“I dunno.” Evan shrugs. “I get the sense she might’ve understood. Don’t you think she’d want her daughter happy, if nothing else?”
“No, absolutely not,” Bess says. “I mean, yes, she’d want Cissy to be happy in general but not in an Oprah ‘follow your bliss’ kind of way. Grandma Ruby was a make-your-bed-and-lie-in-it type. I’m imagining strongly worded letters sent from the afterlife. On linen stationery.”
“I guess we’ll never know.”
Evan slaps his hands together and stands.
“I hate to break up the party,” he says. “But I must go. Lacrosse practice is in an hour and I haven’t been home yet.”
“Practice? Weren’t they just playing in a tournament?”
“If they were still in the tournament, I wouldn’t need to make them practice,” Evan says with a wink.
“Wow.” Bess laughs, melting toward him already.
She tried to be angry. She really gave it her all.
“You’re quite the hard-ass,” she says. “Isn’t it raining?”
“Cissy’s right, you are a Californian,” he says and snorts. “They wanted to practice, so I agreed to a quick one for fun. Then I’m having them over for dinner and a movie.”
“At your house? I wouldn’t let my kid go to that at all,” Bess says. “Hey everyone! Coach is hosting a sleepover! He doesn’t have a son on the team but no big deal! Pretty sure you can get arrested for that.”
“It’s a barbecue, not a sleepover,” he says. “And the parents are invited. I’m actually good friends with many of them.”
“Smart cover.”
Evan gives a brisk laugh and then surprises Bess by pulling her into a snug hold. As she breathes him in, Bess warns herself to be careful. The feelings coursing through her will not do at all. And so she wiggles free.
“Thanks for stopping by,” she says, eyes sweeping the room. “And somehow convincing me that I shouldn’t be mad at you. As for Cissy, my fury endures.”
“I can live with that. Should I come over tomorrow?” he asks as they return to the foyer. “To pack?”
“I don’t know why you’d want to, but sure. I need help and it’s probably better if there’s a buffer between Cissy and me so I don’t strangle her.”
“Where is she, anyway?” Evan asks.
“Stalking engineers? Screwing your dad?”
Evan opens the door.
“There are worse things in this world,” he says, “than the romance of a couple of fogies.”
“Like my situation?”
He frowns.
“That’s not what I meant at all.”
“I know,” she says, and waves him away.
Evan gives her another hug—perfunctory this time. After exchanging good-byes, he steps onto the drive. Then he stops. He pauses before flipping back around.
“Bess…” he says, digging around in his pocket as he makes his way back to her. “I need to give you something.”
From his wallet, Evan removes a piece of paper.
“A receipt?” Bess says, the only thing she can fathom.
“I have a confession.”
“Uh-oh. You know what? That’s okay. I’ve had enough revelations for one day.”
“I remember what I wrote,” Evan says, pressing on, even as Bess inches away from him. “In the book, on the day of your wedding.”
“You remember? All these years later? How?”
Evan nods toward the scrap now in her hand.
“Because I’ve kept it in my wallet ever since,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t. Then as I was thinking about the move, and your divorce, and everything you’re going through, I decided that you should have it. It is yours, after all.”
Evan bites down on his lip and then lightly pats Bess on the shoulder.
“Good-bye, Bess.” He backs away from her. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise to have you out of Cliff House within the week.”
47
The Book of Summer
Evan Mayhew
August 15, 2008
Cliff House, on Elisabeth Codman’s Wedding Day
Dear Bess,
It’s 6:30 a.m. Dad and I are here, helping Cissy set up the stuff she doesn’t trust to others. You’re getting married today.
Way back a hundred years ago, I heard a rumor that you’d gone to Boston College to be near me. It only made sense because you’d been accepted at Yale and Dartmouth and a bunch of other schools besides. I hoped what they said was true. Until I realized that’s not what I wanted at all.
I knew you’d break my heart. A Nantucketer might be okay on-island, hardy and handy and such, but as my dad said, you’d acquire a new taste going to school in “America.”
So to save you from yourself, I went to Costa Rica, my education not in degrees but in building homes. I knew I’d fare okay in a remote outpost, having grown up in one myself. In Costa Rica I fell in love with a country and a girl. She was a great woman, one I picked because she resembled you in appearance but acted the opposite in fact. Turns out temperamental is not so fun. I like things calmer, a bit more low-key. It did not work out. Not that I ever thought it would.
The Costa Rican adventure wasn’t a total waste. I became a good surfer, a decent chef, and a reputable builder of houses for wealthy Texans and Californians and people on the lam. It was all enough, for a while. But eventually the pull of Nantucket was too strong.
The night I returned, I had dinner with Dad and Cissy at the Summer House. Over Caesar salad, Cissy told me that you had a serious beau, a techie type with an MBA. A good American, just like Dad predicted.
“Sounds about right,” I said nonchalantly.
According to my dad, I was not at all nonchalant and instead acted like a “pouty brat” for the rest of the meal. Meanwhile, Cissy chattered on about this or that, filling the silence as she loves to do. Whenever you’re in town, I miss having her at our table. For a guy whose own mother went island-crazy and bailed before he could walk, Cissy’s as close to a mom as I’m ever gonna get. A decade of Cis. Not a bad second prize.
Anyway, back to the MBA. You’re marrying him.Today. And as sure as the fog will roll into Sconset, you are settling for this guy. I’ve met him once, though have seen him snaking around more times than that. As far as I can tell, he’s a Grade-A douche. I’ve known a lot of douchebags, was one myself for a time, so I have some expertise. I’m sure he has a sweet résumé and a killer paycheck and those teeth could not be whiter or straighter. But like his teeth it’s all veneers, whereas you’re the real deal.
It kills me because the whole reason I went to a foreign land was to make sure you didn’t settle for a chump like me. If I’d known this was going to happen I would’ve stayed. I would’ve loved to have been the person you settled for.
I tried to talk to you last night at the rehearsal dinner. Listen, I planned to say, scrap all this. Your friends won’t care. Cissy won’t care, though you might have to help break down the “set,” as she calls it.