She Loves Me Not Read Free

her bland face if he told her his plans.
    â€œYou know, most of my customers are women,” she said, handing him the package. “It’s nice to see a man who cares so much about preserving memories.”
    Yes, he thinks now, with a self-satisfied grin. He cares very much about preserving certain memories.
    A s they walk down the steps of the day-care center, Rose counts each one aloud with Leo, reminding him to hold the railing. It’s freezing out here, unusually cold for Long Island. A few inches of snow fell yesterday, much to the children’s delight. If it sticks, she’ll take them sledding over the weekend.
    Leo pokes along. It would be faster to carry him, but those days are long gone.
    Together, they trudge along the freshly shoveled path leading away from the low brick building, past the snow-covered playground toward the Chevy Blazer. The only other car in the parking lot is a dark green Nissan that must belong to Gregg Silva.
    â€œCome on, Leo, climb in,” Rose says, opening the door and helping him into his car seat.
    â€œI’ll do the stwaps,” he protests as she pulls the harness around his shoulders.
    â€œNo, Leo, that takes too long. I’ll do it.”
    â€œNo! I can do it!”
    Rose sighs and stands by, shivering in the chill as her son struggles with the straps of his seat. She’s tempted to push his fumbling little hands aside and do it quickly herself, but Toddler Tyme’s philosophy is to teach children autonomy. Most parents think that’s a terrific thing. Rose does, too, ordinarily.
    Tonight, she’s too tired to stand here indefinitely while Leo figures out how to insert the metal buckles into the slots. She’s about to do it for him when she hears a click and he looks up triumphantly.
    â€œSee? I did it!”
    â€œYou did do it, sweetie.”
    Relieved, she climbs into the car.
    â€œGood-bye, Todd-wo Tyme,” Leo chirps as they pull out of the parking lot.
    Rose smiles, glad he’s happy at the day care, which originated in the basement of Blessed Trinity Church a few blocks away. This new facility was built two years ago to accommodate Laurel Bay’s burgeoning year-round population.
    More and more working parents are willing to trade cramped, pricey city apartments and post-terrorism urban jitters for a long commute and the small-town serenity of eastern Long Island. In fact, the local school board has been holding meetings to address the influx of families and avoid overcrowding.
    Driving along Center Street, Laurel Bay’s commercial drag, Rose brakes for a stop sign and automatically glances at Bayview Books on the opposite side of the street. She can see her co-worker Bill Michaels standing by the register just beyond the brightly lit plate-glass window. His shift doesn’t end until five o’clock. She admires the display of romance novels she arranged herself on a drape of red satin in honor of Valentine’s Day. Perhaps, if the store’s new owner doesn’t already have a March display in mind, she can do the same thing for next month, with green satin fabric and books by Irish authors. Or perhaps just books with green covers . . .
    But Luke Pfleuger, the store’s new owner, will undoubtedly have his own ideas for the window display. He only allowed her creative control over the Valentine’s Day window because he came down with bronchitis right after the holidays and was forced to take a few days off.
    As Rose continues along Center Street, she notices that every one of the diagonal parking spots is taken, even at this late afternoon hour. People traipse along the sidewalks, popping in and out of the local businesses.
    There was a time, as recently as when Jenna was born, when Rose recognized most pedestrians’ faces, and most of the cars she passed when driving this route. Not anymore. Lately, the town seems filled with strangers.
    Even the familiar businesses on Center