Elin Hilderbrand - The Castaways

“You look gorgeous!” Phoebe said to Andrea.

Andrea smiled, but Phoebe sensed impatience. She had to tone it down, or she was going to scare them away like two beautiful, exotic birds. “You look gorgeous, too, Eddie. Thank you for coming.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” the Chief said.

“Where did you get the dress?” Phoebe asked Andrea.

“Hepburn.”

“You’re breathtaking.”

“Well,” Andrea said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m honored you’re here,” Phoebe said.

Andrea nodded matter-of-factly, as though to say, You should be. The Chief, however, squeezed Phoebe’s arm and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “The tent looks great. I’m ready for a savannah sidecar. Where’s Addison?”

“In there somewhere,” Phoebe said, waving into the tent. “I have a really big surprise for later, okay? Try to stand near the front when I take the microphone.”

“A surprise?” the Chief said.

“Big one,” Phoebe said.

Andrea smiled again, but Phoebe could see the balloon over her head, and the words in the balloon said, Whoop-dee-do.

At eight o’clock Phoebe and Jennifer left their posts by the door and wandered inside to enjoy the party themselves. The band was playing “In the Mood,” and the first guests had started dancing. Phoebe was offered a devil on horseback. What was it, exactly? A date stuffed with soft white cheese, wrapped in bacon, glazed with brown sugar and Worcestershire.

“Really?” Phoebe said. She had picked it off the catering menu because it had sounded old-fashioned. Phoebe ate it; it was delicious.

She was supposed to make her remarks at eight-thirty, but she didn’t want to speak until everyone had arrived, and Jeffrey and Delilah were still at large-which went to show how backward everything was this summer. Delilah was normally the first one to arrive anywhere, and the last one to leave. She loved “to gather,” whether it was a fancy event like this one or the kids’ holiday sing or a sandwich picnic out at Smith’s Point. Delilah thrived when she was being social, she loved good conversation, she sought gossip, she savored food and drink, she loved music; she always danced, dragging Jeffrey onto the floor against his wishes. She did not like to miss one single second of the action, and if she did, then she had to hear what she’d missed in excruciating detail so she felt like she’d been there.

But not this summer. This summer Delilah stayed home. There was no longer anything worth gossiping about. She ate Pop-Tarts and pizza and drank Diet Dr Pepper like a person who lived in a trailer park. Delilah reminded Phoebe of a doll she had had as a child. This doll-Annabel, her name was-had an off/on switch at the nape of her neck. When the doll was on, she giggled and cooed, she gulped her bottle and let out a healthy belch. When the doll was off, she lay there, blank and mute.

Delilah had been turned off.

At eight-thirty Jeffrey and Delilah still had not arrived. Phoebe, though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t, called the house. Answering machine. Were they on their way? She would wait five more minutes. Ten minutes passed, and Jennifer touched Phoebe’s back.

“You have to speak. People are getting ready to leave.”

“Leave? Already?”

“The early birds. You have to do it now, while you have your audience.”

But Phoebe didn’t have her audience. She needed Jeffrey and Delilah. She checked the entrance to the tent. They wouldn’t skip it, would they? They had bought tickets; Phoebe had spoken to Delilah yesterday morning. Phoebe had said, “I’ll see you tomorrow night?” And Delilah had responded affirmatively: “Tomorrow night.” Were they blowing it off? It would be an infraction from which the friendship would never recover. But Phoebe herself had committed so many infractions.

Just then she saw Jeffrey enter the tent. His face was very brown. It was farmer brown. He wore Nantucket Reds, a white shirt with navy stripes, a double-breasted navy blazer. Jeffrey always looked good. It was Cornell, Phoebe thought. Jeffrey always looked like he was attending an Ivy League garden party.

She hurried over to him. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “Where’s Delilah?”

He frowned. He had a prominent brow, which knit itself into an expression Phoebe couldn’t read. Exasperation? Fear?

“She didn’t come?” Phoebe said.

“She’ll be here,” he said. “She’s coming late.”

“May I have your attention, please?” Jennifer had taken the microphone from the bandleader and was standing in the middle of the dance floor, waiting for the crowd to quiet down. Someone tapped a glass with a spoon. There were overlapping shushing noises. Shhhhhhh. Phoebe turned, panicked. Wait! Delilah wasn’t here! She wasn’t here yet, she was coming late, but not before Phoebe had to speak. Phoebe scanned the crowd for Addison, Andrea, and the Chief-where were they? She couldn’t find them. When she had imagined this moment, she imagined the five of them lined up across the front. She imagined making her announcement and watching their faces pop open in private fireworks, happiness, surprise, joy. Maybe they would cry poignant, touching tears. Now this wouldn’t happen. Would it still be okay? Phoebe had planned this party so thoroughly, every detail, down to the selection of the hors d’oeuvres, the choice of songs, the color of the balloons. And yet she hadn’t been able to make things go the way she wanted them to.

“First of all, I’d like to thank everyone for coming. This is a very special night…”

Phoebe looked at Jeffrey. He lifted a cocktail off a passing tray and took a deep drink.

“There are so many people we’d like to thank. For the delicious food and wine, Mark and Eithne Yelle of the Nantucket Catering Company…”

Phoebe looked around. She saw a splash of red in the corner of the tent. Andrea? Was the Chief with her? Would they move forward when it was Phoebe’s turn to speak? And where was Addison? Phoebe now rued her decision not to tell him what she’d done, but she had wanted him to be surprised, just like everyone else.

“I’d like to thank Sperry Tents, and the Perri Rossi Orchestra…”

Applause.

“But the real force behind tonight’s festivities is our dedicated chairperson. This woman gave hours of her precious time, as well as donating her considerable talent, her keen eye for detail, and her unparalleled organizational skills…”

They had a rule in the group: no gifts. They’d had that rule from the beginning.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Phoebe Wheeler!”

Applause.

As Phoebe made her way to the front, the people standing around her cleared a path. She would be okay; she’d had only one glass of champagne, and she hadn’t succumbed to the lure of the valium. She would stay focused. Delilah wasn’t there, but Phoebe couldn’t worry about that now. Her heart was thudding, she had a case of the shakes. Deep breath! She took the microphone. It had been a long time since she had spoken in public, but she could do it. She had won a fifty-dollar savings bond in the Junior Miss pageant for poise and appearance. Poise! She had stood on her high school stage and announced Reed and Shelby Duncan as prom king and queen.

“Thank you,” Phoebe said. She gazed out over the crowd. Faces, collars, necklaces, cleavage, hands holding drinks, legs, shoes, hairspray, perfume, cigarette smoke, Jack Daniels. They were just people, they all had hearts and lungs and tear ducts just like she did. She saw Andrea and the Chief in the back corner with Addison. Jeffrey approached them. No Delilah, but Phoebe couldn’t let her mind wander. “As you know, one of the goals of Island Conservation is to create nature walks through our properties where such walks are appropriate, where families can best learn about the topography and the flora and fauna of the island without disturbing it. We have long wanted to create such a walk here on the savannah.” She paused. She did not look at Andrea or Addison; she looked up front, at Jennifer beaming, at Jennifer’s husband, Swede, at Hank who owned the sailboat and his glamorous French girlfriend, Legris. “In June, I lost two dear friends in a sailing accident. They were schoolteachers here on the island, who left behind seven-year-old twins.” The crowd quieted. The tent was silent; three hundred people held their breath. “And I decided I would like to honor my friends by underwriting the cost of the savannah nature walk and naming it after them. So in September, work will begin on a three-mile loop that will be known as the Tess and Greg MacAvoy Nature Walk.” Phoebe smiled. Had she said that correctly? She thought she had. There was thundering applause; someone whistled. Phoebe had an ending line: I hope you and your families will treasure this walk in years to come. But there wasn’t going to be a chance to add this. The orchestra launched into Dionne Warwick’s “Walk on By” (as Phoebe had requested), and Phoebe relinquished the microphone.