Page 95 of The Book of Summer

Well, my dear, off I must go. Come and visit me in the city, won’t you? I know driving with gas is a no-go and every train is filled with servicemen. But you could charm any soldier off his seat. They’d be G-eyeing you left and right.

In the meantime, take care of that bean inside your tum. If it’s a girl, you shall name her Harriet. If it’s a boy, Harriet would suit, too. Simply call him Harry.

Farewell sweet Ruby—until next time.

Love and kisses,

H.R.

***

For a Saturday evening, Cliff House was unsettlingly empty.

Mary was off doing this or that with the Red Cross. She’d graduated from rolling bandages and was now permitted to dicker with actual human flesh. Hard evidence that these were desperate times.

Mother remained in Boston, the “not feeling well” number playing once more. The quintessential repeat show, a maddening encore. Sure as sugar (or not, since it was rationed), she stayed to look after Daddy, though she claimed he was doing swell. Mother always took his weaknesses as hers to bear. Ruby supposed that’s what a good woman did.

“Do I need to come see him?” Ruby asked one week before.

To say good-bye,she was too terrified to add.

“No!” Mother yowled, quite snippy for her. “We’re not there yet. I’ll let you know when it’s time. Don’t stew, darling. Your father is a stubborn old mule. You stay put and look after my grandchild. I don’t want you traveling about.”

So with Mary and Mother gone, not to mention the permanent absence of Hattie, Ruby was bored right out of her noggin. She’d already played four sets of tennis that day and tried to chat up Miss Mayhew to little success. And wouldn’t you know? Now she needed a smoke and was flat out of cigs.

Ruby checked her cigarette case and her two-in-one as well. She surveyed drawers and cupboards galore, not to mention Mary’s way station for “Bundles for Bluejackets.” The servicemen care packages included cigs but nary a spare could be found. Mary would never be so sloppy, which left one more option for snaffling some smokes: Topper’s room. He wasn’t the kind to let a butt go unused but he could be slovenly as hell.

Topper last visited Cliff House in April—over four months ago—and not body nor soul had entered his room since. When Ruby turned the knob, the door opened with a groan. She stepped gingerly on through, as if in a museum.

Glancing around at the trophies and flags and books, too many Hardy Boys to count, Ruby could almost kid herself that he’d be back soon. Except the room was too neat, too tidied and final.

With a sigh, Ruby approached his desk, which was un-Topper clean, no stray papers, golf pencils, or ball caps. No cigs either, as her luck would go. Ruby glanced up at the large crimson Harvard flag overhead.

“Come on, Topper,” she said. “Help out your big sis.”

Ruby jimmied open a drawer. Tops would flip his wig if he saw her mousing around like that but she needed a smoke and it didn’t seem like her brother’s room anymore. Or so Ruby told herself to make the situation square.

The drawers themselves were far more Topper, thank the stars. They were cluttered and jammed to the gills, a bit of him left after all. There had to be at least one loose cig somewhere.

In the bottom drawer, Ruby uncovered a stack of pictures. They featured family, mostly, though she found some friends, too. As she flicked through them, Ruby smiled. She imagined her baby brother fopping about, that camera jangling from his neck. Tops was a dang good photographer for a hobbyist. He should’ve gone to war forthatand stayed behind the lines, shooting a camera instead of a gun.

Among the bundle were several of Hattie, Topper having expertly captured her beauty and light. She was at the beach in one, looking as though she were floating and not walking along.

Another was up close of Hattie’s face, seconds after she stepped out of the ocean, saltwater glittering between her lashes. Ruby got the puzzling notion that Topper was the reason Hattie hadn’t come out this season. Perhaps deep down it was him, not Ruby, who was last summer’s featured star.

Gummed up with nostalgia and love, for Hattie and Topper and the other familiar faces, Ruby wormed her way to the bottom of the drawer. Then, something caught her eye. A photograph. Something… strange. And a few more just like it. Heart floundering, Ruby studied them, her mind unable to piece together any semblance of sense.

“Ruby!” shouted a voice, followed by the thumping of feet. “Ruby! Where are you?!”

It took Ruby a minute to realize the sound was not in her head.

“Mary?” she said, confused.

Ruby peeked out into the hallway, where she saw Mary stampeding her way. She had on her full warden outfit, white helmet, black armband, and all.

Suddenly, an alarm began to sound.

“There you are!” Mary said.