The Castaways

DELILAH

I t was just a movie, she told herself.

It had not even been her idea. Drew had seen the trailer for Vunderkids 3 on TV and come charging into Delilah’s bedroom while Delilah sat on her bed, staring out the window at the summer rain, staving off the demons in her mind, and said, “Mom! Mom! Vunderkids 3! We’re going, right? You’ll take us on Friday?”

“Vunderkids?” she said. News of this monumental event had slipped past her. She was full of holes. She asked Drew, mother to oldest son, if he would understand if they didn’t go to the premiere this summer. Would it be okay if they went in a few weeks, when she was feeling up to it?

“But Mom,” he said, “it’s a tradition.”

And then Barney skated in, wearing only boxers and socks, and contributed his two cents. “Yeah, Mom, tradition. We have to go.”

Delilah eyed her two sweaty sons. Drew had defined biceps and Barney had lost the baby fat on his cheeks. They were growing, but they were still kids. They were vunderkids. They did not need to be dragged down into the pathologies of adulthood. They needed to be lifted up. It was true: flying to the mainland to see Vunderkids in a proper theater was a tradition. Delilah decided, on the spot, that they would go. On Friday. Friday night was Phoebe’s event, Phoebe would never forgive Delilah if she missed it, and so Delilah would fly back with the kids at nine, drop them with a sitter, change her clothes, and then hightail it to the event. She would tell Phoebe that that was her plan, or she would have Jeffrey tell Phoebe so that Delilah wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable complaints.

Delilah set it all up. She bought the movie tickets online, she rented a car, she booked the plane. She called Kacy—Chloe and Finn had to come, it was part of the tradition—and she asked Kacy to baby-sit after they got home so Delilah could head out to Phoebe’s event. Kacy agreed. They were all set.

It was just a movie. But Delilah’s wheels started spinning. She did laundry, she called the cleaning ladies to come, and the carpet cleaner, and the landscapers to mow the lawn. On Thursday she grilled a rack of ribs and made her famous squash dish and her blue-cheese coleslaw and the four of them ate as a family for the first time in weeks in a clean house on a tended yard, with a little Crosby, Stills and Nash for background music. Delilah cleaned up and saved the leftovers in Tupperware while Jeffrey read to the boys. (Delilah had fallen into the habit of allowing the boys to watch the Red Sox until they fell asleep on the sofa. But Thursday night she said, “Up to read, boys. You’re in serious need of some Dad time.”) When Jeffrey came back downstairs, Delilah was in their bedroom with the candles lit; she had put on a camisole. They made love, and afterward Delilah went to the kitchen and brought back a piece of blackberry pie smothered with whipped cream. When the plate was devoured to a few purple smudges, Delilah fell back into her pillows and said, “I love you, Jeffrey Drake.”

Jeffrey said, “Tonight was really nice.”

She agreed. It had been really nice. But it wasn’t quite real. “Don’t forget, we’re going to the movies tomorrow,” she said. “You have to go to Phoebe’s event by yourself, and then I’ll meet you there, okay?”

“I’ll just wait for you,” he said. “We’ll go together.”

“No!” Delilah said. Her eyes flew open.

“Why are you shouting?’

“You have to go to Phoebe’s event at seven. You have to go, no matter what. Promise me.”

Silence. She punched his arm. “Promise me.”

“Okay, I promise.”

Her wheels were spinning! Friday morning she went to the store before anyone else was awake. While the kids were at camp, Delilah made chicken salad and a pan of her roasted asiago potatoes. She made cucumber-coconut soup and a bowl of corn and chive salad with pine nuts. Then she cleaned out the refrigerator; there were Ziplocs of old pizza and half-empty containers of eggplant parmesan from the farm market. In the very back she found a leaking container of strawberries covered with fuzzy green mold—the very same strawberries the kids had picked at the farm on the day Tess and Greg died.

Once the refrigerator sparkled, Delilah moved into her bedroom. She made her and Jeffrey’s bed with clean sheets; she plumped the pillows. Then she cleaned off the top of her dresser. It was safe to say the top of her dresser had not been cleaned since Barney was born. Delilah liked messy surfaces. She liked leaving bits and pieces of her frantic life all over the place— The New Yorker opened to an Alice Munro story, an ad for Sergio Rossi shoes ripped out of Vogue, a recipe for gazpacho, a picture that Drew had painted, a pair of dangly earrings, an Arrested Development DVD , her hot pink thong, her birth control pills, a photograph of the boys dressed as pirates on the Endeavor, a gift certificate to the Languedoc, her gold pass to the Chicken Box. Delilah was proud to display these reminders of her personality; she was glad to be too busy to put everything back where it belonged. But now she swept up all the bits and pieces and hid them away. Then she dusted the top of her dresser and waxed it with Pledge. All that sat on the dresser’s surface was a fresh white doily and her wooden jewelry box, closed.

She sat on the edge of her perfectly made bed. This room no longer looked like her bedroom. She pulled an overnight bag from the closet and packed a few things for her and a few things for each of the boys, just in case. Pajamas, toothbrush, change of clothes. It was just a movie, but what you learned when you lived on an island was, you never knew.

Her wheels were spinning!

She left a note for Jeffrey—at least, it was sort of a note—and went to get the kids from camp. They took the 2:30 Island Air flight. Drew and Barney had flown on the eight-seater Cessnas dozens of times, but it was more fun with friends. The kids were slaphappy; Delilah probably should have told them to settle down for the sake of the other passengers, but she hadn’t seen them this happy in a long time. It heartened her, and she would not squelch it.

She picked up the rental car, a Plymouth Voyager. A minivan. Delilah groaned inwardly, but the kids each claimed a captain’s chair. They were happy.

They were in Hyannis and it was liberating. Thirty miles of water were separated Delilah and the kids from everyone else, and though it technically took only fifteen minutes to traverse the gap, it represented psychological freedom. Delilah cranked the AC and slipped in the kids’ favorite disk of High School Musical, Buckcherry, Smash Mouth, and good old Bob Seger. The kids had skipped lunch, they clamored, and so Delilah pulled into the drive-through at McDonald’s and it was Happy Meals all around, and a huge Diet Coke for Delilah.

The Cineplex of their summertime Vunderkids tradition was in Pembroke, south of Boston. It was the very same Cineplex that Tess’s brother used to manage before he moved to Attleboro to be closer to his kids. It was perfect. Delilah bought popcorn with extra butter, bucket-sized 7-Ups, nachos with melted cheese and shriveled jalapenos, a soft pretzel with mustard, a package of red Twizzlers, a package of Raisinets. This, she decided, would be dinner.

They munched and slurped. The kids were engrossed in the movie, their faces shiny with butter. They laughed; they cheered. Vunderkids! Delilah did not watch the movie; she watched the kids watching the movie. Delilah’s wheels were spinning, but the kids were carefree. Delilah checked her watch. It was six-ten, six-twenty, six forty-nine. Phoebe’s benefit started in ten minutes, and Delilah would not be there. Delilah was in an alternate universe, where she was set free from her usual circumstances. It felt good to be away; it felt great . She did not think about Tess, Greg, Andrea, the Chief, Jeffrey, April Peck, the Begonia, Thom and Faith, or her own horrible lack of discretion and judgment, her tragic mistake caused by love and attraction that were forbidden and profane, because she was living in the moment. She was at the movie with her children. She wanted to stay in the dark theater with her kids cheering forever.

When the credits rolled, Delilah filled with dread. She checked her watch. They had plenty of time to make it back to Hyannis for the last flight. Delilah made the kids use the bathroom and wash their hands and faces with soap. Then they piled into the car, humming the Vunderkids theme song.

“Well?” Delilah said, in her best gung-ho camp counselor voice. “What did you think?”

Yes, they had loved it. Yes she was the best mom-slash-auntie in the whole wide world!

“I can’t believe it’s over,” Chloe lamented.

Delilah agreed. It had gone too fast. She had only begun to breathe like a normal person. The thought of going back to Nantucket and of having to attend a cocktail party weighed her down. She would skip the party, she decided, and incur Phoebe’s wrath.

It was nearly dark outside. After Delilah had been on the highway for ten minutes, the chatter in the back quieted. Delilah did not want to go home yet. She racked her brain. How could they prolong this trip? What could they do? Delilah spied a billboard for a Friendly’s ice-cream parlor at the next exit. Could she in good conscience buy the kids ice cream after plying them with so much grease and sugar at the theater?

“Hey,” she said. “Does anyone want to stop for hot fudge sundaes?”

There was no answer. Delilah checked her mirror, then turned around to double-check. All four kids were asleep.

“Hey!” she said.

No one moved.

She did not think, and the not-thinking felt good. She turned herself around on the highway and headed west.