Page 103 of The Book of Summer

“Bobby Sox!” Bess says, and glances up. “How precious!”

Cissy rolls her eyes.

“Pretty slow-paced if you ask me.”

“I’m delighted to learn you’ve had a long history of being aggrieved.”

“Please. Mother couldn’t tolerate any sort of ‘mood.’”

“And why would she?” Bess says, returning her eyes to the page. “You had Cliff House for that. ‘Our moods lifted the minute we arrived on-island. Right on time or days overdue, Cliff House gives me the same feeling every time. This is my forty-fifth summer at Cliff House, something north of four thousand days, but my stomach still somersaults with the thrill of it, the promise that our lives will change, if only for a season.

“‘The decades, the memories, only the best of these cling to the home, the bad spirited away on a swift ocean gale. Life’s not been perfect here, or anywhere, but no matter what’s happened, in spite of the business with Sam and all the variations of bad business before and after, my heart fills with unrepentant joy the moment the tires crunch on the shelled drive.

“‘Cliff House is a comfort. In the winter months you only need think: Well, summer’s not so far away. I can last until then. Whatever happens in the real world, Cliff House remains a permanent, never-changing promise. In this big house cemented on its bluff, we can return to the people we are supposed to be.’”

“I thought you wanted me to leave the house,” Cissy says, sniffling. “That doesn’t help.”

“Just hairdos and recipes, huh?”

Bess smacks the book shut.

“It’s funny,” she says. “That entry was made exactly twenty years, to the day, after D-day. I wonder why Grandma didn’t mention the date?”

“Why would she?”

“Well, it’s been twelve years since 9/11 and it’s still a pall over the day no matter what else is going on. One of my friends got induced on September tenth just to avoid her child having that birthday.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

The thunder crashes again. Lightning rips across the sky. When Bess looks up, she sees a tall man standing in the window bay.

“Motherfucking Christ!” Bess screams.

“Bess! What in God’s name?”

When Cissy spies the man, her face at once relaxes. She patters over to the French doors.

“It’s just my engineer,” Cissy says as she kicks open the door. “Hello, Mike. Sorry about the weather. I didn’t think it’d come down like this.”

A man in boots and a rain slicker stomps inside. He shakes himself off like a wet dog.

“Mike oversaw the relocation of Sankaty Head,” Cissy explains to Bess proudly, as if describing how her son hit a three-run homer. “He’s the best in the biz. Mike, this is my daughter Bess.”

“Hi, Bess,” he says in a half mumble. “Nice to meet you.”

“Mike is going to move Cliff House for us!” Cissy grins. “So, what’s the damage? How far back do we have to go and how much will it cost? Do you think a pool is feasible? I mean, eventually.”

“Cissy, no.”

“Fine.” Cissy flicks her hand at him. “No pool. But the other stuff we talked about…”

“I’m not moving this house.”

“Not you personally, but—”

“Cissy,” Mike says, sternly. He must have experience in Cissy-related matters. “You’re not listening.”

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