Copycat

by Alex Lake

  ‘Gold Street. I rented an apartment there. I’m looking for a place to buy, eventually.’

  ‘A lot of houses don’t make it on to the market,’ Sarah said. ‘There’s a lot of private sales. Barrow’s become quite a popular place for people to live. Lots of families move back here – good schools, low crime. And there’s the college.’

  Barrow was home to Hardy College, a small, liberal arts college which had invested heavily in the town.

  ‘I know. I spoke to the realtor and she was bemoaning the fact,’ Rachel said. She smiled. ‘But something will come up. It always does. There’s no point worrying.’

  ‘You sound like my husband, Ben. He always says worry is a dividend paid to disaster before it’s due.’

  ‘I like it. Where does it come from?’

  ‘I think it’s from one of the James Bond books. Not exactly Gandhi.’

  Rachel laughed. ‘Well, it’s true all the same. Even James Bond has life advice for us.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ll ask around about any houses coming up for sale.’

  ‘Would you?’ Rachel said. She sounded genuinely touched. ‘That’s so generous. Thank you.’

  Kim toddled toward them. ‘Mommy,’ she said. ‘Can I have some water?’

  ‘Of course.’ Sarah handed her a plastic cup. ‘This is Mommy’s friend, Rachel.’

  ‘Hi,’ Kim said, her voice muffled by the liquid.

  Rachel leaned forward, her hands on her knees. ‘Hello,’ she said, her voice low and soft. She was smiling, and taking time with her movements. ‘Are you Kim?’

  Kim nodded, a matching smile on her face.

  ‘I’m Rachel.’ She held out her hand, palm upward, and Kim placed her hand in it. Rachel gave it a gentle shake. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’

  Kim gave a little giggle, then buried her face in Sarah’s hip.

  ‘I think she likes you,’ Sarah said. ‘She’s come over all bashful. It’s not like her at all. She’s normally all up in people’s faces. It’s the fate of the third child. They have to fight for everything.’

  ‘I know,’ Rachel said. ‘I was one myself.’

  ‘Were you?’ Sarah didn’t recall her having siblings, but then she didn’t know much about her home life at all.

  ‘Yes. The others were older, though. I had two brothers. Brian and Vinnie. Brian was six years older and Vinnie eight.’

  ‘I don’t remember them.’

  ‘They weren’t around much. Vinnie went into the army and Brian didn’t really … he kind of kept himself to himself.’

  ‘So what are you planning to do?’ Sarah said. ‘You’re a therapist, right?’

  Rachel nodded. ‘I’m going to do the same here. I’ve not got anything in place yet, but I will.’

  ‘I might be able to help there, too,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m a doctor. Family medicine, mainly. Let me know when you’re ready and I can put you in touch with some people who might be worth talking to.’

  Rachel shook her head, as though disbelieving. ‘You’re so kind,’ she said. ‘So welcoming.’

  Sarah felt a little discomfort at her gratitude. ‘It’s a small town,’ she said. ‘Everyone wants to help.’

  ‘I guess so,’ Rachel said. ‘I guess I’d forgotten Barrow was like that. Makes my decision to come back all the better, I suppose.’

  12

  Sunday was forecast to be hot, up in the high eighties and humid with it. It turned out to be even hotter, and in town it felt worse: claustrophobic and suffocating. Along with the rest of the population of Barrow, Sarah and Ben headed to the beach.

  It was a thirty-minute drive up the Phippsburg peninsula and by this point in the summer they had the trip down, as Ben would say in one of his incomprehensible British expressions, to a tee. Shovels, kids’ wetsuits, beach chairs, umbrella: all their beach stuff was put in the car in June and remained there until September. The only thing they had to add was dry towels, a cooler full of snacks and drinks and the kids themselves. Which was good, because on a day like this the beach filled up. Anyone who arrived there after around 10 a.m. would be facing a full car park and a return trip to the heat of town.

  They pulled up alongside Jean’s battered minivan, the sandy gravel crunching under the tires.

  ‘I don’t know how she does it,’ Ben said. ‘I mean, wrangling our kids is hard enough with the two of us. She’s alone. It’s amazing, frankly.’

  ‘She’s super-organized,’ Sarah said. ‘She has to be. The laundry alone – it’s frightening. She showed me her system for getting it done: each kid has a basket which they put their dirty clothes into. They fold up any that can be worn again and put them away. Immediately after bedtime she puts a load in the washing machine, then puts them on the drying rack before she goes to bed.’

  ‘There’s the difference,’ Ben said. ‘Her kids don’t throw everything all over the place. She has some discipline. I wish I knew her secret.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s a secret,’ Sarah said. ‘She’s always busy. Washing clothes or making lunches for the next day or preparing her schoolwork.’

  ‘It’s impressive.’

  ‘It’s funny. In high school she was a hot mess. Not that we said “hot mess” back then.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Oh, you know. She didn’t have her shit together.’

  That was a bit of an understatement. In their senior year Sarah had a car – a Toyota Corolla – and used to pick up Jean, as well as two other friends, Katie and Emily, on her way to school. Jean was never ready, and, when she did appear, she had invariably forgotten her purse or books or homework, so they’d have to go back for whatever was missing, and then it would be a mad scramble to get to school before the tardy bell made official their lateness. And lateness wasn’t all; she studied for the wrong exams, showed up at the wrong time or not at all for her summer jobs, and lost her purse or bag or ID almost every time they went out.

  Her parents didn’t help. They were very strict and very private; whereas Sarah and Katie and Emily’s parents used to chat to the girls or drive them places, Jean’s never did. Often they refused to let her join her friends after school or on the weekends – on one occasion, Jean more or less disappeared for three weeks – but when they asked Jean why she’d been grounded, she shrugged and said her parents thought she was letting them down with her poor performance and she needed to focus more. Jean claimed it didn’t bother her, but Sarah could tell she was putting a brave face on what must have been a deep hurt.

  And then she had met Jack. He already had kids; Jean could not have her own – which was another tragic story she managed to cope with – and she always said it was a blessing she met Jack and got a husband and family all at the same time. She didn’t say it, but Sarah was pretty sure she wanted a family so she could put right some of the wrongs of her own childhood.

  And Sarah suspected there were plenty more of those than Jean had shared.

  She may have told Katie more. Katie and Jean had been friends since they were born – their moms met on the maternity ward – and they had a special bond. Like lots of groups of friends, the friendships weren’t equal; for them, it had been more like two groups of two. Jean and Katie, Sarah and Emily.

  Sarah missed Emily. She had moved to the Pacific Northwest – Oregon, somewhere – and they kept in touch via Skype, but it wasn’t the same. As for Katie, no one knew where she was. She’d gone traveling in her early twenties, and they’d lost contact with her.

  So, even though they had not been the closest of the friends in their group, Sarah and Jean were the only ones left, and Sarah was glad to have her in her life. Her college friends were great – in some ways she preferred them – and they had shared some wonderful times, but there was a special quality to her friendship with Jean. It went back so far, and they knew each other so well. With her college friends, she had taken care to present her best self. She was almost an adult when she met them, and she knew who she was and who she wante
d to be. She had a self-image, and she wanted to make sure others shared it. Jean and Katie and Emily, on the other hand, had seen her at her worst: screaming at her mom, stealing another girl’s boyfriend, and on one occasion – Sarah still felt guilty about this – bullying a girl she didn’t like until the girl’s parents called the school. Jean was more like a sibling than a friend. However close she got to other people, they would never know her like Jean did.

  ‘Well,’ Ben said. ‘With those kids, she has to have her shit together now. No choice.’ He opened the car door. ‘Let’s get on the beach.’

  13

  Jean was sitting on a beach towel, deep in conversation with another woman. It took Sarah a moment to recognize who it was.

  Rachel.

  A few yards in front of them, Jean’s two kids – Daniel, thirteen, and Paul, ten – were digging a hole in the sand. Miles, Faye and Kim sprinted over to them and added their labor to the hole-digging project.

  ‘Hi,’ Sarah said. ‘Mind if we join you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Jean said. ‘We were hoping you’d show up. Ben, have you met Rachel?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘No, but I’ve heard a lot about you.’ He held out his hand for her to shake. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘You too,’ Rachel said. ‘It’s a pleasure. And what a beautiful day.’

  ‘Look at them,’ Ben said, nodding at the children. ‘It’s amazing. I can’t get them to help me with anything in the garden – weeding, raking leaves, picking up twigs or acorns from the lawn – but they’re happy to spend hours on the beach digging a pointless hole.’

  Jean laughed. ‘They’re hoping to build a wall of sand in front of it so they can defend it from the waves.’

  ‘They’ll be waiting a while. The tide’s going out,’ Ben said. He unfolded two beach chairs and passed one to Sarah. ‘Can I offer anyone a seat? I’m happy to sit on the sand.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jean said. ‘But thank you for asking.’ She looked at Sarah. ‘The perfect English gentleman.’

  ‘We’re brought up that way,’ Ben said. ‘Manners beaten into us at every turn by cold, unfeeling matriarchs.’

  There was truth in his joking. He didn’t see his parents often, and when he did they had a very formal relationship. Sarah sensed that he and his father, Roger, were – in a reserved, English way – pretty close, but he and his mom – Diana – were distant. He didn’t often talk about his childhood, and his mom rarely figured in the stories. When she did, her appearances were limited to the fringes – She dropped me off at boarding school or She didn’t approve of me and Dad going fishing; she thought it was a waste of time or Pubs were for drunks and commoners, so on the few occasions we went out for dinner at one it was just me, Dad and my brother, Sam. Diana didn’t seem part of his life; it was as though he didn’t particularly know her. Which was in part because Diana Havenant was almost unknowable. She didn’t say a great deal – the longest one-on-one conversation Sarah had ever had with her probably ran to no more than three minutes of polite small talk – and it was invariably critical or damning with faint praise. Barrow, she had said, on her one trip to visit them in Maine, was very nice. Sarah had been surprised to hear such unqualified praise, but then she had added:

  … for those who like that kind of thing.

  Sarah, who normally resisted the temptation to argue with her mother-in-law, had risen to the bait. She felt she had to: Barrow was her hometown, the place she was raising her family. If Diana thought there was a problem with it, them, it was, in her mind, a direct comment on her parenting.

  What do you mean, ‘that kind of thing’? she’d said, struggling to keep her tone light. Next to her, Ben stiffened.

  It’s hardly London, is it? Diana replied.

  No, Sarah said. But I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at. Lots of places aren’t London. Paris, for example, isn’t London. Neither is Buenos Aires.

  Quite, Diana replied. What was it Johnson said? When a man is tired of London he is tired of life?

  Was he a Londoner, by any chance? Sarah asked.

  I think he was pointing out how London offers such broad horizons. Which is a good thing. Other places – by which she clearly meant Barrow – are a little less stimulating for young minds.

  It was clear she felt her son had made a mistake in leaving the cultured shores of the UK for the barbarian wastes of Maine. She probably felt he had made a mistake in marrying Sarah, too. For years Sarah had worried that at some point Diana would convince Ben to move them all back to the UK – or Ben and the kids, at any rate. She doubted Diana would have been bothered if he left his wife behind – but Ben had reassured her his mother would never attempt such a thing, and if she did, it wouldn’t work.

  Over time, Sarah had come to believe him, but the lurking fear that Diana might one day try to win her son back never fully left her.

  Sarah sat down beside him, her feet sinking into the hot sand. She took a deep breath, reveling in the briny tang of the ocean.

  ‘I’m not sure those matriarchs did such a good job with you,’ she said. ‘My perfect English gentleman who wants to buy a convertible which only half the family can fit into.’

  ‘Four-fifths of the family,’ Ben said. ‘I was planning on getting a four-seater. I suppose I could get a two-seater, which would only be two-fifths of the family. But not half.’

  ‘Sounds fun,’ Jean said. ‘I can see you, top down, wind rushing through your hair— ’

  ‘More over my scalp,’ Ben said, rubbing his thinning hair. ‘But I get what you mean.’

  ‘You’ll have to take me for a spin,’ Jean said. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever been in a convertible.’

  ‘Thanks, Jean,’ Sarah said. ‘I was hoping you might discourage him!’

  ‘Oh,’ Jean said. ‘Seemed like a good idea to me.’

  Miles detached himself from the group of hole-diggers and walked over.

  ‘Do we have any snacks?’ he said.

  Sarah put on an expression of shocked disbelief, although it was only partly put on. Her kids’ capacity for asking for food was a constant source of amazement for her. ‘We’ve hardly been here five minutes,’ she said. ‘You had breakfast an hour ago.’

  ‘I know,’ Miles said. ‘But I’m hungry.’

  ‘You can’t be,’ Sarah said. ‘Go and dig a hole. Work up an appetite.’

  ‘I already have an appetite.’

  ‘No,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s too early for lunch.’

  ‘Just a snack.’

  ‘No, Miles.’

  His face hardened and she saw he was not going to back down. Well, neither was she. He didn’t need to eat again.

  ‘Mom,’ Miles said. ‘You can’t starve me.’

  ‘I’m not starving you.’

  ‘I want some food!’

  Ben stood up. ‘I tell you what,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to the rock pools. You have a quick snack before we go and then when we get back we can have some lunch. Off you go and see if anyone else wants to come.’

  Miles paused, then nodded. He ran over to the rest of the kids.

  ‘Ben,’ Sarah said. ‘I told him no. And now you’re giving him a snack.’

  ‘I haven’t given him anything,’ Ben replied. ‘Not yet. And he’ll forget. He needed diverting, that’s all. He eats when he’s bored.’

  Ben was good at avoiding conflict; he had the ability to sidestep it. Perhaps he had learned it during a life with Diana.

  It turned out all five kids wanted to go.

  ‘Right,’ Ben said. ‘Let’s get moving.’

  ‘What about my snack?’ Miles asked.

  ‘I’ll bring it with me. Everyone get water shoes on.’

  ‘Are you OK taking them all?’ Jean said. ‘That’s a lot of kids.’

  ‘I think so,’ Ben said. ‘Hopefully I won’t lose any.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Rachel said. ‘Keep you company. I love rock pools.’ She stood up. She was wearing a dark red bikini, and s
he had not put on any weight since high school. She pulled on a T-shirt. ‘OK, kids. Let’s go.’

  Ben looked at Sarah. ‘Want to come?’

  ‘Or sit here for an hour in the sun with Jean and have no kids to worry about?’ Sarah furrowed her brow, pretending to think hard. ‘Maybe I’ll stay.’

  She watched as the kids sprinted along the beach, Ben and Rachel walking behind them. When they were about thirty yards away Rachel turned to Ben, nodding with laughter, which carried on the breeze to Sarah. It was a full, you’re-a-really-funny-guy laugh; whatever Ben had said had really amused Rachel, or at least, Rachel wanted him to think it had. Some dry, sardonic comment about the convertible, maybe. She’d ask Ben when he got back.

  Jean had noticed too. ‘Must have said something funny,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. Not like Ben.’

  ‘He’s amusing enough, in his goofy way.’ She reached into her cooler and took out a can of seltzer water. ‘Want one?’

  Sarah was about to say yes, when she heard someone call her name. She looked up, and a couple were walking toward them. The woman waved to her.

  ‘Who is it?’ Jean said.

  ‘Becky and Sean,’ Sarah replied. ‘You remember them?’

  Jean shook her head. ‘Not sure I do.’

  ‘They were at our house last Christmas. At the party we had. Sean had not long moved here.’

  Jean nodded. ‘I remember now. Didn’t you set them up with each other?’

  She had. Sean – a doctor at their practice – was new in town and she had invited him to the party so he could meet some people. Specifically, she wanted him to meet Becky, who had recently broken up with her boyfriend.

  She introduced them, and they had hit it off, so much so that no one had seen much of them since.

  They walked over. Sean was tall and lean, his stomach flat.

  ‘Hi, Sarah,’ he said. He held out a hand to Jean. ‘I’m Sean. We may have met?’

  Jean shook his hand. ‘I think so. At Sarah’s house, maybe.’