Page 94 of The Book of Summer

Ruby blushed, realizing how it came across.

“I mean…”

Miss Mayhew winked, as if in on the gag.

“Perhaps,” she said.

Ruby smiled at her dumbly, trying to figure what to say next. The wordsMiss Mayhew, Miss Mayhew, Miss Mayhewwound over and over in her brain. Dagnabbit, it was way too late to ask for a first name. Ruby felt like an utter boob.

“Are you headed to the navy jukebox jiggeroo tonight?” Miss Mayhew asked, saving Ruby from herself.

Lucretia? Loretta? Charlotte? Ruby shook her head. No, it was a simpler name.

“Sure,” Ruby said. “I love a good jiggeroo.”

Ruby dickered with the buttons on her dress. Should she return the question or was the assumption that Miss Mayhew had the option alarmingly dense? Ruby grew damp beneath her arms. She looked down to see rivulets of sweat gumming up her Mexitan.

“So, er, what are you up to the rest of the day?” she asked.

Just then a girl pedaled up on her bike, no care to the slip seams. This was a local dame, plain-faced and thick-ankled. Ruby recognized her as the woman who’d recently earned top spot as the island’s most famous old maid.

“Hi there, Marg,” Miss Mayhew said, and gave her friend a hug. “Margaret Hamblin, this is Ruby Packard. Mrs. Packard, this is my dear friend Margaret.”

“Miss Hamblin,” Ruby said, and jutted out an arm. “I’m honored to meet you.”

Margaret Hamblin was big news thanks to her boyfriend, a seaman from New Bedford who’d been found on a life raft in the middle of the ocean. His unarmed freighter was bombed by a Nazi submarine and he’d bobbed along for thirty-two days before rescue.

Several started out on the raft, but expeditiously met their gruesome ends. The man’s best mate, driven to lunacy by the cold and exposure, threw their food overboard before hurling himself into the deep blue. The only thing that survived, other than the man, was a picture of Margaret Hamblin.

“What a love story!” Ruby cried when she heard about it over a hand of bridge at the casino.

“I can’t believe his ‘girlfriend’ is thirty-five” had been Mary’s generous response.

It was bonkers, this war. Margaret’s beau wasn’t even a serviceman but they tried to sink him all the same.

“I’m so sorry about your Jules,” Ruby said. “And what he endured. But I’m thrilled he’s home where he belongs.”

“I didn’t realize news had traveled quite that far,” Margaret said, eyes jumping toward Cliff House.

“Uh, er…” Ruby stuttered.

“In any case, thank you for your kind words.”

“Well, I’ll let you two be,” Ruby said quickly, the air suddenly changed around them. “Nice to run into you both.”

Ruby flipped around and cut a path toward Cliff House. She glanced back once more to see the girls link arms. Thoughts of Hattie hit her in the chest with a pain that was sharp and real. Ruby reached into the pocket of her dress to feel for the letter. No need to dump it just yet. She’d find a way to keep it from Mary’s prying eyes.

August 23, 1942

Dear Rubes,

Oh you silly billy goat!

Don’t let Mary talk you into the blue moods about my being a career gal. Working for a living is hardly a chore given the men I work with. They’re all here. The ballplayers on the field, the serious types back at the paper, and, yes, the married ones, too. Don’t fuss! I steer clear of those fellas, despite their efforts. I have their number and the bid is not high enough. All that to say, the war hasn’t stolen all the men.

Ruby love, I might be a ways from having a ring on my finger (thank God!) but don’t fret about me dying from old maidism just yet. I’m not going to end up like the dame from the life raft, or however that convoluted story went. Gotta say I didn’t follow you all the way down that road but I think I sorta got the gist.

So tell me all about the island! I’m crushed that I didn’t get out this year. Never mind Dad’s old cottage, it’s Cliff House that I miss! There’s no place like Sconset on the whole damned planet. I would know. I’ve been to a country or twelve. Ha! I imagine it’s different with the boys gone but, let’s be honest, it’s the gals who keep things going.