“Yes, sir. Should be en route, aboard some newfangled vessel. They christened it with champagne and everything. The finest ship ever built, or so they claim. It’d better be anyway.”
Funny how Ruby once regarded a ship as safer than a tank or plane. Meanwhile, the papers contained a never-ending barrage of reports about shot-up and sunken battleships. Ruby never considered that on a boat you could get pummeled from the water, shore, and sky.
“The latest and greatest is the right spot for our Sam,” Daddy said. “Of course it’ll be impossible to completely relax until they’re all home.”
Ruby sighed. Daddy was making her feel worse, the poor lug. Mother said half his sweetness was in his scientific nature, the very black-and-white of him. He never knew the right thing to say, which was aggravating but made him real and true.
“Yes,” Ruby said. “Peace seems very far away.”
As Daddy turned her around, Ruby caught sight of a military man standing at the edge of the dance floor. He was in a blue coat and black pants, his golden belt and buttons sparkling in the ballroom lights. With his cropped black hair and regal air, Ruby had to catch herself. For a second, she thought it was Sam, even though he would’ve been togged out head to toe in blue.
“Daddy, who’s that fellow?” Ruby asked.
The man was strange, but not a stranger, which made it odder still. He was an army man, judging from the garb.
“What’s that?” Daddy said.
“Who’s that man?” she asked again. “That officer?”
As Ruby continued to stare, her brain buzzed. The stranger offered a small wave.
“Why, it’s Topper’s friend!” Daddy said. “That Nick fellow, from college. Come on, let’s go say hello.”
*
“Nick Cabot, you old devil,” Daddy said, shaking Nick’s hand with vigor, or at least as much vigor as he could muster. “Good to see you, sport. What brings you to the island?”
“Here to visit some friends before I ship out,” Nick said, holding his hat against his heart. “I hoped to see Topper but haven’t heard from him in a while. Hello there, Ruby. You look beautiful as always.”
“Thanks,” she said with a sniff, trying to work out why he made her so goosey.
What was it he’d said about Hattie? There’s simply nothing to her. He called her an egoist—a would-be hedonist, too. As the memories came into full view, Ruby gave Nick the old side-eye and a little harrumph.
“Topper, he’s…?” Nick winced. “He’s okay, right?”
“Far as we know,” Daddy said. “The boy’s still training in Arizona. Sorry he’s been silent but don’t take it personal. Ruby’s the only one he regularly keeps up with. I go to her for all the nitty-gritty. Anyhow, I’ll leave you two for a catch-up. I need to step outside.”
Ruby studied him. Daddy looked peaky. His face was shiny, dribbles of sweat collecting above his brows. It wasn’t even warm that night. A certain fear poked Ruby, sharp in her stomach.
“So, Ruby,” Nick said, and forced a grin. “You look swell.”
“Yes, you mentioned that,” she grumbled.
Nick gave her a perplexed squint. He was handsome, rich, and famously lettered in every sport available at every school he’d attended. For Mr. Cabot it was probably a major twist that a gal wouldn’t devour his flattery.
“I heard about your mother,” Nick said. “I’m so very sorry. She was a gem.”
Ruby smiled wanly and clutched her stomach. The man was giving her fits. Even her body knew the guy was shady as a cedar grove. Either that or her new girdle was screwy. It was at once too tight, or her bladder too full. This pregnancy devilry was nuts, her body changing by the hour.
Suddenly something trickled out of Ruby. Dear God. She’d been warned by women who knew, but it seemed far too early to be wetting her drawers.
After hastily excusing herself from Nick Cabot’s questionable company, Ruby hustled toward the ladies’ and hitched her panty girdle down. At once she wailed in pain, though dull cramps were the only physical sensation. This pain was from her heart, her hopes, and her dreams. The pain was from seeing her underwear’s confident, innocent, white satin sheen completely doused in blood.
*
He was going to be named Robert. They planned to call him Bobby.
Ruby telegrammed Sam but for the longest time did not hear back. At first she feared the worst because this was war and the worst was surely to come. Finally, Sam answered back with one word. HEARTBROKEN.
The dreams that would never come.
45
Saturday Morning
Bess wakes up at four o’clock in the morning. She assumes that the quirks of pregnancy (indigestion, sharp pains under the rib cage) have jostled her to attention, but in fact it’s all the clashing and thumping going on down the hall. Cissy, of course.
Another reason she can’t have a baby. What example does she have? Bess loves that crazy woman, but sometimes she fantasizes about one of those regular homemaking, cookie-baking moms. Really though, Bess doesn’t care about sweets. She’d settle for someone not risking her life for a house, someone not knocking about in the dead of night doing Lord knows what.
Bess turns onto her left side. She lies there for several uncomfortable minutes before turning onto her right. When that doesn’t work, she flips faceup but then remembers that pregnant women aren’t supposed to sleep on their backs. Then again, does it matter?
All spun up into a wired-exhausted state by 4:42, Bess lurches out of bed. After grabbing a robe off the pink bureau, Bess wraps it around herself with a double knot and patters out into the hallway. She’s surprised to find it dead dark, all the way down to Cissy’s room. The thumping has disappeared; the only sound is that of the waves breaking beyond.
Was Bess imagining things? Jacking up the volume on the home’s creaks and cracks?
Suddenly she hears the front door whoosh open and then slam shut. It’s not even five o’clock in the morning and the old bat is already out of her lair. Bess runs to the round window in the hall, a window now partially blocked by Cissy’s ill-conceived secondary flagpole.
“Damn it, Cissy,” Bess grouses with a laugh.
Although the view is obstructed, Bess has a clear shot of Baxter Road, and one Mrs. Caroline Codman scuttling across it like a blond crab. And what do you know, she’s headed straight toward Chappy Mayhew’s.
Bess inhales, holding the breath behind her chest until her raging heartburn intervenes and she’s forced to let go. What is Cissy doing? Breaking and/or entering? Damaging property? Every possibility seems farfetched yet likely at the same time. This is how it goes with the woman, a respected town doyenne and shooter-of-Kennedys both.
Bess turns away from the window and jogs back to her room. When she fishes her phone from the depths of a Young Family Reunion windbreaker, Bess sees an unread text. It’s from Evan, time-stamped 10:33.
Hey—Just got your text. Wish I could’ve gone to party but at LAX tourney on the cape. Keeping phone off as a good example to kids. Hope you had fun. Talk Sunday.