Page 107 of The Identicals
“Whiskey it is,” Eleanor says. She waves Flossie away to fetch the drink. “Please sit, Franklin. And then tell us what it is you do for a living. Are you a professional musician?”
“I play the guitar for fun,” Franklin says. He settles in the armchair opposite Eleanor and places the guitar case at his feet. “By trade I’m a carpenter. I have my own construction business. I’m helping Tabitha and Harper renovate Billy’s house.”
Eleanor claps her hands. “Well, when you’re finished with that, you can renovatemyhouse,” she says. She casts her eyes around. What could use a spruce-up? Surely there must be something.
Flossie returns with Franklin’s drink. “The house is perfect as it is, Ellie,” Flossie says. She winks at Franklin. “That’s just Eleanor’s way of saying she likes you.”
Eleanor is embarrassed by this statement, although she does indeed like this gentleman—he’s adorable! Eleanor didn’t think she would ever like anyone as much as she liked Ramsay Striker, but she’s pleased to see she was wrong about that.
The doorbell rings again.
“Grand Central Station,” Flossie mutters.
Ainsley stands up. “Maybe that’s Mom.”
But the person Ainsley brings into the glassed-in porch next is another gentleman caller. This one is bespectacled and a bit more buttoned-up: khaki pants, custom-tailored shirt (Eleanor knows bespoke when she sees it), and suede Gucci loafers. Ainsley looks like she’s popped a whole habanero pepper unwittingly into her mouth. She’s pink, and her eyes are bulging.
Cute Franklin gets to his feet. “Reed?”
The new caller turns to Eleanor. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Dr. Reed Zimmer. I’m looking for Harper.”
“Harper?” Eleanor says. She gasps. “Are you the father, then?”
“Father?” Franklin says.
The doctor blanches.“Father?”he says.
“The father,” Flossie says in clarification. “Of Harper’s baby. She’s pregnant, you know.”
It’s clear from the misty look that comes over the doctor’s face that hedoesn’tknow. Leave it to Flossie to let the cat out of the bag, Eleanor thinks. The moment of everyone’s speechless shock gives Eleanor a chance to compare and contrast the two gentlemen before her. Franklin, with his darling mussed hair and his flip-flops, seems like he would be more Harper’s type. And this Dr. Zimmer, with his glasses and his bespoke shirt, seems like he would be more Tabitha’s type. But apparently it’s the other way around.
There is nothing more mysterious, confounding, and unknowable, Eleanor thinks, than the desires of the human heart.
“Flossie,” she says. “Can’t you see the man needs a drink?” To the doctor, Eleanor says, “Please sit down. And try the bluefish paté. It’s wonderful.”
EPILOGUE: FISH
His is a life of the senses, but over the course of his twelve and a half years—or eighty-seven and a half years, depending on who’s counting—he has also developed other intelligences. He has become savvy with places—both new and familiar—and with the circadian rhythms of day, night, and season, but mostly he has become adept at reading human emotion. If he were ever granted the ability to speak, he would spend half his time asking questions—Why wear clothes? Why use utensils? Why litter?—and the other half explaining people to themselves.
When the weather cools down and the days grow shorter, Harper’s shape starts to change, then her scent starts to change. Harper packs up their things—again—and Fish wonders if they’re going back to the other island for good. But instead they take the barge to Chappy. Harper moves them into a cottage that smells strongly of the Surfer. Fish races around the house looking for the Surfer but finds nothing except a sock under the bed. He brings the sock to Harper, and she lets out a soft cry.
The Surfer is replaced by the Doctor. The Doctor is around a little bit at first, then more often, then all the time. He becomes the one who lets Fish out in the morning and before bed. Harper, however, still takes Fish for long walks—now on East Beach. Fish loves East Beach. It’s replete with dead crabs and seaweed, snails, mermaid’s purses, scraps of picnic. As Harper walks him she says things like, “What am Idoing,Fish? What am Idoing?I don’t know anything about being a mother.”
If Fish could talk, he would tell Harper she’s wrong. She has been the kindest, most steadfast mother he could have dreamed of.
Sometimes when Harper, Fish, and the Doctor are together lounging on the sofa or watching TV and Harper falls asleep, the doctor will take Fish’s head in his hands and stare him straight in the eyes. “I’m telling you, man-to-man,” he says. “I will take care of her. I will take care of her and you, and I will take care of that baby.”
Fish supposes he should register surprise at the news of a baby, but his is a life of the senses, so he has already figured out there is a baby coming. He’s already felt a second heartbeat thrumming in his ear as he lays his head on Harper’s belly. And then, only a day or two ago, he felt a kick. Instead of being affronted, Fish was flattered. The baby was reaching out. The baby, he guesses, will be his friend, possibly the most excellent friend he has ever known.
A day arrives that seems important. There are balloons, presents, a cake delivered from someone named the Tiny Baker, who is, in fact, tiny and who brings a pug named Lucy Bean with her. Lucy Bean barks at Fish and bares her teeth as Tiny Baker hands over the cake. Fish merely shakes his head; pugs are difficult to take seriously.
It’s not Baby Day, he doesn’t think. He soon learns it’s Harper’s birthday, her fortieth birthday. She and the Doctor and Fish and Edie, the Surfer’s mother, will celebrate—light the candles, sing, eat cake—but there is something Harper must do first. She and Fish drive out to Cape Poge alone. Fish is confused. Harper has forgotten to bring her fishing pole.
“I know this may seem crazy,” Harper says. “But I’m going to wish Tabitha a happy birthday. She’s standing on the beach at Ram Pasture, on Nantucket, and she is going to wish me a happy birthday.”
Fish stares off into the distance. All he sees is water.
“With me on Cape Poge and Tabitha at Ram Pasture, we are as physically close as we can get while still remaining on our respective islands,” Harper says. She touches her protruding midsection. “She and Franklin are coming over on Friday so that we can close on Billy’s house, but that isn’t our actual birthday. It’s imperative we do this today.” She checks Billy’s watch on her wrist. “I call out to her at three twelve, because that’s when Pony was born. Pony will call out to me at three fourteen, because that’s when I was born.”
Harper cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “Happy birthday, Tabitha!”
Fish stares off into the distance. Water and more water. People are nuts, he thinks. Even Harper.
But then, just about ninety seconds later, Fish cocks his head. It’s faint—possibly he’s projecting. But no, it’s real—a voice nearly identical to the one he hears every day, but just a little bit different. It’s a nuance only a very perceptive dog would notice.
“Happy birthday, Harper! Happy, happy birthday!”
Fish barks.
