Remember Me Read Free

the editor pleaded.
    When Menley hung up the phone fifteen minutes later, she had been talked into doing an article about Cape Cod for Travel Times.
    â€œOh well, Hannah,” she said as she gave one final pat to the baby’s back, “Jane did give me my first break ten years ago. Right? It’s the least I can do.”
    But Hannah was contentedly asleep on her shoulder. Menley strolled over to the window. The twenty-eighth-floor apartment on East End Avenue afforded a stunning view of the East River and the bridges that spanned it.
    Moving back to Manhattan from Rye after they lost Bobby had saved her sanity. But it would be good to get away for August. After the first terrible anxiety attack, her obstetrician had encouraged her to see a psychiatrist. “You’re having what is called delayed post-traumatic stress disorder, which is not uncommon after a frightful experience, but there is treatment available, and I’d recommend it.”
    She’d been seeing the psychiatrist, Dr. Kaufman, weekly, and Kaufman wholeheartedly endorsed the idea of a vacation. “The episodes are understandable and in the long run beneficial,” she said. “For nearly two years after Bobby’s death, you were in denial. Now that you have Hannah, you’re finally dealing with it. Take this vacation. Get away. Enjoy yourself. Just take your medication. And, of course, call me at any time if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll see you in September.”
    We will enjoy ourselves, Menley thought. She carried the sleeping baby into the nursery, laid her down and quickly changed and covered her. “Now be a love and take a nice long nap,” she whispered, looking down into the crib.
    Her shoulders and neck felt tight, and she stretched out her arms and rotated her head. The brown hair that Adam described as being the color of maple syrup bounced around the collar of her sweat suit. For as long as she could remember, Menley had wished to grow taller. But at thirty-one she’d reconciled herself to a permanent height of five feet four. At least I can be strong, she’d consoled herself, and her sturdy, slender body was testimony to her daily trips to the exercise room on the second floor of the building.
    Before she turned out the light she studied the baby. Miracle, miracle, she thought. She’d been raised with an older brother who had turned her into a tomboy. As a result she’d always scorned dolls and preferred tossing a football to playing house. She was always comfortable with boys and in her teens became the favorite confidante and willing baby-sitter of her two nephews.
    But nothing had prepared her for the torrents of love she’d felt when Bobby was born and that were evoked now by this perfectly formed, roundfaced, sometimes cranky infant girl.
    The phone rang as she reached the living room. I bet it’s Adam and he was trying to get me while I was talking to Jane, she thought as she rushed to answer.
    It was Adam. “Hi, love,” she said joyously. “Have you found us a house?”
    He ignored the question. “Hi, sweetheart. How do you feel? How’s the baby?”
    Menley paused for a moment. She knew she really couldn’t blame him for worrying, still she couldn’t resist taking a little jab. “I’m fine, but I really haven’tchecked on Hannah since you left this morning,” she told him. “Wait a minute and I’ll give a look.”
    â€œMenley!”
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said, “but Adam, it’s the way you ask; it’s as though you’re expecting bad news.”
    â€œMea culpa,” he said contritely. “I just love you both so much. I want everything to be right. I’m with Elaine. We’ve got a terrific place. A nearly three-hundred-year-old captain’s house on Morris Island in Chatham. The location is magnificent, a bluff over-looking the ocean. You’ll be crazy about it. It