Hope, Levy, Marc [good summer reads TXT] 📗

Melly protested, turning the tube of pills around between her fingers.

Harold coughed twice, because for some reason that remains a scientific mystery even in the mid-twenty-first century, cowardice makes men cough. Betsy came to his rescue.

“Your father and I aren’t blind. We know things aren’t going how you might have hoped. We’re your parents. All I ask is that you follow the treatment to the letter for just a few months. The doctor insisted you follow the instructions precisely.”

Betsy was wrong about one thing. Melly had no idea what she hoped for, except to leave the dining room as soon as possible. Wanting to reassure those who had blanketed her with so much love, she swallowed down the two pills with a big glass of water, under her mother’s doting gaze.

At that exact moment, the Center doctor was being called into the research director’s office to report back on his appointment with Mrs. Barnett. The doctor was pleased with the conclusion he had arrived at, adding that there was no longer any fear of a potential lawsuit.

Before he left, he couldn’t help asking the director why he had wanted to prescribe the patient such a powerful antidepressant, especially considering the state she was in. These drugs’ side effects were well documented. And memory loss was one of them.

Luke simply asked him whether he was a junior doctor, or whether he was a research director like him, who had devoted forty years of his life to developing and honing the Neurolink program. The answer was clear enough, but Luke added that he knew exactly what he was doing. The memory-restore process could trigger a latent depression that could, in turn, bring about memory blocks. Fighting fire with fire made sense here. Until the advent of vaccines, carcinogenic X-rays were used to combat cancer, after all.

The doctor thought for a moment before conceding that there was a certain logic to Luke’s thought process. He said goodbye, thanking Luke for his help in handling this tricky situation.

A little while later, back at home, a shadow of a doubt crept into the Center doctor’s mind. How had his boss known? How had he decided on what treatment to prescribe, since he had written out the prescription before Mrs. Barnett had even arrived?

The only logical explanation was that there was a reason behind his being the research director at one of the most cutting-edge laboratories. His IQ was undoubtedly insanely high.

And the therapy wouldn’t take long to start working.

Melly’s nightmares vanished.

She slept in late in the mornings, and come the afternoons, she felt as light as a cloud.

After the second pills in the evening, she almost felt as if she would evaporate.

She smiled a lot, which delighted her mother.

She practiced tirelessly at the piano, which delighted her father.

And most important, she stopped worrying about trying to remember anything at all.

19

Melly was rehearsing a concerto when the cook knocked on the door to the music room to tell her that someone was asking for her.

“My father doesn’t want me being disturbed when I’m practicing,” Melly protested, her eyes locked on the sheet music.

“Mr. Barnett runs this house, just as I run my kitchen.”

Dolores was standing in the doorway. It was clear she hadn’t come all the way up here for nothing.

“Then send the call up here,” Melly said.

“Call? There is no call. Come with me, and don’t ask any questions.”

The cook led her through the mansion’s left wing, neatly avoiding Harold’s office. Melly followed obediently.

“Here.” Dolores gestured at the pantry door.

Inside, she found Simon sitting on the window ledge.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, you’re not taking any of my calls, so . . .”

“Nobody told me you were trying to get in touch.”

“Don’t you listen to your voice mail?”

“What voice mail?”

“Jesus, Melly. What planet are you on? You can listen to it whenever; you just dial in.”

“How?”

“I’ll show you, but whatever, I didn’t come here to teach you how to use vocal commands.”

“So why did you come?”

“I’m taking you away for the weekend,” Simon said. “Some friends have invited me to the beach, and I don’t want to go alone. Now, you know better than anyone that I’m not exactly the sort of Prince Charming every girl dreams of, but I don’t care. I’m kidnapping you, whether you like it or not.”

“If I liked it, it would hardly be kidnapping, would it?”

“In that case, don’t like it.” Simon took her hand and began pulling her away.

“Wait! I need to grab some stuff.”

“No, we might bump into your dad. I went to a lot of trouble parking behind the kitchen specifically so he wouldn’t see us. He’ll find a hundred good reasons why you have to stay home.”

Melly didn’t have the time to think things through. The cook smiled as Simon led her outside, delighted to have pulled the wool over her boss’s eyes. She had watched Melly grow up, and she didn’t like what had been going on these past few weeks. She didn’t like it one bit. She had even complained to Walt, telling him that the girl had been quite literally imprisoned by her father. Walt had agreed, and two days earlier, he had decided to stop off at Symphony Hall on his way home from dropping Mrs. Barnett off at the airport, where she was catching a flight to New York.

Simon hit the MA-3S, and the convertible headed south. It would take them an hour and a half to get to Barnstable. The wind was whipping Melly’s hair, and Simon lent her his scarf so she could hold it back.

The sky was blue and cloudless, nothing but a faint few wisps gathering along the way. One looked like a hat, Melly thought. Or a boa constrictor that had swallowed an elephant.

Overlooking the beach, the wooden house was perched on stilts and decorated simply but tastefully on the inside. The oblong living room was bathed in natural light that streamed in through a picture window that offered