“Mom let me do pretty much anything,” Ainsley says.

“Well, no offense, but that strategy doesn’t seem to be working,” Harper says. “I found the vodka in your bedroom yesterday, and I’m sure if I poke around, I’ll find weed.”

Ainsley sneers. “I’ll save you the trouble. It’s in my top drawer.”

Harper stares. “Eat the eggs.”

Reluctantly, Ainsley takes a bite. She nods. “They’re good. What do they have, like, ten thousand calories per bite?”

“Pretty much,” Harper says, and the teenager grants her a smile.

Rocky start, Harper thinks, but according to Billy’s watch, she and Ainsley and Fish climb into the Bronco on time. Harper delivers Ainsley to the front door of the school before the bell.

“Have a good day,” Harper says.

“Fat chance,” Ainsley says.

“Do you want me to come pick you up?” Harper asks. “You’re done at two thirty?”

“I get a ride home with my friend Emma most days,” Ainsley says. “I’ll text you if I need a ride.” She climbs out of the car, tosses her hair, and strolls toward the front door. She is so pretty and so confident. How is this possible at sixteen? She is wearing skinny jeans, ballet flats, and a white cotton tunic embroidered with violets. Her hair is pulled off to the side in a messy braid, which adds a relaxed air to her very rigid posture. Her shoulders are set as if she’s expecting an attack.

It’s only as Harper pulls away that she recalls their conversation at dinner. Ainsley’s boyfriend, Teddy, has been stolen away by a friend of hers—but not Emma. Someone else. Ainsley did mention Emma, but Harper can’t remember in what context.

Fish climbs up to the front seat, resuming his usual post as copilot.

“Well, the first days are the hardest days, don’t you worry anymore,” Harper sings off-key. She reaches out to rub the back of Fish’s neck, wondering how long it will be until she knows the ins and outs of Ainsley’s personal dramas. At least she remembered that the boyfriend’s name was Teddy. And now she knows that Emma gives Ainsley a ride home.

Harper’s phone rings in the console. She doesn’t answer because she suspects it’s Tabitha calling to make sure Harper got Ainsley to school on time. But when Harper gets back to the carriage house and checks her phone, she sees the missed call is from Rooster.

Harper sighs. She had thought for a moment that she had successfully escaped her life on the Vineyard. She lets Fish out of the car.

“Go,” she says. “But stay out of trouble.”

Fish trots off to check out the grassy terrain of Eleanor’s front yard.

Harper stays in the car, contemplating the phone in her lap. She pictures Rooster, so called because of his bright red hair styled up into a cockscomb, slumped over his desk, wearing his Ray-Ban Wayfarers inside because he is hungover.

Why is Rooster calling? Maybe he wants her to come back to work. Maybe he has been unable to find anyone to replace her. It takes a very long time to learn all the little dirt roads in all the towns. It doesn’t make any sense to hire a college kid, because by the time he or she finally figures out how to do the job effectively, the summer will be over. Also, a spotless driving record is required—finding people with no speeding tickets, no accidents, and no DUIs is more difficult than one might imagine. Yes, Harper decides, Rooster is definitely calling to offer her her job back. He probably thinks she’s desperate for it, but he would be wrong. Turning him down will be a gratifying way to start her day. She calls Rooster back.

“Harper,” he says. He hits both syllables in a way that makes them sound like spikes. Harper has always liked her name for its Waspy androgyny, but it’s not soft or feminine. That name went to her sister.

“Wally,” Harper says, trying to lighten things up. Rooster’s real name is Wallace. “What’s up?”

“The rumors keep a-comin’,” Rooster says. “I heard a real doozy yesterday. Are you sitting down?”

She’s still in the Bronco, still belted in, which seems appropriate. They can’t hurt me, she thinks—all those Vineyarders who are so bored with their own lives that they have to titillate themselves by parsing Harper Frost’s questionable decisions.

“I don’t want to know,” Harper says. She means it: how will it help to know what people are saying? When the news broke about Harper’s association with Joey Bowen, she had tirelessly tracked who had said what to whom. She had written it all down on a piece of poster board and drew lines to connect people until the thing looked like a spiderweb. Harper had then set out to do damage control, calling all the principal rumor spreaders to explain her side of the story, which had led to secondary and tertiary rumors that fanned the fires of people’s interest and kept the gossip alive. It was a miracle Harper hadn’t ended up in jail with Joey Bowen.

From the distance of three years, Harper can see that what she should have done when the news broke was… nothing. She should have let people talk, then lose interest. It had been a one-time incident. What she’d done had been wrong—really, really wrong from Jude’s perspective—but Harper had been a very small cog in a far-reaching, well-oiled drug-selling machine. She had merely been guilty of delivering a package. It had ended up being three pounds of cocaine, but for all Harper knew, it was three pounds of potato salad.

“Just listen,” Rooster says. “I think you’ll get a kick out of it.”

“I won’t get a kick out of it,” Harper says. “It’s my life, Rooster.”

“Everyone knows you were having an affair with Dr. Zimmer,” Rooster says. “That was last week’s news. This week’s news is that you’re also sleeping with the messed-up surfer on Chappy.”

Harper groans. “Brendan Donegal? He’s a friend of mine, Rooster. I’m still allowed to have friends, right?”

“I’m your friend,” Rooster says. “That’s why I’m telling you this.”

“You’re not my friend, Rooster. You’re my boss. And you’re not my boss, you’re my ex-boss.”

“Then guess what I heard? I heard that Sadie Zimmer left Dr. Zimmer.”

Harper bites her tongue. Sadie left? This is something Harper hasn’t considered: instead of Reed leaving Sadie, Sadie might leave Reed.

“But then I heard she didn’t leave, he left. Dr. Zimmer took a leave of absence from the hospital.”

A leave of absence from the hospital? Harper thinks. She closes her eyes.

“Then I heard that you were gone and nobody knew where you went and no one knew where Dr. Zimmer went, so people are thinking the two of you are on the lam somewhere, like in Natural Born Killers, except not murdering anyone. Or maybe you are leaving bodies in your wake. Nothing would surprise me at this point, Harper, because the stories keep piling up like cars in a highway crash. So anyway, I’m glad you answered your phone. I have your final paycheck. Where would you like me to send it?”

She says nothing. There’s no doubt in her mind that Reed’s “leave of absence” was forced upon him by Adam Greenfield; there’s no way Reed would ever abandon his patients of his own volition. But he left the Vineyard? Where is he? Is he out in America looking for her?

“Harper?” Rooster says.

“I’m here,” Harper says.

“Where’s here?” Rooster says. “Where do you want me to send your check?”

She hates that people are now talking about her and Brendan. She shudders at the thought of Mrs. Donegal somehow hearing the rumor.

“Harper?” Rooster says.

She doesn’t want to tell Rooster where she is. The check is for six hundred and thirty-two dollars or thereabouts, too much to ignore, but she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s on Nantucket. She doesn’t want Sadie finding out, or Drew, or Drew’s aunties, or anyone else. Nantucket is, in so many ways, the perfect place to hide right in plain sight.

“Send it to my PO box,” Harper says. “Number 1888, Vineyard Haven.”

“So you’re here, then?” Rooster asks. “You’re on island?”