“But if they don’t do something to bolster the bluff,” Cissy continues, ignoring Bess for the sake of her own argument, “and the utilities become inaccessible, then Nantucket will have to acquire new land to rebuild the infrastructure. The cost would far exceed anything spent on erosion remedies. And my staying here only strengthens this case. What do you mean you’re going to deprive the old granny at Baxter Road number one-oh-one of heating and water?”
“Jesus,” Bess says again, hot with frustration. “No one’s going to buy the old-lady routine. And I don’t see them changing their views on the seawall.”
Bess contemplates some sort of tantrum, but knows it won’t do a lick of good. Too bad Lala isn’t with them. Julia Codman can move mountains—aka their mother—with one appropriately timed fit. Ah, little sisters.
“And it was voted down for multiple reasons,” Bess says. “Cost aside. So what do you propose the town do in lieu of buying the land and rebuilding everything, because…”
“Geotubes!” Cissy trills, then spins back out of the room.
“What?” Bess calls, her voice echoing down the hall. She can almost see the smoke coming off of Cissy’s heels as she hightails it into the powder room. “What the hell are geotubes? It sounds like a way to feed a pet on life support.”
Cissy pokes her head back into the hallway.
“Geotubes, my dear girl, are the very things that will solve all our problems,” she says. “They’re what will save our beloved Cliff House.”
26
Wednesday Afternoon
“I realize this is aggressively ill-conceived,” Bess says, pedaling over rocks and debris. “But I didn’t know where else to go.”
As she loses her balance, Bess launches herself off the bike, pretending her plummet to the ground is by design. Evan stares at her and she blushes. Bess is an insecure cyclist, a sad state for even a part-time Nantucketer.
“Geez, when did Sconset get so busy?” she says, babbling, as Evan tries to puzzle out why she’s there and how come she can’t ride a bike. “It’s almost as bad as in town. Is there a single road on this island that isn’t packed with cars?”
Evan continues to say nothing.
“So, tell me, is this the biggest intrusion possible?” Bess drops her bike into the dirt. Good riddance. “Am I going to get you fired? Or are you basically in charge?”
Bess stops the runaway train that is her mouth and studies Evan’s face. He stands still before her: oh so tall, oh so handsome, and oh so smirky as he tries to find a plausible excuse for her presence.
“So that’s a yes?” Bess says. “Noted. And yet I remain undeterred.”
He’s probably thinking about Brandon and the hookers, isn’t he? Damn it, why’d she tell him? There was no good reason, only bad potential outcomes.
“Anyhow, I’ll see you—”
“It’s not an intrusion,” Evan answers at last. “I’m the boss and, as you can see, the guys are gone so we’re done for the day. Thus, despite your best efforts, you’re not a pain in the ass.”
“Thanks a heap. And, by the by, you could’ve told me that five minutes ago, and saved me all the jabbering.”
“I’ve learned to let the women in your family get everything out first. Helps a fella find his bearings, know what he’s dealing with.”
“The women in my family?” Bess rolls her eyes. “Don’t throw me in with Cissy, please. Grandma Ruby I’ll take. So, do you have a minute?”
“For you I have lots of minutes.” Evan nods toward his truck. “Wanna help me load up? I can compensate you with cold beer.”
“Sure, why not? I’ve spent my entire day moving crap. I’m already in the groove.”
Bess leans down for the industrial fan on the ground beside Evan. After hoisting it up onto her right hip, she follows him toward the oversize silver truck parked at the bottom of the drive.
“So what’s Cissy up to this time?” Evan asks, unlatching his tool belt.
“Refusing to budge,” Bess responds as she grits her teeth.
This fan is a heavier load than she should’ve taken on.
“Not budging,” Evan repeats. “Hasn’t that been her deal all along?”
“Sadly, yes.” Bess moves the fan from her right hip to her left. “But it’s different this time because she promised to leave after the vote and then the vote happened and—surprise!—no move.”
“Is it really a surprise, though?” Evan asks, catching Bess’s eyes over his shoulder.
“You don’t understand. She’s gone beyond general, Cissy Codman, run-of-the-mill hardheadedness.”
“I presume the two of you have discussed the hazards of staying,” Evan says, and tosses his tools into the flatbed of his truck.
“Yes, we’ve reviewed the likelihood of death and/or dismemberment. But Cis claims that come Memorial Day every house on her stretch of road will have cars in front of it. Two doors down there’s only a dining room left and apparently the entire family camps out there, like soldiers, all summer long.”
“A convincing argument,” Evan jokes.
“No kidding. She won’t listen to me at all.” She drops the fan. “I don’t even know what’s happening in her head anymore. This morning she mumbled something about geotubes and then went for a jog. I mean, God!”
Bess pounds at the side of his truck.
“Oops.” She pats the car. “Sorry.”
“I’ll bill ya for that later,” he says with wink.
Evan lunges into the truck bed and then pulls Bess up behind him. He clears a place for her atop a lumpy gray bag.
As Bess settles onto the makeshift seat, she presses her hands along the bag, which is weighted down by … something. The whole deal is reminiscent of a body bag. Not that Bess has ever seen one in person. Not yet anyway.
“Lacrosse equipment,” Evan says to Bess’s quizzical face. “I’m coaching some rug rats in town.”
“Oh. Cute.”
Evan pops open a small, red cooler and hands her a beer.
“So lay it on me,” he says. “Tell me the gory details.”
“I’m at such a loss. Cissy’s the official problem child of the family but up until now it’s been fun, part of the gag, the wonky fabric in our family quilt. She’s always been reasonable, in the end, but the reasonableness ship has sailed. It’s crashed, actually. Lost at sea. Meanwhile the rest of my family is useless. Christ.” Bess exhales. “What even is a geotube?”
“It’s essentially a large, sand-filled jute bag that looks like a burrito.”
“Another erosion-control measure?” she asks. “Just like the oh-so-successful seawall?”
“Yep, though geotubes are supposedly better because, unlike concrete or stone, the sand is compatible with the existing beach. They say it’s less detrimental to the downdraft beaches, too, and, best of all, isn’t an eyesore like a hard armor structure would be.” Evan sighs. “It’s what your mother would argue, in any case.”
“She would argue that, wouldn’t she?” Bess says. “I can see why she’d be excited about geotubes, in theory, but let’s be real. Isn’t it too late for Cliff House?”
Evan nods sadly.
“I’m afraid it is.”
“I don’t get it,” Bess says, picking at the label of her Grey Lady Ale. “Cissy’s no dummy. She must know Baxter Road is history. Why can’t she just cut her losses and leave? She’s always blathering on about good New England sensibility. This isn’t sensible at all.”
“Come on, Lizzy C. Cliff House has been in your family for generations. It’s not just a house. It’s a lifetime.”