“He’s at home,” she said. “I’m going to the party on Hulbert.”

“President Clinton is going to that party,” the Chief said. “Which explains why this mess is even bigger than the usual mess. I’ll have one of my guys wave you through.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” she said.

“Anything for you, babe,” he said. He winked and made a clicking noise. She loved him. She feared that one day he would be gravely disappointed in her, but she wasn’t going to let that ruin her good mood right now.

She drove past with a wave.

At the party, there was champagne served from a tray and yummy things to eat: crab cakes, corn fritters, oysters, tenderloin on French bread, phyllo filled with spinach and feta, stuffed mushrooms. Phoebe was eating more at this party than she’d eaten since her sophomore year in high school. A band played Sinatra, Bobby Darin, Boz Scaggs. Phoebe saw people she knew but had not seen in centuries.

You’re back! Where have you been?

Oh, I’ve been around, she said. She would have to come up with a better answer. She would tell people she had taken eight years in silence at a Buddhist monastery. She had been in the South of France, or Santa Fe; she had been on Martha’s Vineyard! When Caroline Masters saw Phoebe, she took her by the arm and escorted her around. Reintroduced her.

This gorgeous creature is Phoebe Wheeler, the best cochair I ever had.

Phoebe met President Clinton! He asked her where she was from and she said, “I live on the island year-round. My husband owns a real estate agency here. But I was born and raised in Whitefish Bay, outside Milwaukee.”

Milwaukee! President Clinton loved Wisconsin, loved White-fish Bay, loved this certain kind of cheddar they made at the university, loved the Green Bay Packers. Brett Favre had been to the White House twice during his administration.

After the president moved on, Phoebe was swamped. People seemed to be standing in line to talk to her. Swede and Jennifer monopolized her. They had missed her so much! Remember all those Sunday sails on Hank’s boat? Jennifer asked Phoebe if she would cochair a cocktail party for Island Conservation, to be held out on the savannah in August. I know you’ve dialed back, but…

Phoebe panicked. She felt like she was falling. Reed! Her feet were numb with frostbite. She was stuck in the snow and could not move her arms or legs; she could not reach her cell phone. Phoebe’s excellent mental health this evening had been an illusion; it was some kind of spell that was now wearing off.

Phoebe opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She felt like a fish.

The Chief had been at Ground Zero. He got it. He had seen it and smelled it. Addison had never understood, but he had stuck with her. He had stood by her until Tess. Okay, see, Phoebe needed to get hold of herself. She should not be thinking of Reed and she should not be thinking of Tess. She was at a lovely, upbeat social function on a beautiful evening and she was being asked a simple question. Cochair a cocktail party on the savannah for Island Conservation? In her previous life, this would have been a layup.

But what about now? Was she a normal person? Could she do it?

“I’d love to help,” Phoebe said. “Call me.”

Jennifer was happy. Her husband, Swede, was happy. Their friend Hank who had a billion dollars and that beautiful sailboat was happy. Hank was there with his new French girlfriend, Legris, who complimented Phoebe on her dress.

Jack, who had given Addison the keys to his house in Stowe last Christmas, approached Phoebe and asked her to dance. Again Phoebe felt like she was being pushed right to the edge of what she was capable of. She was going to fall…

Dance?

“They’re playing ‘Mack the Knife,’” Jack said.

She loved “Mack the Knife.” She would dance. She would watch the fireworks. She did not have to think about Reed or about Tess and Greg, or even about Addison. She was a person having fun.

She was getting better.

DELILAH

Every night when Delilah tucked Barney into bed, he asked about Greg’s guitar.

“Can I have it, Mom? Please?”

“I’m working on it,” Delilah said, though this was not exactly true. Delilah hadn’t spoken to Andrea in over a week. She avoided her at drop-off and pick-up from camp, though more than half the time Kacy biked in with the kids.

“I want it really bad,” Barney said.

“I know, honey,” Delilah said, kissing his forehead. Barney was six and a half, with the sensibilities of an evolved forty-year-old man. He did not ask for things gratuitously. He only became emotionally invested in things that were meaningful. Delilah had offered Barney a brand-new guitar, but that wasn’t what he was after. He wanted Greg’s guitar, the well-worn, honey-toned instrument they all loved and recognized. It was the only guitar he had ever heard played.

An idea formed in Delilah’s mind. She would steal Greg’s guitar out of the Kapenash house and give it to Barney. Steal Greg’s guitar out of the police chief’s house! This was, she realized, the only way she was going to get her hands on it.

When?

Anytime! It would be easy! Ed and Andrea left their house unlocked, and in the summertime wide open! Delilah would slip in in the middle of the night, take the guitar, and slip out. The last time Delilah had been to the house, the guitar had been collecting dust in the mudroom. It would be so easy and yet so subversive! One naughty step that Delilah could take to make Barney, and herself, feel better.

And so, on the fifth of July, Delilah set her alarm for 2 A.M. She slid out of bed, tiptoed out of her house, got in the car, and drove to the Kapenash house. She parked down the street and strolled through the balmy night. The sky was clear and there were a million stars, and the stars made Delilah think of heaven. Was there a heaven, and were Greg and Tess in it?