Page 86 of The Book of Summer

“Your mother is a pain in the ass,” Evan says. “But she’s one of the greats.”

“Exactly. Pain in the ass. Awesome. At the same time. That’s why she’ll drive you nuts.”

Bess opens a box and begins sifting through it.

“You know, there’s a lot to do,” Evan says, scanning the room and the kitchen beyond. “I’m thinking… sort out the memorabilia later?”

“I know, I know,” Bess says. “But first…”

She passes Evan a piece of paper, yellowed and thin.

“My grandfather’s discharge papers from World War Two. I thought he was injured but this says he was discharged for ‘psychoneurosis.’” Bess frowns. “Could be code for alcoholic.”

“You’re the doctor.”

“We’re more specific these days. We can’t get away with general hysteria or run-of-the-mill batshit loony tunes.”

Bess pitches the paper back into its box.

“Grandma would hate this,” she says. “The packing up, the moving of Cliff House. Her mom conceived it but the house was Ruby’s through and through.”

“Yes, she’d hate it,” Evan says. “And so do you, which is why you’ve done such a crap job packing.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true. Hell, I hate it and my own father is the demon single-handedly trying to thwart Cissy’s efforts to preserve it.”

“Yeah.” Bess snorts. “Your father is a demon all right. We shouldn’t even be in the same room.”

“You miss her.”

Bess looks up.

“Ruby?” she says, though the question, and therefore the answer, is clear. “Yeah. I do. I miss her a ton.”

“Come on,” Evan says, and grabs Bess’s hand. “I have an idea.”

She looks down at his fingers meshed with hers. Her insides surge.

“Shouldn’t we… finish packing?” Bess says.

“Finishpacking? I hate to break it to you, but you haven’t even started. Let’s go.”

Evan slants his head in the direction of Baxter Road.

“What’re a few more hours?” he asks.

“Uhhhh…” Bess says, her skin at once clammy. “A few more hours might be the difference between a full living room and half of one.”

“So either Cliff House will be here when we get back, or it won’t.”

“Okay, that’s not funny.”

“At least you won’t be in it when it falls.”

“Fair enough,” Bess says in a grumble. “Can I change?”

“Why are you always so worried about your clothes?”

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