Page 151 of The Book of Summer

“That does sound like something he’d say.”

They did not mention the other funeral she’d missed, that of P.J., her husband. Mary had only just arrived in France when his body was sent home. To secure a furlough on such short order would’ve been a helluva feat. But Ruby got the sense, had had the sense for a while now, that Mary left her marriage in spirit long before P.J. left in fact.

“I have to say, you do look lovely,” Mary said. “Cliff House does, too.”

“Thank God it survived the storm.” She glanced at Cissy. “Thank God we all did. But the property’s a tad ragged now. The damage isn’t obvious but I find a new crack or divot every day. I swear the yard is smaller somehow.”

Mary squinched toward the cliff.

“Hooey,” she said. “The estate is grand as ever. And so are you. I see you’re faring splendidly, just as you told me.”

“Yep, me and Cissy.” Ruby reached down and lifted the girl to her lap.

The gesture felt like nothing. Miss Cis was whisper-light, always a new astonishment to Ruby, given all her mettle and grit.

“And of course we have Mrs. Grimsbury, too,” Ruby added. “It’s funny, my entire life I was surrounded by boys, nothing but men every which way. Rough-and-tumble rascals, Wyatt and Topper and P.J., though him less so.” She smiled. “Your husband was definitely the most gentlemanly of the three.”

“Not a high hurdle,” Mary said with a wink.

Ruby sniggered, recalling her sister-in-law’s old grievances. Yes, indeed, Topper was handsome as the devil.Acts like the devil, besides.

“All those men,” Ruby said, “and now I look around and it’s only the women who endure.”

Mary set down her teacup, nodding grimly.

“Do you ever talk to your old friend Hattie?” she asked.

“No, God no,” Ruby said.

She wondered if Mary had seen the article. Probably not, having been overseas.

“That’s quite the ardent response,” Mary said as a ripple of discomfort passed over her face.

“I didn’t mean it like that. She’s a journalist. Hadn’t you heard? Quite a success from the looks of it.”

“How nice,” Mary said primly. “And what about Sam?”

“Sam?”

The name was an arrow straight to the chest.

“Yes, Sam,” she said. “Have you spoken?”

Mary appeared so much the same. The gray, the plainness. Ruby could almost hear her old friend-come-traitor Hattie R.You know Mary joined the army because it gave her an excuse to wear all that beige.Yet, somehow the gal had new sparks. Like a certain directness, a drive to get to the nut of things in one swift move.

“There’s been no contact at all,” Ruby answered. “Not since the day Sam left. I wouldn’t even know where to find him, or what to say if I did. He has no idea about Cissy.”

She thought of the items packed away. Sam’s suits, pressed and wrapped and relegated to the guesthouse. Their wedding china, boxed up and shoved on to the linen closet’s highest shelf. She’d stored scads of crystal and silver, too, gifted to them for parties they’d never host. It seemed cruel to throw out such considerate presents, but all those pretty things were too painful to allow among the everyday.

“Really?” Mary’s eyes widened. “He doesn’t know about Caroline? Don’t you think he should? She’s his daughter.”

“Maybe.” Ruby shrugged. “I don’t know. He sent me a postcard, way back, after he read about Daddy’s death. It was postmarked Manhattan and I came within an inch of hiring a PI to track him down. I was alone and distraught and starting to miscarry, or so I assumed. Then the storm hit and all communication went down. When we came out on the other end, I decided to let that dog lie.”

“And his parents?” Mary asked. “Surely they know.”

Ruby shook her head.

“They don’t either. Rather, they might, depending on your view of the afterworld. Both passed in the last year.”

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