Page 139 of The Book of Summer

It’s the spot farthest from the ocean and all done up in white, like a cloud.

“This started as a complete catastrophe and it’s gotten worse,” she says.

“I know.”

Evan guides her to the bed and Bess lets herself collapse onto it.

“Cissy’s just fired up,” he says. “It’s her pattern. The Big Show before regaining her faculties. I’ve seen it a million times.”

Either Evan doesn’t have a clue or he knows exactly what he’s talking about. It occurs to Bess that over the past few years he’s spent more time with Cissy than she has.

“It’ll be fine,” he promises.

Evan kisses the top of Bess’s head. She promptly comes down with a raging case of goose bumps. He notices and pulls a blanket over her.

“You’re exhausted,” he says. “So take a nap.”

“But the cliff…” she says with a small moan.

“Short nap. Thirty minutes, tops. I’ll get my guys over here. We’ll move your stuff, including your mom. Tonight you can stay at my place.”

“Your place? That’d never work,” Bess says without thinking, as she is already drifting away.

Sometimes you don’t know how tired you are until you actually stop to rest.

“Fine,” Evan says, getting grumbly. “Stay at Tea Time. A hotel. Whatever. You’re not staying here.”

In the end, Evan’s words will be more a prediction than an order. It’s true. Bess will not go on to stay at Cliff House that night, or ever again. Neither will she stay with her cousins at Tea Time, or with Evan himself, or even with her dad at the Wauwinet. On that night Bess will sleep in a place with markedly less charm than any of these.

Bess wakes from her dark and delicious nap feeling if not better, at least not so riddled with curse words and ire. She might be able to handle Cissy without the threat of impending violence.

After a few stretches, Bess pads to the downstairs bathroom, where she runs a brush through her long, straight hair. A few of Cissy’s blond, kinky ones end up on her shirt. Bess checks herself in the mirror. She looks a tad pale but otherwise not so bad. Of course, she’s not wearing her glasses, so that helps.

Bess tugs down her pants, realizing just how badly she needs to pee. She closes her eyes in relief. After what feels like minutes, Bess opens her eyes and reaches for the toilet roll. Then her gaze drifts downward and Bess lets out a scream. Her formerly white jeans, bunched around her ankles, are now completely caked in blood.

56

The Book of Summer

Ruby Young Packard

June 6, 1944

Cliff House, Sconset, Nantucket Island

“Under the command of General Eisenhower, Allied naval forces, supported by strong air forces, began landing Allied armies this morning on the northern coast of France.”

That’s the news from the front lines today. The allies have initiated a large-scale attack, the end game the liberation of a continent. I’ve had the radio blasting all morning, waiting for news, listening to FDR ask the nation to join him in prayer.

I’ve put off food shopping for the past three days and paid the price by having to venture to the market today. At every turn people were deadly silent. What to make of this attack? We are liberating people but we’ll lose so many along the way. As we passed each other, we exchanged glances of compassion, acknowledgment that on this day we all share the same mind.

How many men will perish? I’ve already lost one brother in this war, one brother by accident, and two babies, both male, by chance. A woman should never talk about dead babies in polite company but it is so very hard to forget them. Together these losses tell me one thing. This world is no longer safe for men.

As I write, I think of the sign in town. France: 3,000 miles. France. The beaches of Normandy. A hopeless journey. A lifetime away.

With a heavy heart,

Most sincerely,

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