Page 91 of The Book of Summer

Mary seemed almost giddy at the prospect of suffering all the way down to her taste buds. The woman was born to ration. Someone needed to clue her in that conserving personality and spunk wasn’t going to help the war effort.

“Talk about dim-out rules,” Hattie might’ve said.

A smirk found Ruby’s lips and she covered her mouth with a napkin.

“Something funny?” Mary asked in a slight huff.

“No, not at all.” Ruby cleared her throat and set her napkin back in her lap. “The rationing doesn’t bother me that much.”

“Then why are you sitting in a corner by yourself when there’s a party going on?”

“Some party,” Ruby mumbled. “Listen, Mare, it’s hard to explain. It’s nothing and everything at once. I’m just ‘off’ I suppose. Good grief, I really need to stop the bellyaching. Mother would have my head.”

Not that Sarah Young was a ball of sparkle herself lately. In fact, these days Sarah Young took the sourpuss prize, hands down.

“It must be hard,” Mary said, to Ruby’s vast surprise. “To face this pregnancy with Sam away, when it’s your first child and Mother Young…”

Mary wavered, plainly debating whether to release a potshot sitting at the tip of her tongue. Commiseration was dandy but you couldn’t go around biting the hand that fed you.

“She’s been a real crab lately, hasn’t she?” Ruby said with a laugh, knowing exactly where her sister-in-law was headed.

Mary studied her before finally relenting with a resigned nod. Ruby squeezed her sister-in-law’s arm, her heart at once softening to the old gal. Mary would give her left eye, or her new girdle, for the chance to produce the first Young offspring. And here was the scamp Ruby beating her to the punch. Not that Ruby’s tot would be a Young in name. So Mary still had that at her hip.

“I suppose Mother’s earned the right to grump,” Ruby said. “With Daddy so sick and fighting her every step of the way. She turns her back and he’s out the door, headed toward the office.”

Ruby shook her head, feeling a little pluck of happy at the thought of Daddy acting like his normal self.

“He’s a handful,” Mary agreed.

“Isn’t it unusual sometimes?” Ruby asked. “I know they’re trying with the dances and parties and same old rigmarole, but it makes everything bleaker. Like a bad paint job on an old clunker. Why try to impersonate last summer? Or the summer before? This cake…”

She mashed her fork into it.

“Let’s stop pretending we can have dessert,” Ruby said.

Mary made a sound. Was she crying? Choking? Fighting off a seizure? Ruby went to slug her on the back, but realized it was only Mary, suffering from amusement. A chuckle, almost.

“Have you ever met such a spoiled brat?” Ruby said. “A war overseas and I’m complaining about parties that aren’t up to snuff!”

“Actually, I was thinking that I quite agree. Enough with the pretending. What’s that expression Topper uses? ‘You said it’?”

Ruby smiled.

“The phrase you’re looking for is ‘You shred it, wheat.’”

“That’s the one.”

Ruby sighed deeply. She set her fork on the table.

“I shouldn’t grouse,” she said. “The boys are off saving the world, putting themselves in danger, and I’m meowing about dessert.”

“But it’s not about the cake, really,” Mary said, astonishing Ruby with her insight. “It’s the change. And you miss your friend, too. The Rutter girl.”

“I do,” Ruby said, one eye on Mary, who was suddenly the most changed of all. “I miss Hattie something fierce. I know you didn’t much care for her—”

“Oh, she’s fine,” Mary lied.

“But Hattie just had a way of making everything seem gayer. She swears she’ll come out soon but she’s hunkered down in Sag Harbor, entertaining an offer or twenty.”

---