The Book of Summer

by Michelle Gable

  The door clicked shut. Ruby turned toward her dad.

  “Maybe you should … go slowly,” she said. “With the morphine. I’ve read it can be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” He let out a low, wet cackle. “The risk being, what, precisely? That I might develop an addiction? Become a drug fiend? There’s no use being careful, petal. Not anymore.”

  “Daddy, you—”

  “What’s going on with Sam?” he asked, and peered at her through one open eye. “Something’s happened.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Something’s happened. Tell me.”

  “Well,” Ruby said, sighing again. “Yes. I suppose something has. The truth is that Sam was not in Normandy because he’s at Cliff House. That’s why I haven’t been able to see you. I was … hesitant … to leave him alone.”

  “Why’s that? Is he injured?”

  Daddy closed both eyes.

  “In a sense,” Ruby said. “Though not physically. You see, there’s been a problem. A discharge. He’s…”

  Ruby steadied her breath and worked up the nerve to continue.

  “Sam’s done something terrible,” she said. “Wicked even.”

  Her eyes stung as tears filled them all the more.

  “He’d tell you the same,” Ruby said. “I’m trying my hardest but I don’t know that I can forgive him.”

  And just like that, Ruby tore open the little dark box in which she’d been stashing the news.

  Between snuffles and sobs and the relentless parade of nurses toting compresses and drugs, Ruby told her father about Sam’s indiscretions, and about his lovers, and the hospital, too. Every last miserable detail she could reveal. She left Topper out of it, though, as much to preserve her own memories as to protect her dad. Ruby refused to remember her beloved brother, her almost-twin, as anything other than a dashing figure perched on the stern of a boat, the wind and sun kissing his golden hair.

  When she finally finished her vulgar tale, Ruby studied her father’s face.

  “Daddy?” she squeaked, for he was either dead or fast asleep. “Are you awake?”

  “I’m awake,” he said, and opened both eyes. “So. Is that all?”

  He scooched up onto his elbows, the biggest move he’d made since Ruby tipped toes into the room.

  “Is that all?” she scoffed. “I hardly think I could handle more.”

  “You can and you will. He’s your husband. He’s confessed his sins and asked for forgiveness. War plays tricks on a person’s mind. The only way he’ll recover is if you believe in him, if you take him at his word. Ruby Genevieve, I say this with nothing but love and adoration. But, dear girl, stop the crying. Gather your wits and march forth. At least you still have a husband to heal. There are a hundred thousand widows who’d trade places with you in a flash.”

  Leave it to Daddy to put it exactly like that. Oh yes, the words burned and they stung, but Ruby knew that he was right.

  As she ferried back to Nantucket, Ruby’s entire being soared with a renewed sense of vigor and verve. Daddy was nose on the money, same as always. It was high time to get on with this life. She was lucky she still had the chance.

  You keep your spirit, she could almost hear Topper say. You’re the most special kind of bird.

  God, Ruby missed her baby brother. She missed him fiercely. And if she could forgive Topper, if she could see he was more than the sum of his sins, then she could forgive Sam, too.

  And so Ruby made a promise, to Sam but also to Daddy and her brothers and Mother up above. She promised to remain strong, stalwart for them all. Cliff House was hers now, Ruby the only child left of the original four. She was determined to keep their fledgling, small family afloat.

  Ruby imagined what she’d say when she swept into the library and threw open the shades (unless there was a blackout drill, in which case they’d have to stay closed). Her plan was to rouse Sam out of his awful, waking slumber. She’d tell him how she felt—that she loved him, and she loved their life together, and there was no sin they couldn’t plow through. All that and she’d finally divulge that another baby was on its way.

  But after Ruby exploded through Cliff House’s front door, she did not find the sleeping, slumping person she’d expected. Instead she ran smack into Mrs. Grimsbury, who carried a fretful look and a very short note.

  How short? Well, Sam had left. Curt as that.

  In the day that Ruby had been gone, Sam had peeled himself off the furniture, packed a lone bag, and skipped town. Where was he bound? San Francisco? New York? Even Sam hadn’t been sure. All he knew was that a family didn’t seem like the right life. So he left home to discover who he really was.

  58

  Sunday Afternoon

  The baby is gone.

  The baby Bess planned to “terminate” (God, what a word) is no more. Evan was right; she didn’t want the pregnancy to end. But in the indecision, a judgment was made on her behalf.

  Was it the stress? The moving of boxes? Or simply her age? It’s not your fault, the doctors say, which they would to anyone who looks or acts or pays taxes like Bess. She knows this because she’s a doctor, too.

  “I’m so sorry,” Evan says, again and again.

  He’s lying beside her, his right arm hooked through her left. They are holding hands, both of them staring at the ceiling. She can lie on her back now. Was that the problem? Bess’s nap was almost entirely faceup.

  “I’m sorry, too,” she whispers, and scoots an inch closer.

  There’s not enough room for both but Bess doesn’t mind. The squished-arm, aching-shoulder position is small sacrifice for the comfort of having Evan close. Also she’s high on Vicodin, so there’s that.

  “I’m not going to tell you that there will be another baby,” Evan says. “That you’re young and there’s plenty of time. It’d just be insulting.”

  “Yes it would be insulting. Because I’m not young.”

  He tries to smile but is so uncomfortable he merely looks pissed off.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  “Physically, I feel okay. Emotionally, not so much.” Bess exhales. Her insides ache. “Despite what I said, this isn’t what I wanted.”

  “I know.”

  “But. It happened. I have to remind myself it’s what’s best for the baby. I mean … it would’ve been some kind of crap family he or she would’ve come into. Asshole father. A crackers grandmother who won’t get off her lawn chair. And let’s not get started on the mom.”

  “Bess, don’t talk like that. Let yourself be sad. Don’t explain it away or try any of that ‘everything happens for a reason’ crap. You would’ve and you will make a fantastic mother.”

  “My life is not exactly stable.”

  “No one’s life is stable when they have a kid,” Evan says. “That’s why new parents look like shit.”

  Bess offers a close-mouthed chuckle and shuts her eyes.

  “In that case, it would’ve been easier for me than most,” Bess says. “To adjust. I’m already a sleep-deprived, stressed-out mess.”

  “There’s the spirit.”

  Evan squeezes her hand. He doesn’t agree, but all that’s left to say is the wrong thing.

  “Oh!” he says suddenly, using his free hand to grab his phone from the fake wood table beside him. “This might cheer you up.”

  He wiggles his other hand from her clutches and begins swiping through the pictures.

  “God, please don’t spring any nostalgia on me,” Bess moans. “I can’t take it. Homesickness is a disease that runs in my family and on top of everything else I’m positively infected with it.”

  “I know what you mean,” Evan says with a snort. “And no. This has nothing to do with you. This is pure humor. Here.”

  He moves the phone closer to Bess, so she can see the screen.

  “I had a friend take pictures for me during the lacrosse tournament. Thought it might be fun to put something together for the boys. What I found was solid evi
dence as to why we lost so spectacularly. I am apparently the world’s worst coach. Look…”

  He ticks over to a shot of a boy splayed facedown on the grass.

  “He fell,” Bess says. “How sad.”

  “You’ll note there’s exactly nothing happening anywhere in his vicinity. What’s the problem, Jaden? Slippery grass? Stiff breeze?” Evan scrolls through a few more. “This kid’s stick cracked in half, but I didn’t even notice until the end of the game. He just ran around with it broken like that. Oh and check out this clown.”

  “Is he doing a somersault?” Bess asks.

  “Yes. If you’re not familiar with the sport, that is not a recognized move. And here’s a series I like to call, ‘Where Am I, and What the Fuck Am I Supposed to Be Doing?’”

  “Why is everyone facing a different direction?”

  “Because they can’t find the ball! Ugh!”

  Evan throws his head back. It clangs against the hospital headboard. Bess can’t help but laugh.

  “Okay,” she says. “I do feel a little better. At least I’m not the only inept person around here.”

  “Can you be fired from a voluntary coaching position, I wonder?”

  He swipes past several more.

  “Wait!” Bess yelps, though she doesn’t mean to.

  She wants Evan to stop, but not for any reason Bess can admit. But stop he has, on what is a selfie, as indicated by arm position. This photo is a close-up of a lacrosse kid and her, the woman from the market. She’s in her same hat.

  “Who’s that?” Bess asks, despite her better judgment.

  “That kid? Oh, his name’s Jack. He’s my favorite, even though he can be a little shit. Maybe because he’s a little shit? And that’s his mom Grace. Cool lady. She’s the one who took the pictures for me. I should introduce you guys. You’d get along great.”

  “Fabulous.”

  Bess exhales and tries not to cry. Grace and Jack and Evan. How perfectly cute. The asshole will probably make the world’s best stepdad.

  She’s about to say something to that effect when the door pops open. And wouldn’t you know, Hurricane Cissy has left her veranda and is now making landfall inside Nantucket Cottage Hospital.

  “Well, Elisabeth, that was some elaborate plan to get me out of the house,” she says.

  “You came.”

  “Of course I came. Hello, Evan. Don’t you think that bed should be reserved for the patient?”

  Cissy has on a white cable-knit sweater, no hat. Her hair is a tumbleweed. Bess wonders about the gingham tankini. She presumes it’s still on.

  “You know what?” Evan says, and stands. “Why don’t I leave you two alone?”

  “If you want to be useful, do me a huge favor and fetch Bess’s dad from the airport. She was supposed to, but…”

  Cissy gestures dismissively toward the inconvenience that is her debilitated daughter.

  “Cissy!” Bess barks. “Good grief. The guy has a life. I’m sure he has things to do!”

  With Grace. Or Jack. Or both of them together.

  “No, it’s fine,” Evan says. “I was already planning on it.”

  Evan kisses Bess on the head, his favorite move these days. It’s sweet and egregiously friend-like—just how he prefers it, no doubt. Cissy opens her mouth to say something but Bess shoots her a look. Amazingly, Cissy backs down.

  “I’ll check in with you later,” Evan says, slipping into his shoes. “See how you’re doing. Bye, Cis, take care of our girl.”

  The second Evan exits the room, Cissy plunks herself down onto Bess’s bed and begins to weep.

  “Mother, you can’t…”

  “How come you didn’t tell me?” she asks, voice quavering. “That you were pregnant? Bessie, I would’ve helped you in whatever way you needed.”

  “You couldn’t help me out of this.”

  “But I can’t imagine why you’d hide it from your—”

  “I wasn’t going to keep the baby,” Bess spits out.

  Cissy’s face goes ashen, even as she clamps down on her bottom lip, trying to bite back the words she wants to say. Caroline Codman is a registered Democrat, politically obligated to be okay with this sort of thing.

  “But, you changed your mind,” she says, hoping.

  “Not technically. I had an appointment that I missed. I kept telling myself I’d reschedule but I probably wouldn’t have, to be honest. As it turns out, I very much want what I thought I did not.”

  As this strange, hard truth bludgeons her, Bess joins Cissy in her tears. Maybe the Vicodin isn’t working after all.

  “Oh, Bessie…”

  “I’m so angry,” she says. “On the one hand, I can’t believe this happened. Then I think, of course it happened! The universe was like, What’s that you say? You don’t want to be a mom? Okay. Done.”

  “Elisabeth!” Cissy spanks her hand. “You can’t talk like that. Miscarriages happen. Most of them are entirely random and not anyone’s fault. Why am I telling you this? You’re the one who went to medical school! Just think of what you learned!”

  “Okay, great. I’ll use the warm fuzzies of science to get me through this.”

  “It must be so painful,” Cissy says. “But you’re not alone. Your grandmother had multiple miscarriages over the years.”

  “She did?” Bess says, even as she remembers an entry in the book.

  A woman should never talk about dead babies in polite company but it is so very hard to forget them.

  “Actually, now that you mention it…”

  “The losses hurt, but they also shaped her,” Cissy says. “Ruby taught me to tie my shoes at age two. By four I was cooking dinner and shoveling snow. At eight I had a budget. FYI, it’s pretty embarrassing to pay your own babysitter and tennis instructor, especially when you’re not that great at math.”

  Bess snickers and scoots into an upright position. The story is sad but she craves more. Her connection to Grandma Ruby is strong once more.

  “My mother taught me to take care of myself,” Cissy continues. “In her mind, she wasn’t the best shepherd of young things, given the losses. It’s not the most logical thought, but motherhood is more heart than logic anyhow.”

  “Poor Grandma. I figured she stopped at one kid because you were too much to handle.”

  “Very funny.” Cissy rolls her eyes. “No, I think she was more of a ‘count your blessings’ sort, grateful to get one out of the mess.”

  “That sounds like Grandma Ruby all right.”

  Cissy crawls into bed beside her daughter, taking the space Evan left behind. Bess glances out the window. She notices Chappy out there, pacing by his car, checking for messages on his phone.

  “Cis, I’m sorry for getting mad at you about Chappy,” she says. “I don’t completely understand the … arrangement … but I’m glad he’s made you happy. In your backward sort of way.”

  “I love him, Bessie. I really do. I’ve loved him for a long time, practically my entire life.”

  Cissy shakes her head and more tears slide out.

  “I had such intense shame about my feelings. Sometimes I still do.” She laughs dryly. “We’ve been together fifteen years, but I loved him for ten years before that.”

  “Then how come you never left?” Bess asks. “If you weren’t in love with Dad? I’m trying not to be judgmental about the situation, but it’s hard. Why not get divorced like a normal person?”

  “Don’t misunderstand, a divorce is not the easy way out of a marriage.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that.”

  “I suppose I don’t.”

  Cissy stares down at the bed, rubbing a corner of the thin white hospital sheet between her fingers. When she resumes speaking, she does not look up.

  “My father left my mom once,” she says. “When I was little. I don’t remember the coming or the going, but he returned eventually. Because of me. And even though this meant he didn’t get to lead the life he wanted, I’m glad for it. Even now. I
t’s selfish and awful but I’m grateful he didn’t disappear.”

  “I don’t know the situation with Grandpa Sam,” Bess says, though now she thinks that maybe she does. “But even if you got divorced, Dad would’ve been involved. He wouldn’t have just vanished. It’s different nowadays. And your situation is … not theirs.”

  “You’re right. But it’s the entire idea of him, and me, and you guys. ‘Family’ is such a powerful word. Whenever I’d be on the verge of filing papers, I’d picture all of us congregating in that big old house on Baxter Road, and it was too damned sad to imagine arriving in fragments.” Cissy frowns. “I was so heartbroken after your grandmother died. And I was already heartbroken enough in my crummy marriage. Then this man came to the funeral. A navy fellow. He and my father were very close. For decades.”

  Cissy makes a face as if she might be ill.

  “Anyway, I went to Chappy,” she said. “And then we … Well. You know. Afterward I felt horrible. I told him no way, never again, it was a onetime mistake. I spent the next five years denying my feelings, until Chappy finally called me on it.”

  Bess thinks about how miserable she was at Choate after Ruby passed, how she begged her mom to let her come home.

  “I’m not even living in Boston full-time anymore,” Cissy had said.

  It was the first Bess had heard of it but she didn’t have time to contemplate the new arrangement due to her vast despair.

  “I don’t care!” Bess had shrieked, ever the teenager. “I’ll live in Sconset then!”

  “You’re not graduating from some rinky-dink, two-bit island school!” Cissy insisted. “So buck up! High school problems are not real!”

  It was a smack in the face when Bess was so down, when she felt so far on the outside she might as well have been sitting in the street. She didn’t belong at that school. Palmer tried to bring her into the fold but standing beside her cousin highlighted every ugly and unkempt part of Bess. She was a ferret to Palmer’s unicorn. In trying to help, Palmer made it worse.

  Despite Bess’s desperation to leave, Cissy refused, and so Bess took matters into her own hands. Now she considers the possibility that her mother’s veto had less to do with academic merit and more to do with Chappy Mayhew. Perhaps if Bess had stayed at Choate, Cissy wouldn’t have put him on hold for all those years.