Page 16 of The Book of Summer

“Should we squeeze in nine holes later?” her mom says.

“Sure. I’d love to.”

“Okay, sweetums.” Cissy gives her a slap on the rear. “Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

“Thanks, Cis,” Bess says as her eyes dart out to the patio. The fog is already thick, rolling in with greater force. “I’ll try to keep myself alive.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

Tuesday can’t come soon enough.

8

The Book of Summer

Ruby Genevieve Young

July 19, 1940

Cliff House, Sconset, Nantucket Island

The last cigarette has been smoked.

The last car has puttered away.

Mother’s bedroom door is closed. Even Topper has worn out his shenanigans and is holed up in the boys’ bunk room.

And here I sit, at my desk, the windows thrown open and the sound of the waves crashing nearby. It’s my last night as a single gal, twelve hours until I’m a married hen.

Tomorrow at exactly eleven o’clock in the morning, I’ll stand beneath the pergola, white wisteria dangling overhead. Sam and I will exchange vows and voilà,I’ll transform from Miss Young, Philip Young’s only daughter, into Mrs. Samuel Packard.

“You’ll always be a Young,” Daddy says. “More than a Packard, to be sure.”

I suppose in some ways, yes. But not in the way of Topper and P.J. It’s different for girls. As much as I’ll be proud to carry Sam’s name, that’s Mrs. Packard to you, I’m still losing some part of me. It’s nothing but change from here on out, I suppose.

“Don’t worry, petal,” Daddy says whenever I anguish over any little thing. “It’ll all work out in the end.”

And you know what? He’s been right thus far.

So tomorrow, when I’m anointed Ruby Packard, after the luncheon, and the toasts, and the jitterbugging on the patio, Sam and I will hop into a car (a black Mercedes-Benz Roadster) and zoom off toward the airport where we will board the late plane to Acapulco.

Two weeks in the Mexican sun and then it’s back to Boston, where Sam will chair Daddy’s newly minted Golf Products division. He has no interest in dentistry and it seems this is the only family spot being offered to him. Alas, nothing to brood over, as there’s plenty of room for Sam at Young Processing Co. Who knew a bunch of old guys stomping about with sticks in their hands could generate such a gold mine? Sammy doesn’t seem notably buzzed by the prospect, but he’s not keen to play.

Whenever I start to spook about the changes I remind myself that a year from now we will be back at Cliff House. Mother and Daddy. My brothers. Sam and me, with (hopefully) Sam Junior already on his way. The summers, at least, will never change, other than a couple of new people along for the ride—God willing.

And with that, I am, for the final time,

Yours truly,

Miss Ruby Genevieve Young

9

The Book of Summer

Samuel Eugene Packard