Page 67 of Swan Song

Delilah waits for Andrea to say, You were, actually, yes. But Andrea says, “It doesn’t matter, it’s all in good fun,” and she returns the ball over the net so Phoebe can serve.

The next point, Leslee volleys with one foot squarely in the kitchen, and Delilah keeps playing because she realizes that protesting is useless; Leslee is never going to play by the rules. Delilah considers volleying from the kitchen herself—but no, she won’t sully the game that way. Instead, she’ll transform her fury and indignation into skill and power. She doesn’t care about exercise! She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about fresh air and sunshine! She and Andrea and Phoebe could easily find someone else to be their fourth. Why does it have to be this woman?

She has good hair, Delilah thinks. So what? She has the house, the boat; she throws parties, she’s fun. She is probably the most popular woman on Nantucket right now. In record time she has somehow become an integral part of the community.

It’s match point and Delilah doesn’t have to guess what will happen because she knows. Andrea serves; Phoebe returns; Delilah volleys from well behind the line, and Leslee charges into the kitchen and volleys back. Delilah lets the ball go and briefly closes her eyes.

“That’s game,” Leslee says.

Both Andrea and Phoebe are still, waiting for Delilah to react.

Delilah jogs to the net, smiling even though sweat is dripping into her eyes. “Good game!” she says, tapping Leslee’s racket.

“I think that was our best game yet,” Leslee says. “You played well, Delilah.”

“Thanks,” Delilah says. “You were incredible, as always.”

“And I sucked!” Phoebe says, which makes everyone laugh.

Delilah zips up her racket and drinks deeply from her water bottle, thinking, I’m not walking away empty-handed. “Hey, Leslee,” she says. “Are you free tomorrow at ten?”

“Free as a bird!” Leslee says. “What do you have in mind?”

“Do you remember I told you I sit on the board of the food pantry?”

“I do!” Leslee says. “I’ve been meaning to make a donation.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I’m meeting with the executive director tomorrow morning and I’d love for you to join me.”

“It’s a very important nonprofit,” Phoebe says. “There’s a lot of food insecurity on this island.”

“Forty-four percent of school-age children on Nantucket qualify for a school lunch,” Delilah says.

Andrea says, “That’s a lot of hungry children.”

“Say no more!” Leslee says. “I’ll be there tomorrow at ten. What’s the address?”

Delilah is curious to see what Leslee is like one-on-one. Leslee pulls in right next to Delilah on Main Street and Delilah feigns joy: What a coincidence, now they can walk to the food pantry together! Leslee has dressed simply in khaki capris, a white T-shirt, and, hmm, Chanel slingback flats that retail for more than it costs to feed a family of four for a month. But even so, Delilah grudgingly approves; at least there’s no ostentatious Hermès or Goyard bag.

Does Delilah catch the faintest whiff of cigarette smoke masked by the mint that Leslee is crunching and her usual miasma of exotic vanilla perfume? Delilah matches her steps to Leslee’s as they stroll down the brick sidewalk. Yes, definitely cigarettes. Delilah flashes back to her own era of secret smoking when she worked at the Scarlet Begonia. She was so overwhelmed back then with her late-night job and two little kids to entertain all day that she would smoke on her way home at two or three in the morning, blasting Amy Winehouse. She put the car windows down even in the winter, but Jeffrey could always tell and would bow his head, conveying his deep disappointment.

“Are you a smoker?” Delilah asks.

Leslee whips her head around and gives Delilah an incredulous look that melts into a conspiratorial smile. “I sneak one from time to time.”

“Me too,” Delilah says. “Or I used to, anyway.” This could be what bonds them, she thinks. Phoebe and Andrea put cigarettes in the same category as heroin and Miracle Whip: bad.

Delilah wonders why Leslee smokes—is it a habit left over from a misspent youth or is it to combat stress? What, Delilah would like to know, does Leslee have to stress about? Nothing, that’s what. Must be the misspent youth, then, Delilah thinks. But before Delilah can explore the topic further, Leslee changes the subject to… the weather. “It’s been beastly hot for the past ten days,” she says, plucking her T-shirt away from her body. “And yet it refuses to rain.”

Delilah says, “I have to pay more attention to my perennial bed than I do to my husband.”

“Oh, are you a gardener?” Leslee asks. “I’m having a circular garden installed on our property, but it’s taking forever. Benton promised it would be done by now, but it’s not even close to finished. The custom octagonal hot tub I ordered is collecting dust at the storage center. I want to have a crazy hot-tub party once the garden is completed, but Benton never shows up. It’s almost like he’s avoiding me.”

He wasn’t avoiding you on the Fourth of July sail, Delilah thinks.

They reach the food pantry, where the executive director, Corwin Moore—one of the kindest, most thoughtful human beings Delilah has ever known—is waiting for them.

There was a moment, right before Delilah left the house, when she wondered if this meetup was a good idea. Corwin does god’s work. Delilah imagined Leslee ignoring him—checking her phone, filing her nails—or making the organization seem cute or quaint. Or, worse, hitting on Corwin because he’s tall and quite attractive.

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