Hattie. Now, she would know what to make of it. Hell, Hattie was probably peeping over his shoulder when the Rolleiflex went click. The thought made Ruby brighten, for a spell.
“I need to tell you something,” Mary said as they pulled back the living room drapes. “With Philip away, I’ve struggled with my place in this world. Who am I? What am I contributing? I’m not a mom. I’m barely a wife with him gone. And, so … well, there’s no easy way to say this, but I’ve applied to nursing school.”
Ruby’s eyes bugged. She whipped around to face her sister-in-law.
“Nursing school?” she gasped.
“Yes. Down Washington way. This war looks to be long and I can do more. The government is subsidizing schools now, helping to fast-track the training. I could be with the army inside of two years.”
“The army? You mean like P.J.? You’ve designs of joining him on the front? Mary, I understand you want to be together, I feel the same way about Sam, but you can’t just—”
“No, no, no,” Mary said. “This isn’t about Philip. It’s about me. And anyway the official posting would be with the Red Cross. If I’m accepted overseas, I’d be sworn into the army.”
“Wow … uh … that’s swell, Mare,” Ruby said, somewhat disingenuously.
It was preposterous to envision Mary shipping out. There were already enough of them headed “overseas,” thank you. Not to mention, what soldier wanted to wake up from being shot with the grim reaper incarnate hovering above his bed?
“You’d make a keen nurse,” Ruby guessed, to be nice.
She really wouldn’t go, would she? The idea seemed fanciful, at best.
“I haven’t decided for certain,” Mary said. “It’d be a big change and I’d hate leaving you alone.”
“Don’t worry about little old me…”
“And I still have to be accepted. But if I do leave, I’d like to recommend you to replace me as air warden.”
Ruby gave a small chortle. Oh dear Mary. The passing of her most cherished baton. It would never happen. Mary was all talk. Not too long ago, she was brooding around Cliff House, pregnant with an invisible baby.
“Sure, sounds like a gas,” Ruby said, and breezed out into the entryway.
“Good gravy, here we go again,” Mary called. “Ruby, you need to get serious. I can’t entrust you with this important position if you won’t commit with your whole heart!”
Shaking her head, Ruby flicked on the lights of the foyer’s three-hundred-pound lantern. She’d never fully get on Mary’s good side, would she? Not that Ruby was much for trying.
As Mary squawked on, Ruby lifted the blackout shades. The windows were gorgeous in that room, a damned shame to have such glum housewares hooked on to them.
“Ruby, are you listening?” Mary yelled.
“Sure, sure,” she mumbled.
Ruby hiked up the final shade. She turned and glanced out the windows flanking the front door. At once she spotted an arc of red over the privet hedge, the color gleaming and recognizable even in that dusky light. It was the hood of a brand-spanking-new Packard Clipper, custom edition, bought before it was no longer fashionable to spend money in such ways.
“Daddy!” she hollered, scrambling to unlock the door. “Mary! He’s here!”
Without thinking, without a single notion that there could be bad news (Pay attention, Ruby! We’re at war!), she heaved open the door and broke into a full-bore sprint, losing one shoe along the way.
“Daddy!” she yelled just as he was walking through the arbored gate.
Ruby leapt at him and wrapped both arms around his neck.
“It’s so great to see you!” she said. “You look fantastic! Not sick at all!”
Wishful thinking, yes, but he did look all right. Daddy had always been reedy and pale, bowed one way or another. He was a scientist, for Pete’s sake. Those types didn’t come in brawny and tanned. He’d grown a tad blobsy around the middle, but who didn’t at age fifty-two?
“Oh, petal,” Daddy said, giving Ruby a squeeze before dropping her to the ground. “More beautiful by the day. This grandchild of mine has lit you from within.”
Ruby peered up at the man, to beam in thanks, not to mention ask how long he planned to stay and was Mother in the car. She’d been a real grump lately, by the by. Ruby hadn’t wanted to speak ill of her mom, but facts were facts, and there you go.
“Daddy…” she started.
And then she noticed the tears, the red-rimmed eyes.
“Holy Mother of God!” Ruby jumped back, waiting to be growled at for her salty mouth.
But Daddy did no such thing.
“It’s Topper, isn’t it?” she said, voice shaking.
Because of course it would be Topper. Dashing, handsome, reckless Robert Young. The brightest lights burned out quickest.
“No, my petal. It’s not Topper. He’s fine. Training, same as always.”
“P.J.?” Ruby glanced over her shoulder to see Mary standing in the doorway.
“No, P.J. is…”
“Sam?!” Ruby cried.
It hadn’t occurred to her, it truly hadn’t.
“No, no. They are all fine,” Daddy said, rubbing Ruby’s arm.
“Oh praise God,” she said, sending a hundred little thanks up to the heavens.
“Christ, Ruby. It kills me to do this to you. But … it’s your mom.”
“Regarding Mother, do you know she’s only been out once this summer? The excuse is that she’s taking care of you. But you look wonderful! I mean it. Once, Daddy! She’s come out once! And I’m left to run Cliff House myself.” Ruby gave another compulsory peek over her shoulder. “With Mary, but you know how she is.”
She griped on because Daddy had more to say and Ruby straight didn’t want to hear it.
“Ruby…” he said, several times, trying to stop this train. “Ruby…”
“Mother had better help close the house because I’m getting larger and less nimble by the day. I’m already past the halfway mark.”
“Petal, I’m sorry. I hate to be the one to say this, but your mother. She’s gone.”
Gone. No. Whatever those words were. No. It would never happen like that.
“You’re lying,” Ruby said, though Daddy never did.
It could not be true. The powerful, indelible Sarah Young would not be “gone” without some seismic shift rumbling them all. “Gone” like the fog, or your ration of sugar. No, Mother was not something that could vanish while you weren’t keeping track.
“That’s not … it can’t be…”
Ruby was nearly blinded by the tears filling her eyes. She felt Mary walk up behind her.
“Papa Young?” Mary said. “What is it?”
“My Sarah is gone,” he answered, now crying himself.
Ruby’s heart shattered a million times over.
“That can’t be!” she said. “Mother’s not even sick. She’s healthy as a horse.”
“It took everyone by surprise. The doctors, me, friends in Boston.”
“Friends in Boston?!” Ruby yelped. “They knew and we didn’t?”
“It all happened so fast. She was sick and before we could tell you, she was gone. I didn’t think … we thought … I guess, when you get right down to it, we thought we had more time than we actually did. Ten years or ninety-nine. It’s simply never enough.”
43
The Book of Summer
Philip E. Young
August 31, 1942