Page 113 of The Book of Summer

Although the view is obstructed, Bess has a clear shot of Baxter Road, and one Mrs. Caroline Codman scuttling across it like a blond crab. And what do you know, she’s headed straight toward Chappy Mayhew’s.

Bess inhales, holding the breath behind her chest until her raging heartburn intervenes and she’s forced to let go. What is Cissy doing? Breaking and/or entering? Damaging property? Every possibility seems farfetched yet likely at the same time. This is how it goes with the woman, a respected town doyenne and shooter-of-Kennedys both.

Bess turns away from the window and jogs back to her room. When she fishes her phone from the depths of a Young Family Reunion windbreaker, Bess sees an unread text. It’s from Evan, time-stamped 10:33.

Hey—Just got your text. Wish I could’ve gone to party but at LAX tourney on the cape. Keeping phone off as a good example to kids. Hope you had fun. Talk Sunday.

Bess smiles even as tears fill her eyes. She can’t believe how happy she is because of a few words. He was with a bunch of kids.

You’re supposed to be the good example in this scenario?she types in response.Poor kids. JK. Travel safe.

Bess thinks to text her mom (I see you! Step away from the Mayhews’!), but remembers it won’t get read until sometime next week. She chucks the phone onto her bed, tosses on her ratty espadrilles, and then books it downstairs and out the front door, bedclothes and all.

Bess stalks across Baxter Road. As she gets closer to Chappy’s, Bess notices there are lights on inside, which means Cissy’s operations are not covert. A confrontation, possibly? Her mother wouldn’t physically harm the man, Bess doesn’t think.

Soon she is on the property, tramping through the yard. Rose stems prickle Bess’s skin as she winds between the hedges and flowers. It’s foggy. The air and ground are wet, her ankles already filthy. After lunging over three low plants, Bess sidesteps some type of open-trench situation before ultimately steadying herself on a windowsill.

Bess glances down to see scratches crisscrossing her legs. Her palms are scuffed up and her nightgown looks like she’s been locked in an Appalachian barn for twenty years. But Bess will not remember the minor abrasions. When evaluating that particular night, these discomforts will prove the least of the damage.

Traumatic brain injury is nothing to joke about, but there’s no other way to describe Bess’s emotions after looking at the window and the appalling portrait it frames. Here is a real-life shot of Chappy Mayhew, stark naked and bucking, jamming an equally naked, very willing Cissy Codman against a wall.

46

Saturday Afternoon

“You’re back.”

Bess stands in the open doorway as the wind sends sheets of drizzle sideways into the house.

“Yes. A day early,” Evan says. “We laid a big fat egg in the tournament. I thought we’d at least make it to Sunday. I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m more upset than they are. You’d expect nine-year-old boys to be more cutthroat. Haven’t they readLord of the Flies? Can I come in?”

Bess stares at him. With so much to say, she doesn’t know where to start.

“I hurried back,” he tells her and holds up his phone. “Because of your um, slightly grumpy text. Came straight from the ferry. Is everything okay? And what is it I didn’t tell you, exactly?”

“Are there multiple options to choose from?”

“Ummm…”

Bess looks around, though she is the only person at the house. She hasn’t seen Cissy since that morning, when she saw way too much.

“Did you know?” Bess asks.

“Know what?”

“About Cissy. And your dad.”

“Shit.” Evan closes his eyes and lets out a small groan. “She finally told you.”

“She didn’t tell me crap. Ifoundthem. Going to town. Not, like, Nantucket Town.”

“Pound town?”

“Gross.” Bess scowls at him. “Not funny. But yes.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, chuckling. “Maybe it is kind of disturbing. They’re usually pretty discreet. Where were they?”

“They were in his house. It was… I saw them through…” Bess shakes her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Your dad and my mom are having an affair, which you were apparently aware of. We’ve had some pretty intimate conversations and meanwhile…”

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