Page 149 of The Book of Summer

“Cis?” Bess says. “Your father. Grandpa Sam. It wasn’t just alcoholism, right? Because I heard… and Evan said something… and I saw this article… was he…”

“He had a lover, yes,” Cissy says, curtly, even for her.

“And he was…?”

“He was.”

Bess nods again, though Cissy is not looking in her direction. Even so, they are on the same page.

As if choreographed, the two women lean into each other. They are silent for some time. In the distance a siren howls. A gaggle of voices passes by, nurses clucking about this and that. “I was, like, oh hell no!” one says. Her cohorts titter in response.

“Mom?” Bess whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’m proud of you, Bess. For so many reasons.”

Bess sits up.

“I’m ready to go,” she says. “Are you?”

“Sweetheart, they want you to stay the night. You lost a lot of blood. And your fever…”

Fever? They hadn’t mentioned a fever. They must be worried about an infection.

“Oh. Okay,” Bess says, slumping again.

She hadn’t envisioned a night in the hospital. On the other hand, she doesn’t have a home to return to. That a hospital is her best option is almost soul-crushing.

“Where are you going to stay?” Bess asks. “Not Cliff House. Promise me, Mom. I won’t be able to sleep a wink. And you can’t do that to me in my precarious state.”

“Fine,” Cissy says, and sets her mouth into a hard line. “No Cliff House. I thought mothers were in charge of guilt trips?”

“Where are you staying?” Bess asks. “I need specifics, otherwise I’ll completely stress out.”

“You don’t trust me?” Cissy asks.

“Not one hundred percent, no.”

Cissy’s eyes skip toward the window, to where Chappy’s truck waits below.

“Cis?”

“Oh, Bess. Don’t worry about your old mom. I’ll just stay across the road.”

59

The Book of Summer

Mary Young

June 20, 1945

Cliff House

This will be my final time at Cliff House.

When talking bittersweet, it is admittedly stronger on the bitter end. The home is beautiful and peaceful, perched atop the cliff as it is. You can almost forget what’s happened to the people coming into and out of it.

Looking back through this book, I’m almost surprised to see that I was once Mrs. Philip E. Young, Jr., and that’s all there really was to me. Now I’m a second lieutenant in the army and have spent the last year moving about Europe. We deployed to France last July, my unit arriving to Normandy on the first of August, weeks after my husband lost his life. When we arrived they’d all been cleared out. The dead were buried, the severely injured evacuated to England. And so they relocated us to the Siegfried Line, where our services were needed in devastating amounts. We’ve also been in Belgium, Luxembourg, and a few other places besides.

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