Page 118 of The Book of Summer

Never mind the throb of sorrow that forever pulsed through Ruby, her entire body ached after traveling a wicked mile (or five hundred) from Boston to DC in a train stuffed with servicemen. All of them rattling toward other cities and states, new futures heretofore unknown.

Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourselves into?Ruby had wanted to scream at them.Your good looks and bravado will turn to junk once Uncle Sam gets ahold of you!

Just as she’d predicted, just as she’d feared when Topper and Sam announced their support of the war.

Oh, God, Topper. It’d been eight months since he died and the mere thought of him stung like a fresh cut. To think, the last time Ruby saw him was at Mother’s funeral, when she was still pregnant, when faith didn’t seem like something from a children’s book. Almost a year out and the devastation of the losses still hung on Ruby like a heavy cloak. Now, this matter with Sam.

“I’m sorry,” Mary said now, in the paneled DC haunt. “I wish I could help, but it’s not a possibility.”

“Mary. Please. I’m begging. I’ve never asked anything of you before.”

Ruby hated the desperation in her voice, but desperate she was.

“I’m rather busy,” her sister-in-law said simply, though it was not simple, this bad business they now found themselves in. “I can’t take a whole day off from work to visit another hospital.”

“You told me you go to Portsmouth all the time!”

“Yes. To provide medical aid and for training. Not on ill-advised jaunts that could land me in a bundle of trouble.”

“Sam is in the hospital,” Ruby said, enunciating each syllable. “Anavalhospital. My husband is injured and you, the closest person in my life aside from Daddy and Sam himself, you can’t come with me to see him?”

Ruby’s cheeks burned. She thought surely—surely!—as Mary was a nurse, she would take this trip. Ruby should’ve gone with her first instinct, which was to ask Hattie. But in that regard she didn’t want to receive four letters saying Hattie would come, followed by a telegram saying that she couldn’t. Just as she had last summer. Just as she had for Topper’s funeral. Ruby’d had a beast of a time forgiving her for that.

“There are others who need me more,” Mary said.

“And what about me?” Ruby asked, loud enough to cause some bluster.

The people nearby cast them curious looks.

“Don’t I need you?”

“Ruby, I can’t. Not in my current position. I haven’t even received my full qualification yet. Think of how it’d come across.”

“We’re family,” Ruby said. “You and I, we’re both Youngs, don’t you see? We’re supposed to help each other, especially now with Mother and Topper gone.”

“I’m sorry.…” she said for the fourth time, or the fifth.

And Mary was sorry, truly. Though this was exactly zero consolation to Ruby.

“What you’re doing”—Ruby snuffled—“or not doing. It’s just… it’s simply indefensible. If P.J. were here, he’d insist you help.”

“P.J.?” Mary said, blinking like she was trying to remember the beat of some tune not heard in years.

“Yes. Your husband. Do you remember him? Because honestly sometimes it seems like you don’t.”

Mary shook her head. She looked at Ruby with downcast, sorrowful eyes.

“P.J. would agree with my decision,” Mary said resolutely, as if she’d consulted him directly. “Once again, I’m sorry. I truly am. And it was nice to see you. The dinner is my treat.”

She reached for her handbag.

“Some treat,” Ruby steamed, her sadness morphed to fury.

Such quick changes were frequent phenomena these days, her emotions a real mystery prize of sentiment. Ruby never knew what might come up next.

“Ruby, don’t be cross,” Mary implored.

“Don’t be cross? Sorry, sister, I don’t see how I could feel any other way.”

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