Page 67 of The Book of Summer

***

Hattie seemed embarrassed by the fuss. As Ruby had never seen the gal rattled by a darn thing, it was a disconcerting situation.

“Do you not want a birthday party?” Ruby asked, tentatively, a few days prior. She was scared of the question, and the answer, as the wheels were already in motion. “You’re twenty-five. A real milestone!”

“Lord, don’t rub it in,” Hattie responded and took a deep suck of her cig. She then inspected Ruby for a minute, sizing her up and a little bit down. “You know what, Rubes? Let’s do it. A party sounds keen. You’re fab. Absolute aces.”

So there they were, on a Friday night, the orchestra playing, guests scattered across the lawn. They’d invited the Grey Ladies, as well as Hattie’s friends from town. The Hulbert Avenue girls were surprised to find such grandiosity all the way in Sconset. Forget the artists and fishermen, on its cliffs stood a bona fide estate, albeit an estate built mostly with “new money,” so it almost didn’t count.

The party took off in a flash. The guests danced and drank champagne and told stories from college and finishing school. At one juncture a gaggle of those rabble-rouser Kennedys showed up and incited a mêlée with some of Topper’s friends. Hattie managed to break the whole thing up with a slap or three. During her time in London, Hattie had known some of the boys, and one girl or another, though there was little difference between the genders in that family.

Around midnight, the evening began to wind down, though plenty of good-time gals were still jitterbugging on the patio. Couples held hands near the cliff’s edge, whispering promises as they stared out across the forever. Ruby was plumb exhausted and had decided to pack it in herself when she realized Hattie was AWOL.

“Huh,” she said, inspecting the grounds. “Is that her?”

She craned her neck to make out the identities of two girls roller-skating on the tennis court. Upon closer inspection, neither had the curves to suggest the birthday girl.

“Looking for someone?” Sam asked, and slipped in behind her.

“Yes. Hattie seems to be missing,” Ruby said with a frown.

“She probably turned in.” Sam gave her a hug. “You put on one hell of a shindig, baby. Everyone had a snazzy time.”

“Oh… thanks.… Don’t you think she should’ve stuck around? Until the last guest left? It is her party after all.”

“Hmm. Perhaps. Though I’m not up on the latest etiquette and anyway this island has its own rules.”

“Yes it does,” Ruby said. “Nonetheless, I’m going to find her.”

She was at once chafed and fighting the creeping suspicion that the party was destined for ruin, though it was mostly over. Forget decorum, the only people left would be lucky to remember their shoes.

“Are you coming?” Ruby called over her shoulder.

Sam opened his mouth as if to speak and Ruby’s heart wrapped right around the sight of him. His hair was mussed and starting to curl from the briny air. He hadn’t shaved since morning and so his stubble was thick and dark. Ruby smiled at her husband. Sam was too dang handsome, calamitously so.

“I love you so much,” Ruby said, blurted really, as the feeling nipped at her very soul. “I’m so lucky to be your wife.”

“Ah, Rubes, I’m the lucky one.”

She smiled and listened as the waves broke on the shore below. Maybe this was why Hattie wasn’t notably enthused by Topper. Ruby’s baby brother was handsome as the sun was bright but he had nothing on Sam.

“I’m going to find her,” Ruby said again. “Hattie. Make her send the remaining guests off fittingly. Care to join me?”

“Well, actually”—he blushed—“I’d planned to meet P.J. and Topper for some poker at the casino. Would you mind terribly?”

“Absolutely not,” Ruby said. “But make sure you come to bed at a decent hour. And…” She gave him an exaggerated wink. “Please wake me when you do.”

***

After three sweeps of the house, and a look-see from the captain’s walk, Ruby couldn’t rustle up even the slightest hint of Hattie. Had she gone home? Hattie stayed the night at Cliff House after most parties. Eight miles back to town was a haul after a few gin fizzes and some swings around the dance floor.

As Ruby plonked down the stairs for the fourth time, she rounded the banister toward the kitchen—called a “porch” by any Sconseter worth her salt—and stopped dead in her tracks when she heard a squeal.

“Hattie?” she called tentatively as she stepped into the kitchen.

Another muffled sound: yes, it was her friend’s voice.

Ruby walked farther into the room. The noise seemed to be coming from the kitchen, but the place was flat deserted save for a dozen emptied champagne bottles and countless plates of abandoned chocolate cake. Hattie yelled something again. Her friend was in the butler’s pantry.

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