Page 80 of The Castaways
“Are you coming back?” the Chief asked Addison.
“Not if I can help it,” Addison said. “Phoebe has her own car. She came early, she has to stay late.”
“I’ll stay with Phoebe,” the Chief said. “And Jeffrey. And Delilah is coming.”
“She better be,” Andrea said. “She doesn’t get a free pass to miss this if I don’t.”
“We’ll cover for you,” the Chief said. He kissed Andrea goodbye.
Andrea took off her shoes and walked barefoot with Addison to his car. Addison was whistling, as happy as she was to be sprung free. They climbed into his Mercedes, which had deep, soft seats and the intoxicating smell of expensive leather. There was an empty highball glass in the console.
“You drank on the way out here?” she asked.
He said, “Don’t tell the Chief.”
She said, “Well, please don’t kill us on the way home.”
He said, “Would it really matter if I did?”
She looked out the window, at the moors rushing by. It was a beautiful night, there was a moon, the party had been nice, Phoebe’s gift was inspired—and yet Andrea had a hard time feeling anything. Would it matter if she died tonight?
She said, “Tess had a lover.” Her breath put a mist on the car window.
Addison said, “Do you want to come to my house and have a glass of wine?”
“Okay,” she said.
JEFFREY
Phoebe was the star of the evening, and it was good to see. She was glowing like her old self. She caught Jeffrey’s eye, pulled away from a group of people he didn’t know, and glided over to him. Her dress was silver, and her eyes picked up some of the sparkle.
“Where is your wife?” she said.
Jeffrey checked his watch. “Her plane gets in at nine-fifteen.”
“Her plane?” Phoebe said.
“She took the kids to the movies,” Jeffrey said.
“Themovies?” Phoebe said. “Why tonight?”
Jeffrey shrugged. It was hard to explain to someone who didn’t have kids. “Tonight was the night. Anyway, I’m going to get her at the airport. I’ll be back with her in half an hour.”
“You’d better be,” Phoebe said. “The band is playing until midnight.”
Jeffrey got to the airport at ten minutes past nine. It was a Friday night in August and the place was abuzz—planeloads of businessmen from New York, Boston, Washington, walked into the terminal and were greeted by pretty wives, shouting children, frenzied golden retrievers on leashes. Jeffrey had had two cocktails at the party, which had affected him oddly. He was unaccountably anxious. He wanted to see his wife come off the plane with the four kids. There had been moments today when he had questioned his own good judgment about letting Delilah go in the first place. Was she mentally stable enough to travel with four kids? She had seemed better the night before. She had cooked, they had made love, eaten the pie. It had been fine, it would be fine; Jeffrey had no reason to worry, but he wished he’d stuck to beer.
He sat and sat. The stream of businessmen slowed to a trickle, then stopped. Jeffrey looked at the clock; it was quarter to ten. He checked at both airlines. Any more planes coming?
No, sir, that was the last section.
Jeffrey called Delilah’s cell phone. The call went straight to voicemail.
He called their house. No answer. Then, he called the Kapenash house. Kacy answered the phone.
“Kacy?” Jeffrey said. “Is Delilah there? Are the kids there?”
“No,” she said. “They’re not home yet.”
