Forget Me Not by Coleen Paratore Read Free Book Online

really I do—Mum would have demanded nothing less—but Dr. Deadham was so puffed up with his own self-importance, I fully expected him to sprout peacock feathers at any given moment. Blue, green, yellow, red.
    “We should at least give him the benefit of a second chance,” Sam says quietly as we congregate in the gathering space for bagels and donuts.
    Sam is a teacher, so you have to forgive him. I think teachers are genetically wired to be kind and encouraging.
    “Completely uninspiring” is my mother’s more callous critique.
    “Brainiac-boring” is Tina’s two cents.
    “Certainly an intelligent, well-read man” is my good friend, our librarian, Mrs. Saperstone’s assessment, “but he unfortunately doesn’t seem to have a sense of humor.”
    “I will reserve judgment until I’ve heard him speakagain,” says Dr. Swaminathan, my English teacher at Bramble Academy. See what I mean about the genetic wiring? Dr. Swammy, who’s such an amazing teacher, is just back from India. Sam filled in for him while he was away. It was cool having Sam as my teacher. I was so proud. I kept looking around the classroom, wanting to say, “Do you all realize this man is my father?”
    “What did you think of Dr. Deadham, Willa?” Sam says as we’re walking home.
    “On a scale of one to ten, compared to Mum, I guess I’d give him a two.”
    “Two’s too generous,” Nana says. “But, that’s the last we’ll be seeing of the Doc, anyway.”
    “What do you mean, Nana?”
    “I did a quick check-in with the other members of the BUC Board of Directors and there was an overwhelming consensus. We test out ministers and vote before we formally offer a candidate the position. This is a plum job, Willa. We’re a great community here in Bramble. You know that. We won’t settle for anything less than the best. We broke it to Dr. Dead gently. I bet he’s halfway home to Beantown as we speak.” Beantown is our nickname for Boston.
    “I love you, Nana.” I hug her, laughing.
    We stop in front of Sweet Bramble Books. Nana lives upstairs from the store.
    “Can you come by later, Willa?” Nana says. “I’m gearing up for the vote and I need your help.”
    Nana’s not talking politics. She’s talking taffy. Saltwater taffy, that is. I’m her official “taste tester” for trying out new flavors each season. Cape Cod Life magazine does a readers’ “best of” survey. Nana’s neck and neck with Ghelfi’s of Mashpee for “Best Sweets on the Upper Cape.” She wants to win best bookstore, too, but there are so many other good bookstores, that would be tough. No way is she going to beat them. So with the “best of” survey, we’ve got all our eggs in the candy basket, so to speak.
    “Ghelfi’s has a gorgeous new window display, just for taffy,” Nana says, all worried, “and they’ve got slick new ads boasting their fifty-two varieties of taffy, the largest selection of any candy store on the Cape. How can I compete with that?”
    “Let me think about it, Nana,” I say. “I can’t come today, but I’ll come first thing tomorrow, promise.”
    Just recently, my mother has officially claimed Sunday as “Family Day.” When we get back to the inn, Mom checks to make sure everyone has shown up for work and that there are no pressing issues she has to attend to.
    “Go, Stella,” Darryl says, sweetly shooing my mother away from the front desk. “It’s your day with your family. Go, enjoy.”
    I’m fairly sure my mother read something in one of her trusted business magazines about the importance of scheduling a “family activity” every weekend. Last Sunday we took the ferry out to Nantucket, the island where Mom and Sam eloped to. Such a pretty place, so romantic. I’m glad I got to see it.
    I don’t mind “Family Day,” but today all I want to do is see JFK and make sure he’s not mad at me anymore. And Tina, I need to talk to Tina. And Mariel. What audition was she talking to JFK about?
    “So