Page 112 of The Book of Summer

As Ruby continued to stare, her brain buzzed. The stranger offered a small wave.

“Why, it’s Topper’s friend!” Daddy said. “That Nick fellow, from college. Come on, let’s go say hello.”

***

“Nick Cabot, you old devil,” Daddy said, shaking Nick’s hand with vigor, or at least as much vigor as he could muster. “Good to see you, sport. What brings you to the island?”

“Here to visit some friends before I ship out,” Nick said, holding his hat against his heart. “I hoped to see Topper but haven’t heard from him in a while. Hello there, Ruby. You look beautiful as always.”

“Thanks,” she said with a sniff, trying to work out why he made her so goosey.

What was it he’d said about Hattie?There’s simply nothing to her.He called her an egoist—a would-be hedonist, too. As the memories came into full view, Ruby gave Nick the old side-eye and a little harrumph.

“Topper, he’s…?” Nick winced. “He’s okay, right?”

“Far as we know,” Daddy said. “The boy’s still training in Arizona. Sorry he’s been silent but don’t take it personal. Ruby’s the only one he regularly keeps up with. I go to her for all the nitty-gritty. Anyhow, I’ll leave you two for a catch-up. I need to step outside.”

Ruby studied him. Daddy looked peaky. His face was shiny, dribbles of sweat collecting above his brows. It wasn’t even warm that night. A certain fear poked Ruby, sharp in her stomach.

“So, Ruby,” Nick said, and forced a grin. “You look swell.”

“Yes, you mentioned that,” she grumbled.

Nick gave her a perplexed squint. He was handsome, rich, and famously lettered in every sport available at every school he’d attended. For Mr. Cabot it was probably a major twist that a gal wouldn’t devour his flattery.

“I heard about your mother,” Nick said. “I’m so very sorry. She was a gem.”

Ruby smiled wanly and clutched her stomach. The man was giving her fits. Even her body knew the guy was shady as a cedar grove. Either that or her new girdle was screwy. It was at once too tight, or her bladder too full. This pregnancy devilry was nuts, her body changing by the hour.

Suddenly something trickled out of Ruby. Dear God. She’d been warned by women who knew, but it seemed far too early to be wetting her drawers.

After hastily excusing herself from Nick Cabot’s questionable company, Ruby hustled toward the ladies’ and hitched her panty girdle down. At once she wailed in pain, though dull cramps were the only physical sensation. This pain was from her heart, her hopes, and her dreams. The pain was from seeing her underwear’s confident, innocent, white satin sheen completely doused in blood.

***

He was going to be named Robert. They planned to call him Bobby.

Ruby telegrammed Sam but for the longest time did not hear back. At first she feared the worst because this was war and the worst was surely to come. Finally, Sam answered back with one word. HEARTBROKEN.

The dreams that would never come.

45

Saturday Morning

Bess wakes up at four o’clock in the morning. She assumes that the quirks of pregnancy (indigestion, sharp pains under the rib cage) have jostled her to attention, but in fact it’s all the clashing and thumping going on down the hall. Cissy, of course.

Another reason she can’t have a baby. What example does she have? Bess loves that crazy woman, but sometimes she fantasizes about one of those regular homemaking, cookie-baking moms. Really though, Bess doesn’t care about sweets. She’d settle for someone not risking her life for a house, someone not knocking about in the dead of night doing Lord knows what.

Bess turns onto her left side. She lies there for several uncomfortable minutes before turning onto her right. When that doesn’t work, she flips faceup but then remembers that pregnant women aren’t supposed to sleep on their backs. Then again, does it matter?

All spun up into a wired-exhausted state by 4:42, Bess lurches out of bed. After grabbing a robe off the pink bureau, Bess wraps it around herself with a double knot and patters out into the hallway. She’s surprised to find it dead dark, all the way down to Cissy’s room. The thumping has disappeared; the only sound is that of the waves breaking beyond.

Was Bess imagining things? Jacking up the volume on the home’s creaks and cracks?

Suddenly she hears the front door whoosh open and then slam shut. It’s not even five o’clock in the morning and the old bat is already out of her lair. Bess runs to the round window in the hall, a window now partially blocked by Cissy’s ill-conceived secondary flagpole.

“Damn it, Cissy,” Bess grouses with a laugh.

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