Elin Hilderbrand - The Castaways

The Chief removed a woven picnic basket, another denizen of the Kapenash household (it had been a wedding present and had spent nearly all of its eighteen years languishing on a shelf in the basement), and its component parts, secured to the top of the basket by leather straps: the plastic plates, the inexpensive forks and knives, the cloth napkins, the corkscrew. There were various pieces of Tupperware which the Chief also vaguely recognized, one containing half a lobster salad sandwich, another containing a dozen or more of Andrea’s macaroons. The macaroons had survived, but Greg and Tess were dead. The Chief took a minute after setting aside the macaroons. His eyes were dry, but his insides were dissolving. Tess’s flip-flops were in the bag, and one of Greg’s battered dock shoes. Greg had been famous for buying a new pair of shoes every ten years. There were sodden beach towels, two unopened bottles of Evian, a zippered leather suitcase that when opened revealed toothbrushes, deodorant, a change of clothes, a negligee.

Okay, enough. The Chief zipped it back up.

A pair of sunglasses, snapped in half. Red frames with white polka dots. Tess’s. The Chief considered pitching them in the trash. But then he thought he might be able to glue them back together and give them to Chloe.

He did not want to think about Chloe.

Greg’s BlackBerry was cold and dead. It was a piece of burned toast. Throw it away? The Chief decided to keep it. He would place it in a bag of rice (a trick taught to him by their world-wise dispatcher, Molly) and see if he could bring it back from the dead.

The cell phone could be brought back, but not Greg or Tess.

At the bottom of the bag of personal effects was a Ziploc freezer bag holding Tess’s iPhone with its signature lemon yellow skin. She was a woman, a mother; it wasn’t exactly surprising that she took better care of her electronics than Greg did of his. She would have needed her phone to check on the kids.

Carefully, the Chief removed the phone from the bag. It sprang to life under his touch. It flashed a bright picture of Chloe and Finn. The twins were sitting at the breakfast bar in their summer pajamas, eating pancakes. Finn was holding the curve of a banana where his smile should be, and seeing this, the Chief laughed. Then he felt himself coming apart again. This picture had been taken recently. It could have been taken that very morning.

Put the phone away! He could “investigate” later. But he was the police chief. He checked Tess’s incoming calls. There was a call from Andrea at 8:04 that morning (to say, I’m coming to drop off the picnic! The Chief had still been home when Andrea made that call). There were incoming calls from Addison at 9:00, 9:03, 9:10, 9:16, and 9:24 A.M. Those calls might have been from Phoebe, but when the Chief checked, he saw it was Addison’s cell phone number and not the number of the house. Why had Addison called five times? God only knew. The Chief checked Tess’s outgoing calls. He was looking for what, clues? It would be elucidating if Tess had tried to call someone from the boat, if she felt… Jesus, if she felt like she was in danger with Greg. But the last outgoing calls had been placed the day before-Addison, Delilah, Andrea, Addison, Tess’s friend Lisa Shumacher, Andrea, Delilah, a Vineyard number, Addison, Addison, Addison.

Lots of calls to and from Addison, the Chief thought.

It felt suddenly like what he was doing was not looking for clues but rather invading the woman’s privacy. He felt monstrous. Tess was dead and here he was probing the tender, private insides of her life-fingering the lingerie she’d planned to wear the night of her anniversary, checking into whom she’d called and who had called her. Ordering that her blood be tested so they could determine how much champagne she’d drunk. The Chief had the impulse then to call off the toxicology, but by now Joe would have spoken to Danny or left a message, and calling it off might raise more eyebrows than ordering it in the first place.

The Chief palmed Tess’s phone. What did he know? The calls to Addison may have been calls to Phoebe. There might be text messages, text messages would tell him more… but the Chief had to stop poking around like this. What had happened out on the water? He would never know for sure. No one would ever know. The wondering would drive him crazy.

The Chief left the Coast Guard station and headed straight for the south shore, to Andrea. But the fact was, he needed to return to the station to deal with this procedurally. To talk about “procedure” right now would be to commit a sin that Andrea would never forgive, so he sat holding her tight, wondering how to transport her and where to take her. Home? Jeffrey and Delilah’s house? Greg and Tess’s house?

His third problem: the children, Chloe and Finn. There was a will somewhere, but had Greg and Tess named guardians? The logical thing would have been for Greg and Tess to name Andrea and the Chief as guardians, but the Chief did not recall ever being asked or consulted about this. Andrea was the godmother of both kids, but that didn’t mean anything beyond the scope of the church. Tess’s father, Giancarlo, was dead; her mother, Vivian, had Alzheimer’s and lived in a home in Duxbury. Tess had three older brothers, one living in Amsterdam with his Indonesian wife, one an undercover narcotics detective with the BPD, and the third the twice-divorced general manager of a Loews Cineplex in Pembroke. The only family Greg had that the Chief knew of was a sister in Vermont who was a weaver and who lived, romantically, with another woman.

He and Andrea would take the children.

The Chief’s fourth problem was everyone else. His own kids for starters, and the rest of the group-Addison, Phoebe, Jeffrey, Delilah-and everyone beyond. The community, the people at the schools, the entire island. The island would be shaken, devastated; people would come out of the woodwork with food, donations for the kids, and offers of help and support. The Chief had seen it before-when the eight-year-old boy shot himself in the face, it was the sheer number of people who had demonstrated acts of human kindness that made the Chief decide that no matter what happened, he would stay on this island forever. It was an island of good people.

The Chief slowly, carefully, got Andrea to her feet, wrapped her in a beach towel, and collected her things: the trash from her lunch, her goggles, her injured book. He pointed her toward the car, he held her up, he showed her how to walk. This way, up here, just a little bit farther, I’ve got you. His wife, whom he still loved deeply, hobbled along like she was ninety years old.

His fifth problem was his own grief. But he would deal with that later. There would be plenty of time.

It was Delilah who had come up with the name. The Castaways.

Why did they need a name? It was something street gangs did, and sororities. But Phoebe insisted. (Did Delilah need to point out here that Phoebe had been an Alpha Kappa Delta at the University of Wisconsin?) Phoebe had been in charge of organizing their first trip together, to Las Vegas. She was having hats made, baseball caps in denim blue with electric green embroidery. Las Vegas 2000 for the front, and over the vent in the back, Phoebe wanted a group name. In her life before meeting Addison, Phoebe had facilitated trips for Elderhostel USA. The Elderhostel groups had hats for each trip.

We need a name! Phoebe implored, clapping her hands.

They came up with a bunch of ideas, the most appealing of which was the Porn Stars, suggested by Greg-but then he let it slip that this had been the name of his first garage band. They dismissed it immediately on the grounds that they did not want to name themselves after any of Greg’s failed musical endeavors.