Page 82 of The Identicals
No sooner has Tabitha had time to digest this fact—and, yes, a part of her is incensed, but part of her is thinking Cayleewouldbe an asset to the store; even Eleanor might agree with that—than Harper calls, screaming like her head is on fire. She has found out that Tabitha is renovating instead of tearing the house down. She’s upset that Tabitha is turning Billy’s house into a civilized place where some family might live a life of happy refinement.
“Who’s working on it for you?” Harper asks after she’s gone on her rampage. “Who are you using as a contractor?”
Tabitha will not tell her. There is no way she’s going to let Harper interfere with what’s going on here. She hangs up.
Tomorrow a landscaping crew from Billerica is coming. They are going to mow the lawn and tear out all the overgrowth, the ugly bushes, the crooked pines, the vines, the weeds, and the sad little vegetable garden. They will sod and mulch, cut beds, plant hydrangeas and perennials. It will be Tabitha’s job to water, water, water. The landscaper grew up on the Vineyard and is a good friend of Franklin’s. His name is Richie Grennan, and he will be staying at Franklin’s house for the two days it will take to do the work.
“Richie and I played football together. He’s like a brother to me. I trust him with my life,” Franklin says.
Tabitha expects to like Richie, and she expects Richie to like her back. After all, they both love Franklin. Or if Richie doesn’t believe that Tabitha loves Franklin—their relationship being too new—she at least expects him to like her because she’s paying fifteen thousand dollars for him to do the work on the yard.
Richie is short and fair with a sunburn that ends at the collar and sleeves of his grass-stained T-shirt. He has bright blue eyes and no lips. He nods at Tabitha and says, “Howahyah?” His hands remain on his hips. He’s wearing khaki cargo shorts with a leather belt and work boots.
Tabitha smiles. “How areyou?” she says with a touch of flirtatiousness. “I really appreciate your coming to do this—” She is interrupted by Franklin, who bounds past her and picks Richie up clear off the ground. Richie finally smiles, then Franklin asks if he wants to see the yard, and the three of them head back, with Tabitha trailing behind.
Maybe Richie doesn’t relate well to women, Tabitha thinks. Fine: she won’t get offended. She listens to Franklin explain to Richie exactly what they want. She doesn’t interject because Franklin is on point; he mentions everything they talked about in a logical order. He is her general contractor, so that’s his job. He is also her lover, but what does that matter to Richie?
Richie and his crew get to work. Tabitha goes to Skinny’s for sandwiches because Franklin mentioned that it used to be Richie’s favorite place. He likes the chicken Philly; Tabitha gets him two of them.
After lunch, Tabitha paints the small third bedroom a placid color called Saint Giles Green. Tad is tiling the master bath in honey-colored marble. Franklin is working with the stone guy in the kitchen. The countertops are oiled soapstone except for one section, which is butcher block. The plumbers from Mashpee have hooked up the Sub-Zero fridge and the stand-alone ice machine, and they have installed the fixtures over the farmhouse sink. The gas guy is due that afternoon to hook up the Wolf range—six burners and a griddle.
Out back, Richie is driving a front-end loader and directing his crew of five. He already has half the yard cleared; Tabitha can’t get over how much better it looks.
She is thrilled at the transformation of the house, but something feels off. Maybe it’s Richie, she thinks. Franklin and Richie ate their sandwiches out back, sitting side by side on the bumper of Franklin’s truck. Tabitha decided to let them have time alone to catch up, and Franklin either noticed and didn’t say anything or didn’t notice. His attitude toward her is one degree cooler than usual, she thinks. She worries that the story about Julian has changed things. Franklin sees her differently—and not for the better. He must see her now as a person who failed at the most basic task that we, as humans, are given: to keep our children alive.
Tabitha closes herself in the powder room—which, at the moment, is the only functioning bathroom—and splashes water on her face. She needs to get a grip! There is no way someone as evolved as Franklin would think less of her because she lost a child. He went through so much with his girlfriend Patti; surely of all the men Tabitha knows, Franklin is the most equipped to handle the story of Julian.
So then what’s wrong?
Probably he’s just tired. And Tabitha is tired and upset about Harper. And it’s hot. She needs to stop imagining things.
That night, Franklin announces that he and Richie are going to dinner at Offshore Ale and then, most likely, they’re going night fishing.
“Oh,” Tabitha says. “Okay.” She feels stung but tries not to let it show.
Franklin kisses her good-bye on the nose. The nose, as though she’s five years old! Richie is already outside climbing into Franklin’s truck, so Tabitha grabs Franklin by the shirt buttons and says, “Hey.”
“Hey what?”
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” Franklin says.
“Then kiss me like you mean it, please.”
Franklin looks at her a second, then he places his hands on either side of her face and delivers the sexiest kiss she has ever received. It’s not too much; if anything, it’s just shy of enough. She wants—needs—deeper, longer, harder. Her legs have turned to sawdust, dandelion fluff, something that can be blown away.
“Was that what you wanted?” he asks.
She can’t speak.
“Okay, then,” he says. He turns and walks out the door.
Tabitha puts a second coat of Paul Revere’s Ride on the powder-room walls—then, since she’s on a roll, she starts on the lavender room with an oil-based primer called Kilz. She bids the lavender adieu. There is zen in painting, she finds, but her mind keeps turning over the slight changes in Franklin’s behavior. They went from a full-on sex-and-love binge to… well, they’d had sex early that morning before Tad and Richie arrived, but sex isn’t exactly what Tabitha is craving. She misses tenderness: hand-holding, Franklin’s finger running along her cheekbone, his mouth on the back of her neck.
Tabitha imagines Franklin and Richie out at Offshore Ale, flirting with the young waitresses in tight T-shirts and short shorts; Franklin probably knows them all by name. As the walls of the lavender bedroom become white, Tabitha writes a story across them. Franklin follows one of the young waitresses into the kitchen; they find a dark corner—a pantry, maybe, or the room where the kegs are stored—and Franklin kisses the waitress the way he has just kissed Tabitha. The waitress slides her hand down the front of Franklin’s jeans.
Tabitha wonders what he meant by “night fishing.” Will they actually go fishing at night, or is it a euphemism for something else?
