Page 31 of The Book of Summer

“I have,” Evan says. “And despite my father’s very loud opinions on the matter, I wish it could be different, I really do.”

“Me, too. And thanks.”

Bess pauses. Squinting, she stares out across the Atlantic.

“I haven’t been to Sconset in forever,” she says. “But there was always a comfort in knowing Cliff House was waiting for me. Like a backup plan. When my marriage went to shit, my first instinct was to quit my job and hide out here. I’m way too practical for that, but it sounded good at the time.”

A few tears slide onto her cheeks.

“Aw, man,” Evan says. “Don’t cry. Please. I’ve never been able to handle it.”

“Yeah, I remember.” She smiles through the wetness. “I can’t believe it. No more Cliff House. No more summer.”

“Oh, Bess. Summer will come. Cliff House or not.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

“Hey! Monday is Memorial Day. And whaddya know, Cliff House is still around. Your old shack has her chance. The season hasn’t even started. There’s an entire summer left to go.”

15

The Book of Summer

Mrs. Philip E. Young, Jr.

May 16, 1941

Cliff House

Mother Young tells me I must write in this book, as summer’s first visitor, even though I don’t understand how Philip Young, Jr.’s wife can be classified as guest. Alas, I am nothing if not compliant so here goes.

We arrived on-island this morning: Mother Young, Ruby, me, and Mrs. Grimsbury. Mother Young and Ruby took immediately to opening Cliff House for the season. This involves removing drop cloths, dressing the beds, turning on the plumbing, restocking the kitchen, and, as I’ve learned, a litany of complaints from Ruby. Tugging plywood off the windows is apparently the universe’s most laborious task.

As a newly pregnant Madonna-to-be, I’m unable to assist with the preparations. We’ve not yet had the pregnancy medically confirmed but I am certain there’s a baby growing inside. I look forward to the importance, the meaning this small person will bring to our lives. As the wife of the family’s eldest son, I can’t take any chances, lest I cause harm to the heir of the Young fortune.

“The heir?” Ruby quacked when I refused to drag patio furniture to and fro. “Lady, you’ve got the wrong family.”

Then she tee-heed for ninety seconds straight. I don’t understand her at all.

And that’s Cliff House as I know it so far this summer. What else do folks write in here? Let’s see. Today the weather was fair, around sixty-two degrees, with a pleasant breeze. Tonight there’s a dance at the Yacht Club. I’ve switched from Parliaments to Chesterfields. The weather tomorrow is supposed to start out a bit foggy, clearing by lunch.

Best regards,

Mrs. Philip E. Young, Jr. (Mary)

16

RUBY

May 1941

What was Daddy thinking? Ruby could kill the man! Just kill him!

Not literally, of course. But, still. Of all the crummy notions, he picked this one.

“Gas masks!” Ruby said to no one in particular as she yanked a drop cloth off a settee. “Horrific!”

From golf balls to gas masks, in a snap.

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