The Castaways

EPILOGUE

PHOEBE

S he paid the money, she okayed the landscape architect and the signage, she monitored the progress, tramping out to the savannah even on brutally cold winter days, and she picked the day of the ribbon-cutting. June 20: the one-year anniversary of Greg and Tess’s death, the anniversary of their anniversary.

Chloe and Finn were going to cut the ribbon, and all of them—the Chief, Andrea, Kacy and Eric, Jeffrey, Delilah, Drew and Barney, Addison, Phoebe, and their baby, Reed Gregory Wheeler, age four weeks, two days, confined to a Baby Bjorn—were going to walk the trail for a ceremonial first time.

It happened exactly as Phoebe had imagined it. Chloe and Finn cut a yellow satin ribbon at the head of the trail (which meant that Chloe cut and Finn stretched out his hand to make it look like he was cutting), and the forty-seven Nantucket citizens present clapped politely (and yes, some cried).

Phoebe stood with baby Reed asleep against her chest and watched as Andrea, the Chief, Addison, Jeffrey, and Delilah read the sign.

The Gregory MacAvoy and

Tess DiRosa MacAvoy Memorial Trail

Donated with love by the Castaways

The Chief turned and smiled. Drew and Barney and Finn raced ahead on the trail, yelping like Indians. Chloe asked if she could pick wildflowers, and Phoebe said, “This is conservation land. Do you know what that means?”

Chloe said, “Does it mean no flowers?”

“Well, maybe just one,” Phoebe said. “Since it is your mom and dad’s trail.”

Chloe smiled and bounded ahead to catch the boys.

Just as Phoebe had imagined it, it was a beautiful day.

DELILAH

Y ou didn’t expect her to let Phoebe have the last word, did you?

There was one last story to tell. And really, it wasn’t the last story, at least not chronologically. But it might have been the most important story, in some elusive way.

In one of the middle years, they took a trip to Sayulita, Mexico. Sayulita was on the west coast, north of Puerto Vallarta. It was unspoiled paradise—sugar-sand beaches, great rolling waves, lush green cliffs towering above. The town was a cross between Spanish colonial architecture and a funky expat enclave. There were coffeeshops and taco stands and chickens in the street. They had rented a four-bedroom house built into the side of one of the lush green cliffs. There was a stone path that led from town to their house; it was a steep walk that left them all winded, but then astounded by the view from their upper deck. The house was a study in simplicity; it had arched doorways and outdoor showers and was kept cool by lazy ceiling fans and thick walls of stucco. There was a brick patio and an oval saltwater pool. There was a hibiscus bush in the yard, which delighted Tess no end; she had a peachy-pink blossom tucked in her hair all week, and as a joke, the rest of them walked around with hibiscus blossoms protruding from one of their nostrils or their cleavage or their fly.

The trip to Sayulita had been their best trip, Delilah saw now, because it wasn’t about the flash and cash of Vegas, or the important sights of London, or the hipster scene of South Beach. It had been barefoot and carefree; they were eight individuals allowing one another to be individuals, and yet coming together as a whole that was greater than the sum of its parts. Delilah’s memories of Sayulita glowed. She remembered strolling in town with Andrea, Tess, and Phoebe, each of them buying a pareo from a wizened woman with tobacco-stained teeth. They wore the pareos all week over their bathing suits. They bought fish tacos from a twelve-year-old boy and his mother. These tacos remained the best thing Delilah had ever eaten. The fish was snapper, caught in the early morning by the husband/father and marinated in oil, lime juice, garlic, and chiles, and then grilled on a hibachi that was attached to the cart. The grilled fish was wrapped in a handmade tortilla with fresh tomato, chopped iceberg, chunks of creamy avocado, crumbled white cheese that had no name other than queso, and the whole thing was drizzled with a tangy lime crema. The tacos were ten bites of nirvana, a mouthful so delicious that Delilah would shake at night with cravings, and the taco cost seventy-five cents.

Phoebe was partial to banana shakes. Andrea and the Chief adored the carne asada from a cart a block away. Greg bought a bottle of tequila especiale from a man who loitered outside the grocery. Everyone was certain that the tequila would kill them, but the man had brainwashed Greg that it was indeed mucho especiale, even though the bottle cost only two dollars. “The guy said it can cure cancer! ” They made margaritas from the tequila, using limes from the tree in their yard, and they all acquired a buzz that moved from silver to gold. It was magic tequila! In the morning they felt happy and light, healthier than they had the day before. Could they import the stuff and make a fortune?

They lay around the pool in a human chain, sharing books; Andrea ripped her paperback in half and gave Delilah the beginning while she finished the end. The Chief got up early every morning and spotted whales offshore with his binoculars. Andrea wanted to learn to surf, and she convinced Addison to go with her. The other six watched the surf lesson from the beach. They felt proud of Andrea; she was such a gifted swimmer, a natural on the board. They cheered Addison on; the dude was not gifted, but he was a good sport. When he finally stood up and rode a wave, they gave him a standing ovation.

There was one night that stood out in Delilah’s mind, though she couldn’t remember if it was their third night or their fifth night or their seventh. They were drinking the bewitching margaritas, they were watching the sun sink into the water, Greg was strumming his guitar, Tess had a hibiscus in her hair. Jeffrey was sunburned, Addison was sore from his surfing lesson. Phoebe had wrapped her pareo in a way that made it a fetching dress. The Chief had been on a secret errand in town. He’d cut a deal with the fisherman and came back with a bag full of marinating snapper and all of the other fixings for the fish tacos. Delilah would make them!

Margaritas, fish tacos, tiki torches, the eight of them sitting around the outdoor table in their usual order. They played Scrabble using only Spanish words, then it got too dark to see the tiles and none of them properly spoke Spanish anyway, so they switched to cards, but they were so high from the magic tequila that all they could handle was Go Fish. They abandoned the cards and Greg played his guitar and they sang Peter, Paul & Mary songs—”If I Had a Hammer,” “Leavin’ on a Jet Plane,” “Blowin’ in the Wind”—until they all agreed it was time for bed. Tomorrow was another day.

The couples floated into the house, holding hands.

Jeffrey and Delilah.

Phoebe and Addison.

Eddie and Andrea.

Tess and Greg.

They headed to their own rooms.

Closed the door.

Climbed into bed.

And turned off the light.

Good night.