The Last Secret You'll Ever Keep Laurie Stolarz (best books to read fiction .txt) 📖

hope this is okay—that I stopped, I mean. I promise I have no library books.” He smiles.

I move back to the sidewalk. He joins me, and I take a deep breath.

The sun is too bright.

The air feels so warm.

“Where are you headed?” he asks.

My mind won’t stop reeling. “You just happened to be driving by?”

“Yeah, on my way downtown. Critter’s has the best coffee. Want to be the judge?”

“No. Thanks. I have to be someplace.”

“Where? I’ll drive you.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine walking.”

“Why do I feel I’ve heard that before?” He grins.

“Excuse me?”

“Come on.” He smiles wider. “Where are you headed?”

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

“Basic conversation. Trust me, I come in peace.”

“I’m going to Hayberry Park.”

“Really?” He eyes the phone in my grip. “That’s a long walk, don’t you think?”

“I was going to take a bus.”

“When you could have a personal escort?” He motions to his truck. “Seriously, let me drive you. Or, at least, let me walk with you. Contrary to what you must be thinking because of the tautness of my muscles, I haven’t gotten in my daily workout yet. A walk would do me good.”

I set my phone to camera mode and take a photo of Garret’s license plate when he isn’t looking. I text the pic to my aunt, along with a message: I bumped into Garret, the guy from the sorority party, and he offered to give me a ride. Just keeping you informed.

Just leaving a trail of clues.

“Okay, thanks,” I say, agreeing to the ride.

Garret opens the passenger-side door, and I climb in. He gets in right after (on the driver’s side), readjusting his seat—back, forth, back, forth; it doesn’t seem to lock. Still, he starts the engine. A big rumble sounds as though the truck might come apart.

“So, how have you been?” he asks, steering the conversation elsewhere.

“Okay, I guess.”

He pulls away from the curb. “Can I ask why you’re going to Hayberry Park?”

“There’s a homeschooling group I’d like to meet.”

“A homeschooling group you want to join?”

I peer out the window. “I just want to talk to the teacher.”

Garret must get the message—that I’m not much into talking—because he turns on the radio, then apologizes for not getting FM stations. “She’s an old-fashioned lady, but my grandfather’s pride and joy. He passed away last year.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He pats the dashboard. “My grandfather wanted me to have the truck but said I’d have to treat it—her—with utmost respect, which means no using my cell for music either. Can’t make a lady feel as though she’s not enough, right?”

“You’re joking.” I smirk.

He smirks back. “Maybe a little.”

About twenty-five minutes later, he turns into the east entrance of Hayberry Park, as directed.

“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him.

“Anytime. But, hey, wait. You don’t seriously think I’m going to let you disappear—alone—into the very same park you spent what must’ve been the worst, most horrifying days of your life, do you?”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“That I’m not going to let you go into the park alone?”

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “I have my phone.” As well as the wasp spray and a pocketknife.

“This is nonnegotiable. I’m coming with you.” He exits the car.

I do as well, just as my phone buzzes. There’s a text from my aunt:

Ok. Thanks for letting me know.

Also, are you working Sunday?

Sunday night. I go in at 9.

Can you make sure you’re home around 5?

Is this about the talk you mentioned?

Can you be home?

I guess.

Great, thanks.

“Is everything okay?” Garret asks.

“It’s fine,” I say, pocketing the phone, wondering what Aunt Dessa has to say. Why does she need to make an appointment? What else might she be planning? Does it have anything to do with the photos of her and my mom?

We begin down the path that cuts through the woods and walk for several minutes, through a clearing, passing by a tall elm tree with what appears to be hundreds of initials carved into the bark. We cross a bike path that’s bordered by maple trees on both sides.

“It’s pretty here,” Garret says.

Admittedly, it is, especially with the sun shining down through the maple tree limbs, making the red leaves glow.

“How often do you come here?” he asks.

“You don’t want to know.”

“It’s pretty brave of you. I mean, returning to the place where you were being kept like a prisoner, against your will … Why would you want that?”

“Do you even believe that I was taken?”

“Why wouldn’t I believe it?”

Because not many people do. Because I was publicly called out. So, is he acting? Does he not follow the news? Or does he have his own personal agenda?

“Actually, part of the problem is that I can’t return to the place,” I tell him. “I don’t know where it is.”

“And you think this homeschooling group could help?”

I pull the paper map from the back pocket of my jeans and place my thumb below the spot where I’ve drawn in the footbridge. “It should be just past these evergreens.”

We proceed in that direction, rounding a corner and passing by a creek. I brush a tree bough from in front of my eyes, able to see the bridge’s dedication plaque; it faces us, beneath the first step. As I proceed across, I can hear the group’s voices.

The students stand scattered about the clearing—all of them with easels, painting the scene around them. An older woman—likely the teacher—moves among the group, stopping to observe and comment.

I approach her slowly, waving when she spots me. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Garret.

Still, he follows for several footsteps, staying within earshot.

I introduce myself as Addie Singer. “I’m a student at Dayton University.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Addie.” The woman smiles. Bright white teeth. “Have we met before?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so. But I understand that you and your group use this park for some of your homeschool studies.”

“That’s right.”

“A friend of mine is a homeschool teacher as well. She’d like to use this clearing for a science activity, and the park ranger said that she