The Book of Summer

“There’s so much that was terrifying,” Sam said, speaking more to himself than to his wife. “Beyond words.”

Ruby nodded. Beyond words, except where it went into print. The papers covered the action, in excruciating detail, as much as they could give. For example, Ruby learned that last fall, U.S. naval forces had been creamed in the South Pacific. The Japs destroyed a dozen ships and took people hostage left and right. Sam’s own vessel was involved but they managed to keep it floating.

This was the abbreviated tale, pasted together by Daddy, a summarized kid’s version, if you please, as Ruby couldn’t bear to read the reports herself. She’d stick with Hattie’s black-market investigations and box scores for now. Let Daddy give her the need-to-know.

“Sweetheart,” Ruby said, and took both of Sam’s hands in hers. “It must’ve been horrific.”

“It was, but even so, I miss it.” Sam shook his head and bit back his tears. “Damn it, I miss the ship and the routine and the…”

He couldn’t finish, the tears now hot and angry in his eyes.

“I want to go back,” he said.

Ruby squinted at her husband. None of it seemed like a put-on, a ruse to keep the top brass happy. Ruby didn’t quite know what to make of the declaration, considering Sam’s state: in that bed and in that ward.

“It might sound off,” Sam went on. “But the most alive I’ve ever felt was on that ship.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally,” Ruby said, and attempted a terse chuckle. “And yes it does sound a little ‘off.’”

“What I mean is,” Sam said. “You see, I’ve never been filled with such drive and purpose, with such a deep sense of ‘this is where I’m meant to be.’ Don’t you have at least some pride in me because of it?”

Ruby dropped his hands and then picked them back up so as not to send the wrong message.

“I’m very proud of you,” she said. “But I’d rather you be home.”

“I don’t want to go home. Not yet. Please.” Sam stared at her, those rich brown peepers of his wet and imploring. “Tell me that you understand.”

“I’m … I’m not sure. I don’t know how to answer.”

“I want to go back.”

“You’ve made that very explicit,” Ruby said. “But how am I supposed to accept it? You going back to battle, this hospital, the events that led you here … You’ve asked me to understand but that’s asking a lot.”

“It is asking a lot. But Ruby, don’t think about here. Believe me. I won’t let that happen again. That … that was a onetime thing. A mistake. I promise, my love.”

Ruby found she was bobbing her head as he spoke.

“That’s my girl,” Sam said, snuffling. “I swear to you, I swear with everything that I have, everything I am, that I’ll never succumb to the vile urges that—”

“Sam, don’t.”

“Sometimes it’s easy to forget where you are,” he said, “when you’re on the other side of the world.”

Forget where he was? Didn’t Sam say it was the very spot he was meant to be? Ruby couldn’t help but think that none of this would’ve happened if she’d stayed pregnant, if she’d held on to that baby for the full ride. She was at least a little to blame.

“Well, Sam,” Ruby said, and cleared her throat.

She kissed him gently on the forehead and felt herself fortifying. The U.S. Needs Us Strong.

“If you truly want to stay in the navy,” she said, “then do what you need to. Just remember who’s waiting for you. Remember that together we still have a home.”

*

A heavy mist fell on Ruby as she booked it across Baxter Road. Once her feet hit the white-shelled drive, she turned and waved at Miss Mayhew. So nice of the girl to fetch her from the ferry landing. Miss Mayhew was a kind soul, not to mention sharp enough to understand that Ruby didn’t have options beyond the generosity of her former hired help.

Weekender bag dangling from her left arm, Ruby struggled to unlock the front door. It always jammed in this weather, dammit. Meanwhile, Ruby’s hair began to flatten as the rouge slid straight off her face. Not that her ’do and makeup weren’t already in a state. She’d been traveling for eons.

Once inside, Ruby tossed her bag onto the hall table and walked to the back of the home. She’d never fully closed it up last September. Good thing, too, as she spent four weeks of winter there, trying to survive her grief. Cliff House. It would save her every time.

In the kitchen, Ruby glanced outside to where the patio furniture was strewn about, looking sad and abandoned against the brightness of the flowers blooming in the yard. Mother had planted her garden with purpose: decking it out with bright pink clematis, plus rambler, portulaca, zinnias, and their island’s famous roses. In the old days, children cut flowers from their gardens and brought them to the flower stalls on Main Street to sell for ten cents a bunch. Ruby wondered if the tradition would ever resume, or if she and Topper would end up being the last children in that home.

How long did she plan to stay, precisely? An hour? A day? Ruby had her luggage, sure, but had worn most of her duds down south. To answer “how long,” Ruby needed to figure out what she was doing there in the first place.

Ruby canvassed the kitchen and its pantries. Everything was bare. She’d need food if she stayed on. As she pondered what she might pick up, Ruby’s eyes drifted toward the butler’s pantry. Something triggered inside of her.

With a turn in her stomach and a kick to the side, Ruby beelined it toward the famous Cliff House spiral stairs and took them two at a time, straight up into Topper’s bedroom. She launched the door open, heart thrashing in her chest. The room was untouched since his death, because of course it was. His death! Topper was dead! The sorrow clobbered Ruby all over again.

“Damn you, Topper,” she muttered, wiping her eyes. “You were supposed to be my brother forever.”

Would it always stay like this? Topper’s room? With its flags and trophies of boys waiting to make that play? Mother had boxed up Walter’s room lickety-split after he died, but who was going to deal with Topper? Ruby would never be fit for the task.

With a quick show of spit-shining a football trophy, not that there was a soul around to see, Ruby dropped to her knees and opened the bottom drawer of his desk.

The photographs were, no surprise, exactly where she’d left them. Ruby removed the stack and flicked past the ones of Hattie, two of Mother unawares, and on down to the bottom of the pile. And there they were, same as before. All those pretty boys.

This one, with eyelashes longer than the Nile, staring coyly at the lens.

That one, who Ruby suddenly realized was Nick Cabot himself. He was naked, or so it appeared as the frame showed only his bare torso, down to his hips, where his muscles were taut and defined and angled to some unspeakable place below.

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