Page 144 of The Book of Summer

“You don’t sound too happy,” he noted. “For someone saved from almost certain death.”

Suddenly he took in a sharp inhale, and then grimaced in pain. After a moan, Daddy fumbled about his bedside table to locate a small golden bell. With another groan, he gave it a ring.

“Can I get you something?” Ruby asked. “I’m happy to—”

A nurse materialized in the doorway, a different one this time.

“Mr. Young?”

“More pain medication,” he said in a drawn-out croak.

“Right away, sir. We’re almost out. I’ll call the doctor for more.”

The door clicked shut. Ruby turned toward her dad.

“Maybe you should… go slowly,” she said. “With the morphine. I’ve read it can be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” He let out a low, wet cackle. “The risk being, what, precisely? That I might develop an addiction? Become a drug fiend? There’s no use being careful, petal. Not anymore.”

“Daddy, you—”

“What’s going on with Sam?” he asked, and peered at her through one open eye. “Something’s happened.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Something’s happened. Tell me.”

“Well,” Ruby said, sighing again. “Yes. I suppose something has. The truth is that Sam was not in Normandy because he’s at Cliff House. That’s why I haven’t been able to see you. I was… hesitant… to leave him alone.”

“Why’s that? Is he injured?”

Daddy closed both eyes.

“In a sense,” Ruby said. “Though not physically. You see, there’s been a problem. A discharge. He’s…”

Ruby steadied her breath and worked up the nerve to continue.

“Sam’s done something terrible,” she said. “Wicked even.”

Her eyes stung as tears filled them all the more.

“He’d tell you the same,” Ruby said. “I’m trying my hardest but I don’t know that I can forgive him.”

And just like that, Ruby tore open the little dark box in which she’d been stashing the news.

Between snuffles and sobs and the relentless parade of nurses toting compresses and drugs, Ruby told her father about Sam’s indiscretions, and about his lovers, and the hospital, too. Every last miserable detail she could reveal. She left Topper out of it, though, as much to preserve her own memories as to protect her dad. Ruby refused to remember her beloved brother, her almost-twin, as anything other than a dashing figure perched on the stern of a boat, the wind and sun kissing his golden hair.

When she finally finished her vulgar tale, Ruby studied her father’s face.

“Daddy?” she squeaked, for he was either dead or fast asleep. “Are you awake?”

“I’m awake,” he said, and opened both eyes. “So. Is that all?”

He scooched up onto his elbows, the biggest move he’d made since Ruby tipped toes into the room.

“Is that all?” she scoffed. “I hardly think I could handle more.”

“You can and you will. He’s your husband. He’s confessed his sins and asked for forgiveness. War plays tricks on a person’s mind. The only way he’ll recover is if you believe in him, if you take him at his word. Ruby Genevieve, I say this with nothing but love and adoration. But, dear girl, stop the crying. Gather your wits and march forth. At least you still have a husband to heal. There are a hundred thousand widows who’d trade places with you in a flash.”