Page 9 of The Book of Summer

“I’m going to do it. Don’t doubt me for an instant.”

“You’re the very last person I’d doubt.”

Bess walks over to the fridge beneath the bar, where she finds an already opened bottle of Chardonnay. A week or a year old, there’s no way to tell. At Cliff House you really never know what you’re getting.

“But Cissy?” Bess says, and pops out the cork. “Can we make a deal?”

“I don’t make deals. I prefer to get my way.”

“Noted. But hear me out. I’ll let you stay until your meeting on Tuesday.”

“I didn’t realize you were in charge.”

“But after that…” Bess says.

She sniffs the wine and her belly rumbles. What the hell; Bess pours herself a glass.

“Immediately after the meeting,” she continues, “you’re moving out. Within twenty-four hours because I need specifics from you. ‘After’ is way too vague.”

Bess takes a sip of wine and holds it in her mouth for a second before spitting it into a rosebush. Something isn’t right. The taste makes her want to puke. She dumps the rest while Cissy quite literally looks the other way. It’s one of the great things about Cliff House. You don’t have to bring your nice shoes, or your manners.

“Fine. Whatever.” Cissy slaps at the air.

“So as of Wednesday morning,” Bess says, “it’s good-bye Cliff House and back to… Boston, I guess.”

“Boston is not my home,” Cissy says.

“Then you can move to town. Or Tom Nevers. Anywhere that’s not here. I don’t like worrying about you. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Oh, Bess, you can’t worry. And yes of course I’ll take up temporary residence in town. I can’t bephysicallyin the house when they’re moving it, can I? Though it does sound like fun.”

“But, Cis, why are you herenow? You’ve said you have your reasons. What are they?”

“I want to show that I’m committed. Determined. Like a true Sconseter.”

“No one would question your commitment. You probably need tobecommitted but your dedication is unflagging.”

“Har har,” Cissy says. “My daughter is a doctor and comedienne both. How did I get so lucky? Elisabeth, if you want to stay in town, do it! I won’t be the least bit offended. The Bradlees have plenty of room and they won’t be here for days. I’ll give you the key right now.”

“Mom, I…”

“It’s okay.” Cissy places a hand on Bess’s. “Your dad gave up on Cliff House long ago and I’ve managed splendidly on my own. We can pack during the day and at night you can stay at your cousins’ place. Honestly, sweet girl, it’s fine. Do whatever you need to do.”

Bess closes her eyes.Do whatever you need to do.Typical Cissy Codman. The Chinese finger trap of moms. If only Bess didn’t love her so damned much.

5

Sunday Morning

Sleep is a tough pursuit in a house about to slide down a bluff.

It’s always been too drafty, that home, or too stuffy and warm. Central air was never contemplated, and so the family made do with ceiling fans and coastal breezes. But now, with each of these “breezes,” Bess swears the house shifts, that she can hear the plink of patio bricks. When dawn at last noses its way through the shutters, Bess says a quick thank-you to the heavens, genuinely surprised to have survived the night.

“Good morning, Cis,” she says, strolling into the dining room.

It’s just before six and her mother has been up for at least an hour. Bess’s dad used to joke that when the kids were newborns, Cissy wokethemup in the wee hours instead of the other way around. “I like to keep busy,” she’d say, in her own defense.

“Morning, love…”

---