Summer of '69(27)

Mrs. Bennie points to a handwritten note in the margin of Kirby’s résumé. Kirby spent hours on her sister’s Underwood typing and retyping until the thing was perfect, and yet someone has scribbled all over it. “It says here that you’re interested in a chambermaid position,” Mrs. Bennie says. “But I’m sorry to say, those jobs have all been taken. The Irish girls, you know, they get here in May.”

Kirby’s spirits fall. The Irish girls—like Miranda, Maureen, and Michaela on the second floor—arrived in May and snapped up all the jobs. If the cleaning jobs are gone, what will be left for her? Pumping gas? Bagging groceries?

“I wanted to get here earlier,” Kirby says. “But I had to finish up the semester.”

Mrs. Bennie raises her head and seems to see Kirby for the first time. “You’re a pretty girl,” she says. “And you have three years of college.” She leans over so that Kirby has a view of her matronly cleavage. “How would you feel about a position on the front desk?”

It’s too good to be true. Speechless, Kirby nods.

“I’ve just had to fire a girl,” Mrs. Bennie says. “For being indiscreet.”

Kirby knows not to ask, but she naturally wonders: What did this girl do?

Mrs. Bennie seems to read Kirby’s mind. “We had a guest staying with us, a gentleman guest, and Veronica gave this gentleman’s wife a key to his room without checking with him or with me. It led to a very unfortunate situation.”

Gentleman guest caught with a co-ed, Kirby guesses. Or his secretary. Or someone else’s wife. She pushes away thoughts of Scottie Turbo.

“Before you accept, I need to make certain aspects of the job clear. You are to be on time. You are to be neatly dressed with your hair coiffed. No pants or culottes. No bare arms. We have distinguished guests at this inn, Wall Street types, business executives. In fact, I just booked a room for Senator Edward Kennedy. He’s coming to stay with us next month.”

Teddy Kennedy! Kirby can’t believe it.

Mrs. Bennie continues. “Our priority here at the inn is our guests’ comfort and their privacy. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Kirby says. She’s glad she tied her hair back for this interview, though she worries about a wardrobe. She’ll have to see if the Vineyard has a store like Buttner’s where she can buy some appropriate outfits. Teddy Kennedy! She can’t wait to tell Rajani about that. Except no…she has to be discreet.

“The shift that’s available is eleven p.m. to seven a.m. Is that going to be a problem?”

It takes Kirby a moment to process this—eleven at night until seven in the morning. Mrs. Bennie is offering her the graveyard shift. Is that going to be a problem? Kirby quickly calculates. She will get back to Narragansett Avenue in time to eat breakfast with the girls, and then she’ll go to sleep. If she sleeps from eight to two, she’ll still have afternoons to go to the beach and her evenings free. It’s not optimal, but she knows better than to turn this offer down.

“Weekends off?” she asks hopefully.

“Mondays and Tuesdays off,” Mrs. Bennie says. “You’ll leave here Monday morning at seven and return Wednesday night at eleven. The job pays ninety dollars a week.”

Ninety dollars a week! Kirby is appalled at herself for bending to the power of the American dollar, but there’s no denying its allure. She has to give up her weekends, but considering her troubled past, this might not be a bad thing. She has to prove herself worthy; she has to develop a work ethic. Mrs. Bennie is offering Kirby a chance to demonstrate that she’s a responsible adult. Also, with this schedule, she’ll avoid the log jam for the second-floor bathroom, and her parents will have no reason to complain.

Kirby is going to be a front-desk clerk!

“I’ll take it,” she says.





Those Were the Days



She has made a deal with the devil.

She had no choice.

Kate is no stranger to military sacrifice. Wilder died when he was back home on American soil, but Kate knows he never returned from Korea, not really. However, sending a son into battle is different, and Vietnam is a different war. The jungle is nearly impenetrable, the heat murderous, the insects predatory, the swamps thick and green with murk. It’s hard enough to battle the country itself, never mind the ruthlessly immoral Vietcong. They set savage booby traps—punji sticks, snake pits, grenades in a can.

Kate and David had been quietly antiwar since 1965. A paralegal from David’s firm enlisted, and this young man—twenty-two years old—was killed in the Battle of Ia Drang after only a week in-country. Kate had feared that Tiger would enlist as soon as he graduated from high school but he’d halfheartedly enrolled at Framingham State. Now she wishes that he had enlisted; then, at least, he might have had choices. He might have been able to train for a job that kept him off the front lines.

But Tiger took his chances and now he is a grunt, one of thousands. He is expendable.

Kate’s only hope for getting Tiger home quickly—possibly as soon as September—rests with Mr. Crimmins. When Kate wrote to Bill Crimmins to let him know that Tiger had been drafted and wouldn’t be coming to Nantucket that summer, Bill had written back to say that his brother-in-law had served with Creighton W. Abrams in the Battle of the Bulge and that he still corresponded with the general weekly about matters both military and personal. Bill said he would ask his brother-in-law to use his influence with the general to get Tiger out.