Never Tell Them N.L. Hinkens (books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📖

“Can we have a snack, Grandma, please?” Jessica asked. ”We’re hungry.”

“What? After that big pancake breakfast?” Evelyn’s lips softened into a smile. “What would you like?”

“Goldfish, please,“ Jessica said.

Ray shifted in his seat, attempting to smile at his son. Henry had come to an abrupt stop at the sight of him, a crushed look in his eyes.

“It’s time for us to go home now, Henry,” Ray said, getting to his feet.

“Jess, why don’t you put some crackers in a baggie for Henry to take with him?” Evelyn suggested.

“Okay.” Jessica skipped across the kitchen and tugged open a drawer. She filled a Ziploc to overflowing and pressed it into Henry’s hands.

“Please be sure and thank Sonia on my behalf,” Ray added.

Evelyn gave a curt nod. ”Henry’s clothes are in the washer. I’ll send them over later. Don’t forget you need to look for the paperwork for his preschool.”

”Yes, of course. Thanks for the reminder,” Ray said. “I’ll dig that out later today. Henry and I are going to do something fun together first.” He smiled down at his son again as he reached for his hand but got only a blank stare in response. To his relief, Henry accompanied him out the back door without a fuss this time.

Back inside his house, a forlorn-looking Henry stood in the middle of the kitchen, clutching his bag of Goldfish crackers, as though waiting for further instructions.

Ray leaned back against the counter. “What do you want to do today, Henry?”

He shrugged, a detached look in his eyes.

Ray racked his brain, wondering what would appeal to a four-year-old. “Do you want to go to the park?”

Henry studied him warily, like a stray dog who’d been offered a piece of meat by the dogcatcher.

“We could throw the ball around for a bit,” Ray suggested. No sooner had the words left his lips than he remembered he hadn’t seen a ball anywhere in the house or garage. “Or you could play on the swings and the slide,” he added hastily.

Ignoring him, Henry knelt down and began driving his truck back and forth over the floor, lost in his own world.

Ray scratched the stubble on his jaw. He’d never felt more at a loss than he did right now. Wasn’t he supposed to know how to get through to his own son? Maybe he needed to be more direct and talk to him about his mother—acknowledge the pain he was in. ”Henry, I know you miss your mom. And I get that you’re feeling sad. But I want you to know I’m always going to be here for you.”

Henry began making engine sounds, head bent low over his truck. Ray grimaced. There wasn’t any point in pushing it if Henry wasn’t ready to talk.

“Tell you what,” Ray said, adopting a more chipper tone. “Dad’s going to take a quick look for some paperwork for your school while you have a think about what you want to do today. Maybe you’d like to go get some ice cream or go to the movies. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and then we’ll decide.”

Ray hurried down the hall to Henry’s bedroom. He must have stashed a file of important documents somewhere in the house. He wouldn’t have left anything as essential as Henry’s birth certificate and immunization record behind, knowing he would need it for a new school. He took a quick look around the room for a file box, or anything that looked like it might contain paperwork, but came up short. A peek in the closet revealed nothing other than Celia’s extra coats and the few items of Henry’s clothing he’d retrieved from the Target bags. Frustrated, he backtracked down the hallway to his own room. Spotting his laptop bag stashed on the floor by the nightstand, he checked inside the pockets, but it contained nothing more than some drafts of miscellaneous articles he’d been working on. Maybe he’d intended to make another run back to his old house to fetch the rest of their things before the accident happened—that could have been why he’d packed an overnight bag.

He blew out a heavy breath and walked over to the closet, yanking out the backpack he’d come across earlier. He rummaged around in the outer pocket again to make sure it contained nothing other than the map, and then dumped the clothes out on the bed. Peering inside the bag, he spotted an inner pocket he’d missed earlier. He unzipped it and slid his fingers inside. Frowning, he pulled something out. Blood drained from his head as he stared, slack-jawed, at the photo of the blonde teenager on the driver’s license.

Katie Lambert.

16

A cold sweat broke out on Ray’s forehead. The driver’s license slipped from his fingers and he shrank back from it, trembling all over. Katie Lambert was the name of the missing girl in the article he’d torn out of the newspaper—the very one Sonia Masterton had asked him about. How was this possible? His throat was suddenly dry as sandpaper. His head felt like it was about to explode. Was this some kind of horrible coincidence? His brain was screaming at him for a logical explanation as to why the missing girl’s license was in a backpack in his closet. Was she a relative of his? Maybe the police had returned it to him. His hand shook as he picked it up off the floor, desperately searching the face for any resemblance to his own.

His eyes traveled to the backpack lying on the bed next to him—the backpack that contained a change of clothes and a map of the Blue Ridge Mountains with a highlighted trail. Slowly, it dawned on him that there could be an entirely different explanation. One that left him reeling, but that had to be considered. What if he was involved in the missing girl’s disappearance?

Bile crept up his throat, his eyes