Page 163 of The Book of Summer

“Thank you,” Ruby whispered.

When he stepped away, Ruby felt for the clasp to make sure it was secure.

“Well,” she said, chipper as sunshine. Ruby reached toward her husband. “Shall we?”

Sam nodded.

“We shall.”

They locked fingers and exchanged wistful smiles, looks of love and appreciation, of shared history and pain. After sucking back all the bad, they walked downstairs to welcome their guests to the biggest party Cliff House had ever seen.

66

Island ACKtion

MUDSLIDE ON SANKATY BLUFF

June 7, 2013

Mother Nature’s been no friend to the efforts of the Sankaty Bluff Preservation Fund. Though town selectmen okayed the geotube project, Sconset residents are wondering if it might be too late.

Never mind the storms of the past year, over the last three weeks the bluff has endured a dangerous combination of near-constant light rain and a barrage of heavy winds. Yesterday a major portion of the cliff conceded the fight. At around five o’clock in the evening, a mudslide began. The bluff lost over seven feet.

There are still homes to save and miles of shore to protect. But the woman who’s been the face of this fight is waving her flag. It’s hard to imagine but the fact is this. Cissy Codman’s Cliff House will come down.

ABOUT ME:

Corkie Tarbox, lifelong Nantucketer, steadfast flibbertigibbet. Married with one ankle-biter. Views expressed on theIsland ACKtionblog (Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, et al.) are hers alone. Usually.

67

June 2013

Cliff House is gone.

Most of it anyway, the parts that matter. Bess and Cissy stand on the drive, holding on to each other, as bulldozers scrape away the last bits of their home. Some of it will remain. Hunks of foundation. Plumbing and wires. Leftover bricks from the now-demolished patio. They’ll do their best but the machines won’t tempt or tease the bluff’s edge, so they can’t remove it all.

“I still don’t believe it,” Cissy says again and again.

Her eyes are glassy but she’s past crying, having achieved that near-peaceful state that follows a hard sob.

“I really can’t believe it. My mother would hate this.”

Bess doesn’t say anything, because Grandma Rubywouldhate this but what more can Cissy do? She’s already done everything—every last little thing. Bess is beginning to understand the unspoken expectations placed on Cissy, being the only child in a troubled home.

“Grandma would be proud of you,” Bess says, as this is also true. “For fighting so hard. No one could say you didn’t try.”

“I tried all right.”

“Good thing I came to the rescue,” Bess says jokingly. “Because if not for me, you’d still be trying. You’d still be in that house instead of moving on.”

“Is that right?” Cissy says archly. “Frankly, I think you needed to see the house beforeyoucould move on.”

Bess rolls her eyes, though Cissy has a point.

Her mother smiles wistfully as she squints toward the sea. It’s dazzling outside, the sun high and bright. Twenty-five years ago, on a day like this, they would’ve been clambering about the kitchen, pulling together food and tanning oil and hats. It’d take a full sixty minutes for someone to wrangle toddler Lala, who would no doubt be sitting buck-ass naked on a couch.

“For the love of Pete,” Grandma Ruby might’ve said. “Has anyone thought to teach that child the benefit of pants?”

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