The Book of Summer

Cissy Codman just cried “uncle.” Bess never expected to see the day.

Everyone is quiet for a moment, no sound but the howling wind and little pieces of shell clicking against the windows. Cissy looks tired. Her eyes are sort of drifting, lolling about in her head.

“I’m sorry,” Bess says at last. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save the house.”

“Me, too,” Evan says, his voice hoarse.

“But you know what, Cis?” Bess feigns some spunk. “This will be fun!”

She walks a few paces forward and takes a seat at the end of Cissy’s chaise. Meanwhile, Evan inches closer to the door. Emotional women, a deadly house. There’s no decent way for this to end. And so Bess gives him a small wave, followed by a nod that says, Feel free to leave, we’ll talk later.

“We’ll have a grand time finding a new place,” Bess says. “How about Tom Nevers? Or Polpis? I’ve always liked how quiet it is up there, sort of like Sconset. But you really can’t beat the restaurants in town. Think of the meetings you could crash if you were only blocks away. And your charities! You haven’t done anything for the Home for Aged Sailors in forever.”

Bess looks up at Evan, who is partway through the door. Talk about moving a damned house. Cissy is her very own residence, a proper institution. And she was complaining about Cliff House being too large?

“I’m not leaving,” Cissy says.

“Oh, for cripe’s sake. We’ve lost a foot of bluff, at least, since yesterday. Frankly, I’m not staying here another night.”

“Thank God,” Evan mutters.

“We have to leave,” Bess says again. “And I get it. This has been your home, our family’s home, for all this time. It can’t be easy to pack it in. I’m sad about it, too. But loss is part of life.”

Bess wonders if Cissy’s reluctance to leave is also about Chappy, who’s lived across the street for sixty years. It must be, Bess decides. Because though he’s never lived there, Chappy is part of Cliff House, too.

“It’s fine to give yourself time to mourn,” Bess continues. “We won’t buy anything right away. You can stay at Tea Time, peruse the listings, and drive local Realtors bonkers with your crazy demands. When you’re ready to pull the trigger, boom.” Bess claps. “I’ll be on the first flight out to help you consummate the deal.”

“I’m not buying a new house.”

“Mother!” Bess yells at the sky.

It’s as if she’s stubbed her toe and wants to scream “fuck!” a million times until the agony goes away.

“Just buy a new friggin’ house!”

“I can’t,” Cissy says. “Because the money is gone.”

“Excuse me?” Bess drops her head back down and gawks at her mother.

Poor Evan is stuck in the doorway, coming and going at the same time.

“You heard me,” Cissy says with a sniff. She takes a sip of her drink.

“Your money is gone? I thought you had, like … millions or something?”

“Saving a bluff is no easy task,” she says. “And not a cheap one either. I poured every last dollar of my grandfather’s, and my father’s, into the SBPF.”

“Shit. Does Dad know?”

“Why would it be any of his business?” Cissy snaps. “That’s my money.”

Bess hears the door click. She looks up to see Evan still on the patio, in the wind and rain. He has officially picked a side.

“How’d you fritter away that much?” Bess asks.

“‘Fritter’? You make it sound like I spent it all on wine and fancy jeans. Elisabeth. Who do you think is paying for the various studies and commissions? The geotubes that are being installed next month?”

“Aren’t a lot of people contributing?” Bess says. “The city? The state?”

“All of those gave something. But I gave everything I had.”

“God,” Bess says.

Cissy gave it all she had indeed.

“I do have some money,” she says. “I’m not a complete moron and I like to eat and buy clothes on occasion.”

This last part is news, Bess thinks wryly. As far as she can tell, Cissy’s been wearing the same uniform for half a century. Maybe Red Sox baseball caps have a quicker replacement cycle than one might expect.

“All that aside, I definitely can’t afford to buy on Nantucket,” Cissy says. “When did everyone get so rich?”

“Wow. You are a local after all,” Evan murmurs.

“Cissy! Stop acting so cavalier!”

“Don’t panic, Bess. You won’t have to take care of me in my old age. I have enough to last me until I’m dead. It’s not so far away.”

“That’s not what I’m panicked about,” Bess says. “What about Dad? His firm seems to be doing, like, grossly well. His partner’s wife bought a house in Vail without asking. I’m sure Dad has plenty of cash lying around, too.”

“I’d never ask that of your father. I put my money where my heart is. It’s not his fault.”

“I get that. And I respect it, too. But you’re entitled to half of the Boston house! That could easily buy you a nice place here.”

“No, Bess.” Cissy sighs. “I’m not going to make your father sell his home.”

“He wouldn’t even need to sell it! I’m sure he has fifty percent of its value in ‘liquid assets’ somewhere. Isn’t that what people like him call cash?”

“No, Bess,” Cissy says again. “I’m not taking money from your dad.”

“Fine.”

Bess is pretending to agree but knows exactly what she’ll demand from old Dudley Codman the minute she sees him at the airport. Their marriage might be strained, or nonexistent, but he’ll give his whatever-wife something fair. Dudley-do-right or Dudley-do-the-bare-minimum. He’s not the warmest man but neither is he a bastard.

“Well, I can chip in,” Bess suggests.

“Didn’t that gigolo you married take all your money?”

“I suppose he did,” she says with a bitter laugh. “What about Clay? He makes, like, embezzler-level cash.”

“I’m not taking my son’s money, either. No, Bessie. This is where we leave it. The last home I’ll ever own. And as for Cliff House”—she takes another sip of her drink—“I’m going down with the ship.”

“What?!”

A blood vessel pops somewhere near Bess’s right temple.

“I’m not leaving this house,” Cissy says, “until they drag my dead, crinkled ass out of it.”

“You’re acting like a lunatic,” Bess says, jumping up and down, literally hopping mad. “What do you mean they?”

So it isn’t iced tea in her glass after all. Bess glances at Evan, whose eyes are wide like windows.

“The coroners,” Cissy says. “Or the geologists if they have to pick me out of the rocks and rubble.”

“Jesus Christ! Cissy!” She turns to Evan. “Can you believe this?”

“I cannot…”

“So you’re going to what?” Bess says. “Sit on this patio and wait to die? That’s a spectacular plan for an otherwise healthy woman. Physically healthy, that is.”

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