NANTUCKET

Eleanor and Flossie are enjoying their last happy hour together, with Ainsley for company. Eleanor sent Felipa to 167 to get the bluefish paté, the guacamole, and two pounds of shrimp cocktail. Eleanor wants to send Flossie off in style. They’re ordering in from the Lobster Trap tonight—surf and turf!

Eleanor raises a glass. “Flossie, I don’t know what I ever would have done without you.”

Flossie clinks her glass against Eleanor’s. “Probably inspired Felipa to murder you in your sleep.”

The doorbell rings. Eleanor looks at Ainsley. “Maybe it’s your mother, back already. Go see, please, darling.”

Ainsley rises, and Flossie says, “I can’t believe you make your own daughters ring the bell. Honestly, Ellie, you need to loosen up.”

Eleanor disagrees. She’s about to inform Flossie that she is loose enough as it is, thank you very much, when Ainsley walks onto the porch escorting a very handsome gentleman holding a guitar.

He bows in front of Eleanor as though she’s a queen. Eleanor loves this man already! But who is he? And why the guitar? Eleanor fears this is a singing telegram or a male stripper, something orchestrated by Flossie on her last day in order to loosen Eleanor up.

“I’m Franklin Phelps,” the gentleman says. “I’ve come in search of Tabitha.”

“Tabitha?” Eleanor says. Here is the suitor, then! The brother of the woman married to Billy’s doctor. Eleanor remembers herself and holds out her hand. “Franklin, I’m Eleanor Roxie-Frost, Tabitha’s mother.”

“And I’m Flossie,” Flossie says, offering her hand. She wants right in on the action, Eleanor sees. Typical Flossie! She can’t leave a good-looking male alone. “I’m Tabitha’s aunt.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Franklin says.

“I told him Mom’s not here,” Ainsley says. “She’s on the Vineyard.”

“Comedy of errors,” Franklin says. “I just came from the Vineyard.”

“She’ll be right back,” Eleanor says. “By morning, anyway. You might as well sit tight right here. I’ll have Felipa make up the guest room.”

“I couldn’t impose,” Franklin says.

“I want you to impose!” Eleanor says.

“Me, too!” Flossie says.

Eleanor turns to Flossie, trying not to let her impatience with her flirtatious younger sister show. “Can we offer Franklin a drink, Flossie?”

“We can!” Flossie says. “What’s your poison, Franklin?”

“A beer would be wonderful,” Franklin says. “Or a whiskey, if you don’t have beer.”

“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 renovate my house,” 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 he doesn’t know. 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 I doing, Fish? What am I doing? 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.