“Davis Keller.”
I exhale then wince because a feeling of déjà vu hits, but nothing really comes to mind.
“I don’t know,” I whisper as I stare out, trying to think back to a time when I’d heard that name. Someone then yells “Hey, hey!” in the background of the phone, and my gaze sweeps back over the blue cursive of the busser’s hat.
An unsettling feeling continues to grow, almost as if there’s something on the tip of my tongue that I can’t quite figure out.
“Sorry,” Kate says. “We just brought in some drunks. I’d be surprised if you knew the guy. There’s been no hit since juvie.”
Davis Keller, Davis ... Keller.Davis.
“Even if the juvie had anything to do with it,” she continues, “he’s probably long gone by now. They always pull a disappearing act. Off the grid is easy when you come from some nowhere little fishing town ...”
I have to press the phone to my ear harder to hear because everyone at the party starts cheering as my chest starts to rise and fall faster. But I don’t notice it as I repeat what she said, hearing Noah’s voice in the back of my mind as I do.
“I’m from a nowhereville little fishing town between here and Maine.”
I blink as the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prick and goose bumps bloom over my arms. It all draws my attention as a slow buildup of everything imprisoned behind the wall inside my mind suddenly starts to fall, brick by brick. All the unknown intakes of information that have been happening start colluding to wake me up—the Mets hat, the drunk in the background, the phrasing, and the name ...
They join forces, and three things happen: Noah jogs toward me, holding a box in the air. Our eyes connect.
And a memory hits.
I smile as I tip my eyes up at Noah’s profile, only really thinking about how his friend dropped the word “girlfriend” in front of him, and he didn’t even flinch.
“Hey, man ... hey—I know you. How’ve you been?”
I look over my shoulder to see that some guy in a Mets hat is smiling at Noah.
Noah’s brows draw together in seeming confusion before he has an easy smile. “Sorry, man, we’ve never met. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
The man shakes his head, slightly slurring when he speaks but insistent.
“No, it’s me, Peter ... Ronnie’s cousin. You’re, umm ...” He snaps his fingers. “Davis, right?”
“Hey ...” Noah’s out of breath as he stops in front of me, yanking me from my thoughts. “I’m back ... with your present.”
I stare at him, blinking a few times quickly as my lips part, my breath stuttering, but no words come out. I’m so confused by what I just remembered that I don’t even register his phone at my side, or that the call’s been disconnected.
He’s beaming at me, his eyebrows wagging. “Did you miss me?”
This doesn’t make any sense . . . how can he be . . . no . . .
I feel numb as I nod, trying to smile. Except I can’t process everything fast enough. Too many thoughts are happening and bouncing off each other. And they don’t make any sense.
I’m not just questioning myself; I’m fighting.
Noah isn’t Davis ... That has to be a coincidence. That’s the only reasonable explanation. I know him like I know myself.
He smiles as he dips down to kiss me, but I just let him because the pit in my stomach keeps growing.Why can’t I shake this off?That guy never even said his last name. There are a thousand people named Davis just in Boston, I’m sure of it.
But then why are those the prints that were found on the bike.
Goddammit. Why won’t my gut stop gnawing at me like the way I am at the inside of my cheek.
Just ask him. There’s a reasonable explanation.
“Noah,” I whisper, closing my eyes for a beat because it feels weird to ask. “You got a call ... it was from ... umm. For your ...”ID.She said he lost his wallet.
