Page 58 of The Book of Summer

“I’ve secured Gracie Fields for the August fund-raiser!”

“Gracie Fields, the actress?” Hattie said. “She’s fab. I saw her once in Paris and twice in London. The poor woman has cervical cancer and she’s hauling herself all the way out to Sconset? Good gravy, Mary. That’s quite the coup. The Red Cross should be payin’ ya by the hour.”

“Yes, well, thank you,” Mary said, as buoyed as she’d ever been. “I have truly put my full heart into the Grey Ladies but I’m not doing it for money or even recognition.”

“Obviously you’re not doing it for the money,” Hattie said with a snort. “A Bostonian never does. You know what they say, wholesale charity and retail penury. It’s not a Back Bay soirée unless you’re raising money for something whilst not spending a pretty penny on yourself.”

“And what do you know of it?” Mary carped.

“Oh, I know plenty. My stepmom is just your type. Swear to beetles, she’s chomping at the bit for rations to go into effect. Government-ordered austerity. She’s way ahead of the game with her decades of practice.”

They walked a few more yards in silence. Ruby wondered if she should step in the middle of the back-and-forth but decided to keep her feet clean.

“I’m curious,” Mary said with a cut to her voice. “What is it you’re doing here, in Nantucket? Your family is from Boston, but you’re from, where exactly?”

“Beats me,” Hattie said with a shrug. “For a while, I would’ve told you Europe, but that’s the stuff of yesteryear, courtesy of that pesky Hitler turd. Now I’m stuck at Pop’s house. I guess I’m not from anywhere at the moment. Just hangin’ round, seeing what’s what. Getting conned into setups with handsome young Harvard men.”

“Five dates!” Ruby chirped. “But who’s counting?”

“I think someone is, but it’s not me or Topper.”

As Hattie playfully elbowed Ruby’s side, Mary stopped dead in her tracks, the gravel rolling beneath her Robeez sandals.

“So let me get this straight,” she said, eyes burrowing into Hattie’s face. “You’re just…idling?”

“That’s the long and short of it, I suppose. Listen, sometimes a gal’s gotta idle.”

“Hear, hear,” Ruby said.

“But surely you havesomewhereto be when the summer ends,” Mary pressed. “No one stays on the island save the fishermen and Quakers. You don’t have a job, I presume.”

“I did, at a magazine in Paris. But they canceled my contract.”

Hattie chucked her cigarette into the road and reached for another, only to find she was all tapped out. She whipped out a packet of Wrigley’s.

“Want one?”

She passed a stick Ruby’s way.

“I don’t understand,” Mary said.

“Geez, back off,” Ruby said. “Before this Bundles for Britain deal you weren’t exactly lighting the world on fire with your industry.”

“Aw, sweet Rubes,” Hattie said with a cluck. “Always coming to my defense. I don’t mind the question. Honestly, Mary, I haven’t a clue what I’ll do next. Ain’t it grand? So many options to consider. Now.” She clomped one foot on the ground. “Shall we proceed? The badminton fund-raiser’s not gonna run itself.”

She linked arms with Ruby, and even with old Mare, and together the girls continued down the road.

25

Wednesday Afternoon

After the vote, Cissy takes her disappointment and vanishes into the fog, that famous grey lady.

Bess would’ve worried that her mom never made it back from the meeting but, thank the Lord, there’s solid evidence of Cissy’s comings and goings. A swapped-out ball cap. The Young Family windbreaker discarded on a chair. Fresh bike tracks in the mud.

It’s small comfort because, truth be told, Bess is pissed off. She can’t even track down the woman, as Cissy is about as reliable with her phone as Palmer Bradlee. Bess calls her mother repeatedly, but the kitchen counter never picks up.

“Yes. Absolutely,” Cissy said when Bess asked if she’d leave Cliff House after the vote.

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