Ray’s eyes lit up at the sight of Henry traipsing into the kitchen clutching Sonia’s hand. He shot a hesitant look at her before addressing Henry, ”Hey, buddy. Did you have fun on the tire swing?”
Henry nodded but made no attempt to approach him. Instead he took a half-step backward and peered around Sonia’s legs.
“All right, cookie time,” Sonia said briskly. She lifted Henry up and plopped him on a chair at the table next to his father before he had a chance to protest. Evelyn started fishing around in the cookie jar and arranged an assortment on a plate. The instant she set them on the table, Henry snatched up a chocolate chip cookie and began chomping on it. Sonia smirked, secretly pleased at how brazen he’d become when it came to the treats he’d been denied.
Ray wet his lips, his eyes riveted on his son. ”I’m sorry I had to go away for a couple of days, Henry.”
Henry stopped chewing, his cheek smeared with chocolate. ”Can I have another sleepover?”
Ray bunched his brows together. “Maybe, in a day or two. But tonight, we need to sleep at our house.”
Henry jutted out his bottom lip. “I want to sleep here.” He pointed a finger at Jessica. “With her!”
Sonia winked reassuringly at Ray before turning to Henry. ”How about Jessica and I walk you back over to your house?”
Henry considered this for a moment and then gave an underwhelming nod. Sonia smiled encouragingly at him. He might be hoping to try and convince them to let Jessica sleep at his house instead. But that was never going to happen.
After gathering up Henry’s things, they all trooped across the back lawn to Ray’s house, leaving Evelyn to tidy up the avalanche of crumbs beneath the table.
Jessica retrieved the key from the planter and proudly unlocked the door for everyone.
Ray trudged from the kitchen into the family room, shaking his head in bewilderment. “None of this looks familiar.”
Sonia went over to the shelf beneath the television and pulled out the photo album that Celia had put together of her sons. ”Why don’t you look through some family photos?” she suggested. “See if you recognize anyone.”
Ray sank down in an armchair with the album and began turning the pages. ”I’m guessing these are from my childhood.” He frowned as he worked his way through the photos. “This must be my brother in all these pictures with me. What did you say his name was?”
“Tom,” Sonia answered. “He’s eleven months younger than you.”
“Can I see?” Jessica cried, squeezing in between the arms of the chair and the couch for a better look.
“Me too,” Henry echoed.
Ray angled the photo album to give them a better view as he continued flipping through the pages.
“Beach!” Henry said, pointing a finger at a photo of Ray and Tom digging in the sand with plastic shovels, their buckets half-buried next to them.
“That’s right,” Ray said, smiling at him. ”Do you like going to the beach, Henry?”
He shrugged, never taking his eyes off the photo. The look of intense longing on his face made Sonia suspect he’d never played in the sand before.
Ray turned the last page and studied the photo of himself and his brother, Tom, for a long time. “He looks like me.”
Jessica cocked her head to one side and curled up her lip. ”Not really.” She tilted the photo toward Henry. “What do you think?”
He pressed a tiny finger on Tom’s face. ”My dad.”
14
Later that evening, Ray heated up a plate of lasagne Sonia had left in the refrigerator for him and took it into the family room to eat in front of the television. They had all laughed awkwardly after Henry pointed at the picture of Tom and called him his dad. Thankfully, Sonia had acknowledged that Ray and his brother, Tom, really did look remarkably alike, and left it at that. Ray wasn’t ready for any more probing questions—he needed time to think things through.
As Sonia had predicted, Henry didn’t respond well when it came time for her and Jessica to leave. He’d burst into tears and clung to them, and Ray hadn’t had the heart to force the poor kid to stay with him—or the energy to argue with him. In the end, he’d consented to Henry spending one more night with Jessica and coming home tomorrow instead.
He put a forkful of food in his mouth and chewed mindlessly. His head throbbed whenever he moved it too quickly. From time to time, patchwork images flashed to mind, but they always faded away in a blur before he could stitch a memory together. It was incredibly frustrating, but, at the same time, a hopeful sign that his brain would soon be firing on all cylinders again. At least he’d remembered how to use a microwave to heat his dinner—it wasn’t as if he’d suffered any irreparable brain damage. He’d just have to put his trust in the doctors and hope his memory returned in full over the next few days. For now, he needed a distraction—thinking too much aggravated his headache. He picked up the TV remote and clicked through the channels: I Shouldn’t Be Alive, Win the Wilderness, Deadliest Catch—eventually settling on an episode of Top Gear. After surviving a wreck that had totaled his truck, he wasn’t in the mood for a survival-type show.
He hadn’t had much of an appetite when he sat down, but Sonia’s lasagne proved a refreshing change from hospital food, and he cleaned his plate. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and set the empty plate on the end table, his gaze falling on a folded-up page from a newspaper. Frowning, he reached for it. It was the article Sonia had brought
