Remember Me Read Free Page A

even has a name, Remember House. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. I’ll start back after dinner.”
    â€œThat’s a five-hour drive,” Menley protested, “and you’ve already done it once today. Why don’t you stay over and get an early start in the morning?”
    â€œI don’t care how late it is. I want to be with you and Hannah tonight. I love you.”
    â€œI love you too,” Menley said fervently.
    After they said good-bye, she replaced the receiver and whispered to herself, “I only hope the real reason for rushing home isn’t that you’re afraid to trust me alone with the baby.”

July 31st
4
    H enry Sprague held his wife’s hand as they walked along the beach. The late afternoon sun was slipping in and out of clouds, and he was glad he had fastened the warm scarf around Phoebe’s head. He mused that the approaching evening brought a different look to the landscape. Without the bathers, the vistas of sand and cooling ocean waters seemed to return to a primal harmony with nature.
    He watched as seagulls hopped about at the edge of the waves. Clam shells in subtle tones of gray and pink and white were clustered on the damp sand. An occasional piece of flotsam caught his eye. Years ago he had spotted a life preserver from the Andrea Doria that had washed ashore here.
    It was the time of day he and Phoebe had always enjoyed most. It was on this beach four years ago that Henry had first noticed the signs of forgetfulness in her. Now, with a heavy heart, he acknowledged that he wouldn’t be able to keep her at home much longer. The drug tacrine had been prescribed, and sometimes she seemed to be making genuine improvement, but several times recently she had slipped out of the house while his back was turned. Just the other day at dusk he’d found her on this beach, waist-deep in the ocean.Even as he ran toward her, a wave had knocked her over. Totally disoriented, she’d been within seconds of drowning.
    We’ve had forty-six good years, he told himself. I can visit her at the home every day. It will be for the best. He knew all this was true, still it was so difficult. She was trudging along at his side, quiet, lost in a world of her own. Dr. Phoebe Cummings Sprague, full professor of history at Harvard, who no longer remembered how to tie a scarf or whether she’d just had breakfast.
    He realized where they were and looked up. Beyond the dune, on the high ground, the house was silhouetted against the horizon. It had always reminded him of an eagle, perched as it was on the embankment, aloof and watchful. “Phoebe,” he said.
    She turned and stared at him, frowning. The frown had become automatic. It had begun when she still was trying desperately not to give the appearance of being forgetful.
    He pointed to the house above them. “I told you that Adam Nichols is renting there for August, with his wife, Menley, and their new baby. I’ll ask them to visit us soon. You always liked Adam.”
    Adam Nichols. For an instant the murky fog that had invaded Phoebe’s mind, forcing her to grope for understanding, parted. That house, she thought. Its original name was Nickquenum.
    Nickquenum, the solemn Indian word that meant “I am going home.” I was walking around, Phoebe told herself. I was in that house. Someone I know—who was it?—doing something strange . . . Adam’s wife must not live there . . . the fog rushed back into her brain and enveloped it. She looked at her husband. “Adam Nichols,” she murmured slowly. “Who is that?”

August 1st
5
    S cott Covey had not gone to bed until midnight. Even so he was still awake when the first hints of dawn began to cast shadows through the bedroom. After that he fell into an uneasy doze and woke up with a sensation of tightness in his forehead, the beginning of a headache.
    Grimacing, he threw back the