bottle of Sancerre and a bottle of Malbec, and he pours Tabitha a glass of each.

They touch glasses, and Franklin shakes his head. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you called me,” he says. “Even if it was by accident.”

“If you wanted me to call you not by accident, you should have left your number in the note,” Tabitha says. “I figured you never wanted to see me again.”

“I…” Franklin sips his wine and looks off at the horizon, where the sun is sinking into the water. A streak of glorious orange light illuminates his face. “I wasn’t sure of the protocol, I guess.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t bring women home all the time,” Tabitha says.

“I don’t,” Franklin says. He gives her an earnest look—could he possibly be telling the truth?—and then he changes the subject. “Tell me about you. I can’t believe you’re single. A gorgeous woman like you on an island with all those millionaires on their yachts.”

Tabitha laughs. “Oh, I’m single. I was in a relationship for four years, but we broke up in February.”

“Have you ever been married?” Franklin asks.

“No,” Tabitha says. “But my first serious boyfriend and I have a child together. A daughter, Ainsley. She’s sixteen.”