I swab my last throat culture of the day and hang my white coat on a hook. Simone is organizing the front desk.

“You almost out of here?” I ask.

She smiles and taps her pen on a stack of insurance forms. “Soon.”

I shake my head slowly and smile: a proud father figure enjoying the glory of his influence. “Simone, you’re too good.”

“Oh, come on,” she says.

“I’m serious. You’re the best.”

She spins in her desk chair, a sort of victory lap. “You’re welcome.”

I laugh. “Thank you. Don’t stay too late, okay?”

She is smiling when she turns back to her pile of papers. “Good night, Dr. Hart.”

“Night, sweetheart,” I say, cringing before the word has fully left my mouth. Sweetheart? Really, Robert?

I bolt before Simone can give me shit. Once outside, I return to myself. The sun is still bright and high in the sky. There’s plenty of time between now and branzino. I call Elizabeth to ask if there’s anything she needs from the store, and she requests onions, lemon thyme, and crusty bread. I select overpriced herbs in excessive packaging and nearly stop for rainbow cake displayed behind glass in the bakery, but it kills me to give second-rate cake a second glance. Tabloids and travel magazines line the checkout aisle. The local paper is not on display. Not that I need extra copies. I’d bet money our neighbors will bring theirs to the house, if they haven’t already. Lizzie’s friends, the few she has, might clip the front page and send it in the mail. That’s what women do around here. With fine-point Sharpie pens, they draw arrows and write Bravo! or Fabulous night! on monogrammed sticky notes affixed next to people’s photos. They’ll draw a big black heart around our kissing picture, maybe, and obscure the article by writing, King AND Queen of the night! Or not.

The rage I managed to contain throughout my workday comes trickling back before flooding, full force. In my mind, I see Nick’s hand on Elizabeth’s waist. I hear her saying, Don’t you think it’s cruel to make him watch us . . .? How can someone so smart be so clueless?

She’s expecting lemon thyme, but we won’t be eating for another few hours. Thyme can wait. So can Elizabeth. My de-escalation is in everyone’s best interest. There’s not a soul in Sag Harbor I can call—not one good friend or mild acquaintance who could lend an ear without clanging the gossip chain—so I call my one good friend and mild acquaintance not in Sag.

Ray picks up on the first ring. “Hey, buddy,” he says.

“Raymond.”

“Sorry I pulled an Irish exit the other night. Couldn’t get through the pack of groupies riding your dick.”

“No groupies. Just a bunch of bums angling for free medical advice.”

“Right, right.”