Page 74 of The Book of Summer

Evan jams the truck into park and kicks open his door.

“Not mine. Because I ripped that sucker out.”

Bess blinks and then hears the crunch of his work boots on the shelled drive. She slides out of the cab, eyes on Cliff House. A million memories worm through her at once.

Back in high school, Evan didn’t usually drive her home, living across the street as he did. But he always walked Bess to the door. Then, later, he could frequently be seen (though never by Cissy) escorting Bess right back out of the house via the butler’s pantry. Hands locked together, they’d creep past the flagpole and around the privet hedge. He’d bring Bess home sometime before dawn.

The flagpole.

Bess gapes. It’s back. Damn it all to hell, Cissy has reinstalled the flagpole in the five hours Bess has been away. It is all so very Cissy Codman, this point she’s trying to prove. The woman is steadfast as anything Star-Spangled to be sure.

“F’ing Cissy,” Bess mutters as she tries to help Evan with the bike.

He, of course, won’t allow it.

“What’s that?” he says.

“What’s what?”

“You mumbled something about Cissy.”

“Oh.” Bess shakes her head and glares accusatorially, as if Old Glory had something to do with it. “The stupid flagpole is back. Does the woman ever stop?”

“Come on, Lizzy C. You know the answer to that question.”

“Right. The very minute she should throw in the towel, is the exact moment Cissy steps on the lunatic gas.”

Her eyes skip back to Cliff House in time to see the grasshopper gait of Cissy scamper by a window. Bess turns toward Evan, who looks exasperatingly hot right then, standing in the fuzzy moonlight, her bike against his hip.

“So what’d you do with it?” Bess asks. “Your Book of Summer entry? I’d like to read it.”

“Sorry, can’t help you there.”

“It was my wedding. My grand event.”

And it was both of these things, but strangely enough they almost eloped.

“Cissy’s driving me bonkers,” Bess said to Brandon one night, or something along those lines. “Well and truly nuts.”

“So let’s scrap the fancy to-do,” he suggested, quickly, like he’d been thinking about it for days. “Go down to the courthouse. Make it official, just the two of us, on our own terms.”

He made it seem so romantic.Just the two of us. You and me. Forever. We don’t need anyone else.She almost agreed to the courthouse nuptials but in the end wanted the Cliff House hurrah, same as her mother, same as Grandma Ruby. If she was being completely honest, Bess wanted it not merely for tradition but also for the guests who might come. She wanted it for Evan, so that he might see her on her very best day.

“You have to tell me what you wrote,” Bess insists. “It’s only fair. Like I said, it wasmywedding.”

“Sorry. Don’t have it. And are you sure it wasyourwedding? Because I could’ve sworn it was your mom’s.”

“Ha, well, you’re not wrong. Lala says she’ll never get married because Cis can’t figure how to be moderate. And if she eloped. Well.” Bess chuckles and lets her eyes wander back to the flagpole. “Forget Hurricane Sandy. The wrath of Cissy Codman would rain down like a hundred-year storm. For Lala, it’s better to live in everyday sin.”

“It usually is.”

Evan steers her bike through the gate, Bess dragging behind him.

“Here we are,” he announces. “Delivered to your front doorstep. Don’t let anyone tell you I’m not a gentleman.”

“No one needs to tell me that. I already know.”

“Hilarious.”

---