Troubles in Paradise

weather is surprisingly clear and sunny, and the island pops with all the bright colors that one expects from the tropics—emerald green, turquoise, coral, and near-blinding white. Margaret didn’t tell Lee or Drake this but she has been to the Virgin Islands before. She and her first husband, Kelley Quinn, came for a week’s vacation back when Patrick was three years old and Kevin just a baby. They stayed at the Maho Bay campground in a “cabin” with a canvas roof. Kelley filled a dark rubber bladder with water from the pump and left it in the sun to warm up for a “sun shower.” It had been rustic, funky, unbearably hot, even more unbearably buggy—Kevin’s pale, chubby baby body had been an all-you-can-eat buffet for the mosquitoes—but Margaret had loved every minute of it. Even when they found a scorpion in Kelley’s shoe. Even when they got lost on a hike to Ram Head in the scorching heat with Kevin strapped to Margaret’s chest. They spent luxurious afternoons lying under a cluster of palm trees on Trunk Bay, where Kelley rented one mask and snorkel and the two of them took turns marveling at the manta rays and the schools of brilliant fish.

When Margaret’s marriage to Kelley hit the skids, she’d suggested a getaway to revive the romance. She went so far as to book a week at Caneel Bay—but they never made it.

Margaret has always wanted to come back. Now, here she is.

The crew from the CBS affiliate picks Margaret up, and although they’ve reserved her a room at the Ritz-Carlton on St. Thomas, the storm is predicted to be so fierce that the Ritz is no longer deemed safe. Plan B is an emergency shelter in the basement of the CBS studio building. It has cinder-block walls, a buffet “catering spread” that includes Kind bars and packages of ramen noodles. They have a generator. There’s a men’s room and a ladies’ room on the first floor but no shower. Margaret is shown a cot. She thinks longingly of the Ritz-Carlton. She thinks even more longingly of the king bed in her apartment on the Upper West Side overlooking Central Park, where the leaves are just hinting at fall.

“We should get our outdoor shots now,” the producer, Rhonda, says. “We’ll take footage on Sapphire Beach first—”

“And then we’ll go over to St. John?” Margaret asks.

“Yes, we’ll shoot from the dock in Cruz Bay,” Rhonda says. “Then we’ll come back here and hunker down.”

Good afternoon, Dougie. I’m reporting from the Sapphire Beach Resort in St. Thomas, where, right now, the water looks pretty inviting. However, by this time tomorrow, the scene will be quite different…

Good evening, Dougie. I’m reporting from Cruz Bay on the island of St. John, where both locals and visitors are preparing for what will very likely be a direct hit from Hurricane Inga…

Rhonda hurries Margaret into the boat. The waves are much choppier on the way back to St. Thomas; the wind has picked up and there’s a line of gray clouds on the horizon. Is that the hurricane? No, not yet, Rhonda says. Tomorrow afternoon. If the weather is clement tomorrow morning, they might do one more live report from St. Thomas.

“Let’s get you a proper dinner,” Rhonda says. “How do you feel about goat?”

Maybe she’s kidding. Maybe she’s trying to see how tough Margaret is. Well, Margaret drank cow’s blood in Nigeria; she ate rattlesnake in China. She’s tough.

“Love it!” Margaret says.

That night from her cot, Margaret tracks the storm. It’s now 215 miles to the east and has sustained winds of 155 knots. This is going to be devastating. Maybe Margaret isn’t so tough after all. She’s sixty-four years old and the grandmother of eight. What is she doing here? Has she lost her mind?

Both Rhonda and the camerawoman, Linda, are sleeping in the studio basement with her. Margaret bids them good night, and from her little corner, she calls Drake, then she calls her kids in order of age. Patrick is spending the weekend taking his oldest, Barrett, up to look at Colgate, Hamilton, and Skidmore; he doesn’t seem to know there’s a hurricane coming and Margaret decides not to mention where she is. He’s bringing Barrett to the city the following weekend to look at NYU and Columbia. Margaret says, “Can’t wait to see you!” then hangs up, hoping she makes it home in one piece—hoping she makes it home, period. Kevin is consumed with the closing weekend of Quinn’s Surfside Beach Shack. He sounds harried; Arnaud is teething and Genevieve is starting kindergarten. I can’t believe she’s going to school already, Kevin says. It feels like she was just born. Yes, Margaret knows the feeling only too well. Kevin was once that chubby baby who was such a delicacy for the island’s mosquitoes. The years—where do they go?

Finally, Margaret calls Ava, who says, “I stopped by your apartment today, and Drake told me you’re in the Virgin Islands covering that monster hurricane. What were you thinking, Mom?”

The next day dawns calm and still. Rhonda makes a big pot of coffee and produces a beautiful tropical-fruit platter and a bakery box filled with muffins and bagels.

“The café down the street saw you on TV last night,” Rhonda says, “and insisted on sending these.”

They head out to do one more live spot for Dougie back in New York. The wind is picking up. The outer wall of the hurricane will be arriving in a matter of hours.

“Stay safe,” Dougie says. “We’ll see you on the other side.”

Margaret, Rhonda, and Linda go back down to the studio basement.

Margaret traces the storm on her laptop. It’s coming. She hears the wind screaming like a woman in labor (it must be the situation with Dougie’s wife that puts this image in her mind). Then the lights flicker, and the power goes out; the studio’s generator comes on, but the lights in the basement are low and there’s no longer any air-conditioning. Things outside the