Page 5 of The Book of Summer

In short, Cissy and Chappy are natural enemies. He: a grotty local, the last commercial fisherman on the island. She: an indulged off-islander trying to screw with the ecosystem and therefore his livelihood. Of course, as Cissy has lived in Sconset (mostly) full-time for over twenty years, she considers herself a local through and through. But the real locals don’t necessarily agree. She is notfrom there,after all.

Cissy doesn’t help her cause with the Back Bay townhome and tendency to abscond to Boston at the first snowflake, not to mention the millions she collects in bluff-restoration dollars among her Summer People squad. They are saving the shoreline, dontcha know? To benefit residents and visitors alike. Why, they’re downright heroic!

True Sconseters aren’t buying that claptrap, though. In their estimation, off-islanders don’t care about Nantucket. They care about their fancy summer homes. It’s their own stupid fault, too. Locals never would’ve been so idiotic as to build directly on a bluff.

“Minding my own business,” Chappy says, “would be a dream come true. Ya know, you two are pretty feisty for hitchhikers. I’m only gonna pick up dirty hippies from here on out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Cissy grumbles.

As they drive along in achy silence, Bess wonders if they should’ve biked after all. She has no real beef against Chappy, other than his salty demeanor, but being cordial feels like a direct betrayal of Cissy. Plus, his truck seems to lack shock absorbers. Bess swears her bones are clinking together.

“I assume you’re here to pack up your mom,” Chappy says at last. “Yank her out of that house.”

“Something like that.”

“The fight’s not over,” Cissy reminds them both. “If I have to go down, it’ll be swinging.”

“Oh brother. Lady, I know you see this as a battle royale, an us-versus-them smackdown…”

“How many times do I have to tell you? There is no us or them. It’s we! I’m one of you. I live here! We want the same thing: a better Nantucket.”

“A better Nantucket?” Chappy says, and rolls his eyes. “Better for you. Using your golf-ball money to keep property values sky-high and screw with the environment in the process. I mean, really. Just buy another damned house, why don’t you. Or better yet, go back to America.”

Bess smirks. The hallmark of a true Nantucketer. He views Boston as “America” and the island as something else entirely.

“First of all,” Cissy says, “that is myhome.I don’t want another one. Secondly, we sold that company ages ago, as you are well aware. Thirdly, golf balls were the very least of it. My grandfather started his company by reconstituting rubber scraps into usable material. In other words: recycling. Before it was fashionable to do so.”

“Meanwhile, he had a factory on the riverbank, spewing God knows what into the Acushnet.”

“That’s quite enough.”

“So this is fun,” Bess pipes in.

“Listen,” Chappy says. “I don’t much care if your family got their wealth saving orphans or trading them on the black market or in some other way. I don’t care and God doesn’t care. Not even ballsy Cissy Codman and her sacks of cash can fight the hands of time.”

“Ballsy. I appreciate the compliment, really I do, but you already gave this strikingly unexceptional speech two nights ago. We have a plan. Hell or high water, fire or brimstone, I’ll get this done.”

“There’ll be high water all right.”

“In conclusion, as I’ve said so many times before: Fuck off.”

“All right then. You keep your plans. I’ll stay on the side of Mother Nature and of God.”

Chappy cranks the wheel hard left and steers them into his driveway. Bess can almost feel the strength and size of Cliff House at her back. She realizes then that she didn’t even glance its way as they passed. Four years. Chappy is right. It’s far too long.

“Here we are,” he announces, unnecessarily.

Bess takes in a sharp breath.

“Well, thanks,” Cissy says as she leaps out of the cab. “I suppose.”

She heaves her bike from the truck bed. Meanwhile, Bess takes her time in disembarking, first scooting across the cracked leather seat before ultimately sliding down onto the ground.

“Stop dawdling!” Cissy yips.

Bess hears the bike’s wheels crunch on the gravel.

“Good grief, you’ve turned into a bona fide Californian, haven’t you? Heaven help me.Hang loose brah.”