Page 7 of The Book of Summer

“Yes, well, we’ve had a streak of bad luck between Hurricane Sandy and then those ghastly winter storms,” Cissy says. “We still had half a pool at Christmastime! But there’s no immediate threat.”

“Have you looked?” Bess says, pointing. “Right there?”

“The weather has stabilized and the veranda is quite expansive… I can stay on for at least a little while.”

“No. Not happening.” Bess waves her hands around, as if trying to make the situation disappear. “I’m not losing my mother to erosion. ‘Here lies Caroline Packard Codman. Expired of stubbornness and not knowing when to quit.’”

“I recognize the need to relocate at some point. But in three days they’re voting to approve—”

“Or not approve,” Bess reminds her.

“Fine. On Tuesday they’re weighing in on the revetments.”

“And that makes a difference because…?”

“Revetments work brilliantly on Martha’s Vineyard! Heck, the entire Jersey shore is one massive beach nourishment project. Once the revetment plan goes into place, I can focus on my own predicament. It’s not about me, you know. Despite what Chappy Mayhew claims.”

Bess ogles the bluff. Either her eyes are playing tricks or rocks are right then rolling down onto the beach. Bess goes to steady herself on a railing but reconsiders. Who knows what kind of house of cards they’re dealing with? One wrong move and, well, Bess won’t have to worry about her imminent divorce anymore, or the problems that follow.

With an exhale, Bess takes several steps back.

“Why are you staying here?” she asks. “You can fight this same battle from somewhere else.”

“This is my home, Bess.”

“I get that, but…”

“Beyond that, I have my reasons.” Cissy sniffs. “Listen, after the meeting, I’ll pack up. Promise.”

“You promise?Realpromise? Or Cissy squidgy, room-for-movement promise?”

“Very droll. Ipromise. Come Tuesday, I’ll move.”

“Okay good.” Bess’s shoulders slacken.

“Cliff House and I will both move.”

Cissy turns on her heel and brushes past Bess, cutting a mean path toward the outdoor bar.

“Excuse me?” Bess says as she whips around. “You’llbothmove?”

“I’m thinking we can push it back about seventy yards?”

“Pushwhatback?” Bess asks, growing panicky once more.

“Cliff House, silly. We have a lot of front yard to work with.”

“What?!”

“I need to get the engineers back,” Cissy continues. “The golf club’s granted an easement.”

“So you’re just going to…” Bess stutters. “Relocate the entire house?”

“It worked for Sankaty Head.”

“A lighthouse is a tad easier to move than a five-thousand-square-foot home.”

“You’d be surprised.”

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