Page 127 of The Book of Summer

“He was,” Bess says with a nod.

Was he? He was.

“Oh, Bessie,” her mother says with a sigh.

“Verbally,” Bess adds. “He never hit me, though at times he seemed close. It’s good that I work so much. I stayed out of the cross fire. And who knows, it could’ve gotten physical, eventually, if not for the hookers, who saved me in the end.”

“The hookers?!”

It takes a lot to shock Cissy. A whole hell of a lot. But Bess has surprised her in a way no one else ever has.

“It’s a long story,” she says.

Bess walks over to the rusted green glider and slumps down onto it. Meanwhile, Cissy fiddles with her Red Sox hat, trying to appear unruffled while she searches for the best response.

“Well, Elisabeth,” she says at last, her voice strong and assured. “I can see why you weren’t keen on taking him back. I’d tell him to go fuck himself but my guess is the pervert’s already tried.”

52

The Book of Summer

Ruby Young Packard

July 10, 1943

Cliff House, Sconset, Nantucket Island

Oh happy days!

Sam is here, with me, at Cliff House. I can almost (almost!) pretend we’re back to sunnier times. We are missing (and missing and missing) Mother and Topper. And Sam is to ship out in six days. But for now I revel in our togetherness, in our love. Not to get all gooey about it but there ya go!

Every morning we make a picnic lunch, pack up our umbrellas, and traipse across the big lawn and down the wooden stairs onto our beach. We find ourselves the perfect spot, which is any spot, really. I whip off my huaraches and wiggle my toes into the sand, my face turned to the sky.

Alas the war has changed even the beach. Uniformed men patrol at all hours, stepping over bathing beauties left and right. Stations are manned by life guardettes instead of the traditional guards. At least the island is only dimmed and not blacked out at nightfall.

In the evenings we cycle the eight miles to Nantucket Town for dinner or dancing at the club. Though we ditched the flag-raising this year. I couldn’t stomach hearing the names of members who’ve passed.

This summer I’ve swapped culottes for dresses, no more meddling slips or dickering with a thorough coat of Mexitan. Bikes have taken over the whole darn island! The pleasure drivers are gone and meanwhile cheerfully painted bicycle racks are popping up everywhere, displacing hitching posts and parking spots.

At restaurants, schoolgirls now wait on customers, filling in for their older sisters who’ve gone to work in factories, the big sisters themselves having replaced the men off at war. It’s a constant circle of replacement these days. You take from this to give to that, praying there won’t be a gap in the chain.

Some things, however, cannot be replaced or swapped out and sunshiny days will be hard to come by once Sam leaves. But leaving is what he wants and therefore what I want, too. Maybe I’ll tuck a pinup of me into his luggage, if I can work up the nerve.

I’m happy they judged Sam fit for service. Regardless of what happened to lead him to this spot, my husband is alive! He is recovered and he is well. Most would deem this a blessing of the highest order. I certainly plan to.

Until later,

I remain,

Ruby Packard, wife to Lieutenant Packard, U.S. Navy.

53

RUBY

August 1943

Ruby was glad they lived at the end of the street, because that was some racket outside, impossible to ignore. Which was Ruby’s very problem.