Ellen has known her school-mom friends for over five years, ever since she had Walter, but in planning the trip, she discovers new things about them. Becky prefers to roll without a set plan while she’s on vacation because her usual life is so regimented. (Ellen gets this, in principle, but she must have a plan at all times. If she went on vacation without a plan, she might miss something!) Debbie is a tough negotiator and enjoys herself more when she thinks she’s getting a bargain. (Ellen just pays the asking price for things, like an idiot.) Wendy is very concerned about exercise. (Ellen is concerned with breakfast, lunch, happy hour—preferably with snacks—and dinner.)

Ellen learns something new about herself as well: she loves to take credit for everything.

They end up picking August 29 to September 5, Thursday to Thursday, because the one thing they all agree on is that there’s no experience more soul-destroying than traveling on the weekend.

They fly United. Ellen would like to upgrade to first class but Debbie feels the best value is in premium economy. Then Wendy announces that her ex, Ian, has donated his miles so they can all fly first class. They immediately forgive Ian for his “as a favor” comment.

Ellen has booked two beachfront suites at Caneel Bay—one room for herself and Debbie, one for Becky and Wendy. She rents a four-door Jeep Wrangler hardtop, though Baker has warned her against ever taking the top off. It rains every day for fifteen minutes in the summer.

Baker! They will finally be reunited with their school husband, Baker. They will get to experience St. John, the island he now calls home.

“More important,” Debbie says, “we’ll get to meet the girl.”

“She has no idea what she’s in for with us,” Becky says.

“We have to be nice,” Wendy says. “She’s pregnant.”

Ellen obviously wants to meet the mysterious Ayers Wilson but she also wants them to have at least one night with Baker alone so they can find out what’s really going on.

Not to toot her own horn, but Ellen’s planning pays off. The trip down is smooth, their luggage is the first off the carousel, they get into a shared taxi that delivers them to Red Hook with just enough time for one rum punch before the ferry. When they disembark in Cruz Bay, they can’t stop talking about the color of the water. It’s pure Crayola turquoise, clear to the white sandy bottom. It’s the most beautiful water any of them have ever seen. (They’re used to the chocolate-milk-hued water of Galveston, and Debbie, the only East Coast transplant, grew up going to the Jersey Shore, which looked nothing like this.)

Caneel Bay is the epitome of old-school gracious hospitality. It’s elegant. It smells like coconut lotion, frangipani, and money.

Their rooms are side by side in a one-story row that sits on a pure white crescent of sand. Each room has two mahogany queen beds sheathed in crisp white linens, marble bathrooms with soaking tubs, ice waiting in a silver bucket, rattan ceiling fans. The rooms have deep front porches with wicker furniture for lounging around with coffee or a cocktail. Beckoning out front are four chaises wrapped in rose-and-white-striped terry cloth. A server stands in the shade of the nearest palm, ready with cocktail and lunch menus.

Next door, Ellen can hear Wendy gushing: “I love it here. I need this. So badly.”

They all need it so badly. Time away—from the swampy heat and humidity of Houston, from the Astros frenzy, from the Texans hype, from the incessant demands of small children. Ellen feels light and free, like she’s lost forty-nine pounds, which is what Walter weighs. No one is asking her for juice, a snack, the bathroom, one more time down the slide, one more time watching Wreck-It Ralph, another story before bed, “Just sit here while I fall asleep, please, Mommy.” Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.

They’re free for an entire week!

“Does it feel like we’re the only people here?” Debbie asks as she settles into a chaise.

The beach is deserted.

When Woodrow, their server, brings the menus, Ellen says, “Where is everyone else?”

“You’re the only guests on this stretch,” Woodrow says. “We’re at low occupancy because of hurricane season.”

Hurricane season, Ellen thinks. Yes, that’s why these beachfront suites were so affordable. The hotel is due to close for two months the Sunday after they leave. They made it in just under the wire. Ellen lounges in her chaise, and not to toot her own horn again, but she feels like a wizard. They’ll reap the benefits of hurricane season—low prices, the place to themselves—but there isn’t a cloud in the sky.

Because of Ellen’s impeccable planning, their first three days are packed with highlights: Trunk Bay, smoked brisket and live country music at the Barefoot Cowboy, happy hours at High Tide and Woody’s, hiking to Ram Head and taking a mud bath in Salt Pond, dancing at the Beach Bar, a Kenny Chesney sighting inside the Parrot Club (although when Wendy runs in to check, she sees it’s just a guy who looks like Kenny).

And then, finally, the day they’ve been waiting for—their charter to the BVIs aboard Treasure Island. This trip has all four ladies dialed up for a couple of reasons. One is that Baker is coming with them. (They’ve seen Baker only once in their first three days; he stopped by the afternoon they arrived to make sure they’d made it safely, but he had Floyd with him, so no actual news was exchanged. Their second evening, he sent two chilled bottles of Veuve Clicquot to their rooms, probably because he felt guilty about not spending more time with them. But they get it: They’re on vacation; he’s not.) The other is that Ayers Wilson, Baker’s girlfriend, the mother of his child, is a crew member aboard Treasure Island, and so is Baker’s brother, Cash. They’re just as excited to meet Cash as they are to meet Ayers. They’ve seen Cash’s picture, but he’s never once visited Houston.

They’re supposed to be at the dock across from Mongoose Junction at seven a.m., but Wendy is late getting back from her run, Becky is on the phone with her girls, and Debbie is taking forever to get ready even though all she needs is a bathing suit, a cover-up, and sunscreen.

“Let’s go, ladies!” Ellen yells from the path behind their suites. Woodrow is waiting in the golf cart.

One by one, her friends appear. Not to toot her own horn yet again, Ellen thinks, but if it weren’t for her keeping them to a schedule, they would miss their chance to meet Ayers, which—as far as Ellen is concerned—is one of the main reasons for coming.

Ayers Wilson is a goddess. She’s one of those annoying women who glow during pregnancy and who don’t gain weight anywhere except their baby bumps.

“Look at those legs,” Debbie says. “I hate her. We all hate her, right?”

Except they can’t hate her because she is as lovely as she is beautiful. She greets them all with warm hugs—not a trace of snark or jealousy. “Such an honor to meet you, Baker talks all the time about how much he misses his Houston school wives.” Ayers lowers her voice. “He likes you better than his St. John school wives.”

“You have St. John school wives?” Ellen says to Baker.

“I’ll explain later,” Baker says.

Not only is Ayers lovely, she’s a badass. She’s the one who explains how the trip will unfold—Virgin Gorda Baths, snorkeling, Jost Van Dyke—and provides the safety regulations and a brief history of the island. There are only ten people on the boat—their party of five and a single father and his four teenagers. The father, Gary Dane, is cute in a rugged-ranch-hand kind of way; it turns out he’s in real estate in Tulsa, which means he’s best suited for Ellen, but Ellen passes him on to Debbie because she has too much urgent business to attend to at the moment. Debbie engages Gary Dane in conversation while Becky and Wendy chat up Cash. Cash is adorable, though he looks nothing like Baker; he’s a whole different species. He’s shorter than Baker, very blond, muscular. Does he work out? He’s perfect for Wendy!