Eleanor studies the car another second. She has seen that car before, she realizes. She has ridden in it—but when? Then she remembers: she rode in it on the way to Billy’s memorial reception. It’s Harper’s car! But why is Harper’s car here on Nantucket? Eleanor rummages around in her mind; she can’t think of any reason.
“Of course this is my house,” Eleanor says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” To Chet she says, “Carry on.”
Felipa and Flossie make up the bedroom on the first floor while Eleanor rests in an armchair on the glassed-in porch that overlooks Nantucket Sound. From the house phone, she tries Tabitha’s number, but she gets no answer, and Eleanor doesn’t believe in leaving messages. Eleanor is too exhausted to call the store. Honestly, that store is the bane of her existence. Tabitha has done a terrible job managing it in recent years, and the thing has become a financial albatross. Eleanor has given serious thought to closing it, but if she does that, what will Tabitha do for work? And this summer, Ainsley is working at the store as well, although Eleanor hasn’t heard word one about how she likes it. Probably she sits around and plays on her blasted phone.
Phones have become the scourge of modern society, if you ask Eleanor. Possibly the best thing about Boston was how out of touch she was.
Still, she has missed her water views, her Simon Pearce candlesticks displayed on the table in front of her, the smell of this house, and the chiming of these clocks. There are certain culinary delights particular to Nantucket that Eleanor has missed as well—the lobster bisque from the Sea Grille, the cheeseburger from Le Languedoc, the truffle-Asiago frites from Fifty-Six Union. Would it be cruel of Eleanor to send Flossie out on a gastronomic scavenger hunt so that they might have all three items for dinner tonight? Eleanor can arrange for Chet to drive Flossie; he had seemed to take a shine to her. Yes, Eleanor will do exactly that. Flossie is headed back to Palm Beach the day after tomorrow. Eleanor needs to enjoy Flossie’s companionship while she still has it. And she needs to find Tabitha.
When Flossie comes out onto the porch carrying two giant Mount Gay and tonics—it must be five o’clock, Eleanor thinks; Flossie is always right on the nose with happy hour, and the drinks are always ice cold and very strong—Eleanor gives her the instructions for dinner.
Flossie rolls her eyes. “Can’t we just get everything at the same restaurant?”
“No,” Eleanor says. “We can’t. Chet will chauffeur you around. You’ll like that.”
“He’ll like that,” Flossie says, and she trills her musical laughter.
“Also,” Eleanor says, “would you mind terribly going over to the carriage house to fetch Tabitha?”
“Happy to,” Flossie says. She raises her glass in a cheers. “I’m not going to lie. I can’t wait to get home. But I’m really going to miss you, Ellie.”
Eleanor feels color rising to her cheeks. It’s true—the silver lining in the cloud of breaking her damn hip has been spending the past few weeks with Flossie.
Sisters, she thinks. There’s nothing like them.
Flossie comes back a scant ten minutes later. “There’s no one at the carriage house,” she says.
“No one?”
“No one,” Flossie says. “I left a note on the counter, telling them we were home.”
“Good,” Eleanor says. “I’m sure Tabitha and Ainsley are at the store.”
But by eight o’clock that night—after the bisque, burger, and truffled fries are consumed and cleared away—there is still no word from Tabitha. Eleanor tries Tabitha’s cell phone—voice mail. She sends Flossie back over to the carriage house.
“Nobody home,” Flossie says.
Eleanor purses her lips. What is going on here, exactly? she wonders.
In the morning, Eleanor is awakened by the doorbell. She’s disoriented at first, and the Ambien she takes each night to get to sleep leaves her voice as dry as crackers. She hears Flossie’s light, quick steps on the stairs, then she hears voices. There is a tap on Eleanor’s door.
“Come in,” Eleanor croaks.
The door opens, and Tabitha steps in. Eleanor blinks. “Where in God’s name have you been?”
“Mommy?” Tabitha says. “I’m Harper.”
“What?” Eleanor says. This is Harper? Well, it’s first thing in the morning. The way Eleanor always used to tell the twins apart was that Tabitha’s eyes were more almond-shaped, and Harper’s were rounder, as though she were in a constant state of amazement—but that distinction is only useful when the twins are standing side by side, and how long has it been since that’s happened?
“I’m Harper,” Tabitha says again.
“You’re Harper,” Eleanor says. She decides to be thrilled with this development. She has missed Harper! Harper went to live with Billy. But now Billy is dead.
Billy is dead, and Eleanor is broken. It’s a distressing state of affairs. They had been such a striking couple in their day.
Eleanor notices something in Harper’s face, something she hasn’t seen in years and years but that she recognizes nonetheless. Her daughter is upset. Her daughter needs her. Somehow Eleanor knows exactly what to do.
She holds out her arms. “Come,” she says. “Come to Mommy.”
The story tumbles out: Harper and Tabitha have switched places, just like the little minxes in that movie they used to love. Harper has been here on Nantucket taking care of Ainsley and minding the store, and Tabitha has been on the Vineyard, renovating Billy’s house so the girls can sell it and realize a profit. Speaking of profit, Harper—with the help of some poor soul named Caylee (that can’t be her real name, can it? Eleanor wonders)—has made some deeply unorthodox changes at the store (involving social media, Eleanor thinks with a shudder), but sales are up by 500 percent over last year.
Eleanor accepts news of these “changes” with equanimity, surprising even herself. Probably she is not fully awake.
But then Harper starts to weep. Eleanor hears about Tabitha’s love affair with the builder and that the builder’s sister is the woman Harper betrayed with Billy’s doctor. The builder can’t see Tabitha anymore, and Tabitha is heartbroken. Tabitha blames Harper.
“She hates me, Mommy,” Harper says. Eleanor loves that Harper still calls her Mommy, whereas Tabitha switched to “Mother” when she was ten years old. “She hated me for so long, then after Billy died, we patched things up, at least to the point where we were speaking. But now it’s over for good.”
“Nonsense,” Eleanor says. She dispatches Felipa to fetch the house phone, and not only does Eleanor call Tabitha, she also leaves a message. “Tabitha, this is your mother. I want you back on Nantucket immediately. No excuses. I expect to see you in a matter of hours. At the most!” She disconnects the call and brushes the hair off Harper’s shoulders. “You’ve gotten sun on your face,” she says. She nearly launches into a lecture about wrinkles and premature aging, but because this morning seems to be unusual in its every aspect, she refrains. “A little color suits you.”
MARTHA’S VINEYARD