Page 102 of The Book of Summer

“Is it awful to trash old books?” she asks.

“Not that one.”

Cissy flings it into a bin.

“So yeah,” Bess says, eyeing the trash. “Dad’s coming, but only for twenty-four hours.”

“Okeydoke,” Cissy answers, wholly unfazed by the news.

Bess remembers what Grandma Ruby said, back when Bess was a little girl complaining that her dad didn’t stay the entire summer.

“Oh, Bess, the men only come for the parties,” she’d said. “The events. They don’t have the time or stamina for the day-to-day.”

“Bottom line,” Bess says, and squats to inspect the box beside her. “He’ll be here on Sunday.”

“Fantastic.”

Bess picks up a red scrapbook and tabs through some pages.

“This is from the dining room,” she says. “I was looking at it the other day.”

“You’re welcome to have it. Otherwise, it’s going in the trash.”

“You can’t throw this away. Grandma must’ve kept it for some reason.” Bess turns a few more pages. “Did you know someone named Harriet Rutter?”

“Sounds familiar. I think.”

Cissy checks the underside of a desk clock that hasn’t worked in years.

“She was some sort of writer, apparently,” Bess says. “Magazines, newspaper articles. Grandma Ruby kept everything the woman ever wrote, as far as I can tell.”

“Hmmm…” Cissy says, moving from desk clock to candlesticks to piano bench. “She might’ve been a friend of my mom’s from school or the club or something. Maybe she had a dalliance with Robert? I think there was a falling-out and I seem to remember the little brother was involved.”

“This Hattie person had quite the journalistic repertoire. Sports stories, makeup tips, opinion pieces about the war—Second WorldandVietnam. Also, you’ll be pleased to know there are seventeen different types of dickies available for the adventurous dresser.”

“I really don’t know much about—”

Suddenly a slap of thunder shakes the house. Bess lets out a small cry and grips the sofa. Within seconds, rain begins battering the home.

“This weather!” Bess says.

Cissy casts a nervous glance toward the windows.

“It’s fine,” she says, unconvincingly.

Cissy yanks a strip of packing tape from its roll and bites it free. Ignoring the rain now assaulting the roof, Bess fishes the Book of Summer out from beneath Hattie Rutter’s bizarre amalgam of press clippings.

“Aw, hello book,” she says. “Not very summery today, are we?”

Bad news for Flick’s party,Bess thinks.That’s why Evan hasn’t texted back. Who goes on a boat in this weather?

“Bessie, are you helping over there?” Cissy asks. “Or are you snooping?”

“A bit of both. Cis, have you ever read this?” Bess asks, holding up the book. “In thirty years, I don’t think I’ve seen you open it once.”

“Of course I have. Here and there. It’s mostly just people talking about parties and hairdos. A nice keepsake but not particularly compelling.”

“What?! Come on, there’s so much more to it than that. Look! Here’s an entry about little Cis, dated June 6, 1964. Written by your mom… ‘We opened Cliff House today. About ten days late. Cissy had a Bobby Sox tournament. Her team lost two to one in the finals. The girls put forth a valiant effort, or so I’m told. I don’t know the first thing about it. Cis is quite aggrieved by the loss.’

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