Page 11 of The Book of Summer

We will greet each summer with expectant delight, Cliff House the reward for the winter and the toiling away. The deed bears Philip’s name but it belongs to us all. We’ll invite friends, we’ll invite family, and the friends of family. We will throw open the doors and shout, “All of you! Come stay a night or three! Leave your shoes in the basket, your worries outside the door. Together now, let’s pour ourselves a drink.”

In lieu of rent we will ask our guests to make payment via words in this, the Book of Summer. We’ll do this so the memories will stick and so those who follow appreciate what came before.

Bess looks up from the book and toward her mother, who is aggressively boxing silver, slamming the forks and knives as if they’ve committed some great offense.

“‘And so I say,’” Bess reads out loud, “‘warm greetings, you beautiful Cliff House. So nice to finally meet you. Together we’ll have a grand old time.’”

With a sniffle, Bess sets the book back down.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asks. “Take it back to Boston?”

Bess must convince Cissy thatsheshould be the rightful owner of the Book of Summer. She’ll need to get through Lala and Clay first, but they won’t mind. What do they need with it? Lala doesn’t even have a permanent address.

“Boston?” Cissy says. “Who mentioned Boston? Truth be told, I’m thinking of doing something with it for the Cliff House Centennial Celebration.”

Bess sees the capitalization and bold print as her mother speaks.

“The Cliff House Centennial Celebration,” Bess repeats. “That sounds like a proper title. Will there be T-shirts?”

“Elisabeth.” Cissy peers over her glasses. “There arealwaysT-shirts.”

Cissy is right then wearing a Young Family Reunion 1984 windbreaker.

“So what, exactly, do you plan to do with it for the capital-‘c’ Celebration?” Bess asks.

“I’m not sure. The Book of Summer belongs to the people who’ve made memories here. I’d love to package up sections for those who’ve stayed, or their relatives.”

“You mean tear out pages?” Bess says, heart galloping. “You can’t deface the Book of Summer!”

“Oh, Elisabeth,” Cissy chuckles. “What do you propose, then?”

“Let me take it home.”

Cissy pivots her gaze in Bess’s direction.

“Beg pardon?”

“I want to keep it. I’ll check with Lala and Clay, of course, but I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“Let me get this straight. You want the Book of Summer to live inCal-i-for-nia?” Cissy drags out the syllables, top lip curled as if she were talking about a venereal disease, or a Republican. “You honestly think that’s a good idea?”

“Well, it’s certainly preferable to have it stay within the family versus getting ripped up and distributed to a bunch of randoms. Grandma Ruby would roll over in her grave!”

“Most definitely,” Cissy says. “But my mother has been in a constant state of rolling over for years.”

“She wasn’tthatprim, or judgmental.”

“Please. You know Ruby Packard’s favorite adage. ‘A woman’s name should only be in print when she’s born, when she marries, and when she dies.’ The past few years I’ve been in the local rag more than Bill Belichick.”

“I should have it,” Bess insists again, flicking through the pages. “You can cut me out of the will entirely, but leave the book to me.”

“Who says you’re even in my will?”

She stops on a page, her eyes watering with one glance at Grandma Ruby’s telltale boxy scrawl. How Bess loves that woman, strongly and still, despite the twenty years that have slipped by since she died. Bess attended one of the most prestigious boarding schools in the nation—for a time, anyway—and her most salient memory of Choate was when Cissy called to say Ruby Packard was no more.

It wasn’t until that moment, or perhaps even later, that Bess realized she admired her grandmother. Ruby was so different from Cissy, a much-needed balance to her hell-and-fire mom. Bess loves Cissy greatly, but she’s exhausting. Ruby was an antidote, a counterpoint. Of course, this was the least of her.

“Let me tell you something about your mother,” Grandma Ruby said oh so many times. “Whenever the young people gathered for a football game, Cissy was picked first, before any of those Kennedy schlubs. She is infinitely more Kennedy-like, too, smarter and sportier than all of them combined. They’re more teeth than brains anyhow.”