Page 65 of The Book of Summer

“You know he’s not well,” Topper said.

“Who? Daddy? He wasn’t all roses on the Fourth, that’s true. But it’s only because he’s been working like the devil with this gas mask venture. It’s really great what he’s done, when you think about it. I was skeptical at first but…”

Ruby let her voice trail off as she thought about the masks. There was a classification for this type of work. 2-B. Men necessary to national defense, therefore nondraftable. Daddy was too old for war, but her husband and P.J. worked at Young Manufacturing. Topper would work there, too. Ruby let loose a relieved smile.

“This isn’t about any gas masks.…” Topper gently touched her arm. “Pops is ill, Red. You have to see that. He looks terrible.”

Ruby whipped out of his reach.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a real Sally Sunshine? He seems a tad beleaguered, like I said, but Mother would tell us if he were sick.”

“Would she?”

Topper turned and took his shot, missing the green by a hair.

“Well, goddammit,” he said. “Close is never good enough.”

“That shot is decent and you know it. A slight breeze could nudge it into the right spot. And, by the way, Daddy isnotsick.”

“Use your eyes,” Topper said. “And that precious brain of yours. Time to poke your cute head from beneath the rock. Dad is not himself. Your shot, Ruby. I recommend a seven iron.”

“If I wanted advice, I’d have used a caddy.”

Ruby pulled out a seven iron anyway and knocked the ball a yard from the hole.

“Not too shabby,” Topper said.

He reached for his putter and, with one swift stroke, the ball plunked into the hole. A birdie. His third of the day.

“Nice one,” Ruby griped.

Her second shot had been much better than Topper’s, but now the best Ruby could do was to match him on this hole. All that and she’d still be twelve strokes back. Ruby was always playing from behind.

“Go to it, sis,” he said.

Ruby clomped up to her ball and examined it from every angle, like Topper would, though she sorely lacked his golfing precision.

“Well, if Daddy is sick,” she said, still kneeling, “then you should do something about Hattie.”

Ruby stood and plinked the ball. It missed the hole by one inch wide to the right.

“What do you mean ‘do something’?” Topper asked. “Come on, Red, you can putt better than that.”

“Make an honest woman out of her. And, if Icouldputt better, don’t you think I would?”

“That’s not how golf works.”

Ruby rolled her eyes and finally tapped the ball into the hole. She leaned down to pick it up.

“An honest woman?” Topper said with a cough-cackle. “We’re a smidge late for that, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be a worm.”

“Surely you’re not implying that I should propose?”

“And why not?” Ruby asked. She set her clubs down with a huff. “You and Hattie get along magnificently and you’re beautiful together. She’s smart and athletic, in addition to being drop-dead gorge.”

“Ah, Red. Hattie’s a doll and you’re spot-on with all of it. But I’d say a few bang-up physical and personality traits aren’t enough to start a marriage by.”

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