Page 50 of The Identicals
“Pharmacy,” Ainsley says. “Not the Juice Bar. Kids from school will be at the Juice Bar.”
“Pharmacy it is, then,” Harper says.
A bell jingles as they walk in the door of the Nantucket Pharmacy. It’s that kind of charming, old-fashioned place. There’s a Formica lunch counter with vinyl-and-chrome stools. Ainsley and Harper take seats. There’s a man in a shirt and tie sitting at the end of the counter eating a thick tuna-salad sandwich on pumpernickel bread.
“Hey, you!” Ainsley says.
“Hey, Trouble!” The man rises from his seat, and Harper realizes it’s Ramsay, whom she had lunch with the week before. He scoops up Ainsley and hugs her tightly. Ainsley rests her head on Ramsay’s chest and locks her arms behind his back. They are slow to part, and when they do, Harper sees that Ainsley’s eyes are misty.
She comes right out and confesses. “I got suspended.” Then she starts to cry.
Ramsay gathers her up again, shushes her, plants a kiss in the part of her hair. “I see growth,” he says. “Because six months ago, you would have treated getting suspended like no big deal, maybe even like a badge of honor. Now at least you know better.”
“Hello, Ramsay,” Harper says.
Ramsay releases Ainsley and extends a hand to Harper. “It’s still eerie to me,” he says. “You two look exactly alike.”
Ainsley wipes her face with a paper napkin, leans across the counter, and orders a chocolate frappé. “What would you like?” Ainsley asks Harper.
Harper eyes Ramsay’s plate. “Bag of chips,” she says. “I prefer salty to sweet.”
“That would have been a dead giveaway,” Ramsay says. “Tabitha loves her sweets.”
“When she eats,” Ainsley says.
“When she eats,” Ramsay concedes.
A yellow bag of Lay’s appears in Harper’s hands. “Don’t let us keep you from your lunch,” she says. She checks the clock; it’s four thirty. “Or your dinner.”
“Lunch,” Ramsay says. “I’ve been working too hard.”
“Aunt Harper and I are going to start working at the boutique,” Ainsley says. “Mary Jo is moving to Maryland, so we get to hire someone new.”
“Wow,” Ramsay says. “I was certain Mary Jo would meet her peaceful end while refolding folded sweaters.”
“Do you know anyone who’s looking for a job?” Harper asks.
“I do, actually,” Ramsay says. He adjusts his glasses. “Let me take your cell number.”
“Okay,” Harper says. She gives him the number, which he programs into his phone, then she wonders if it’s okay to have given her number to Tabitha’s ex-boyfriend. “Who should I be on the lookout for?”
Ramsay clears his throat. “Her name is Caylee,” he says. “Caylee Keohane. She was bartending at the Straight Wharf, but she lost her job last week. I know she’s pretty desperate for something else.”
“Lost her job? Why?” Harper says.
“Some jerk grabbed her ass, and she dumped a drink in his lap,” Ramsay says. “Management blamed her.”
“Wait a minute,” Ainsley says. “Is this the girl you’re dating?”
“Was,” Ramsay says. “We parted ways.” He gives Harper a look. “Ultimately, she was too young.”
“Have her call me,” Harper says. She wonders if she can possibly hire Ramsay’s ex-girlfriend to work at Tabitha’s boutique. The longer she stays here, the more trouble she gets in. She waves at Ramsay. “No promises, but send me her info and I’ll schedule an interview.”
It will be interesting, anyway, to meet the woman Ramsay chose to replace Tabitha.
“Maybe we can hang out some weekend,” Ramsay says. “You, me, and Ainsley. We could pack a picnic and go to the beach at Ram Pasture. Someone has to show you the island.”
“That’s a lovely offer,” Harper says. “But we have to work.”
