But now, like on that night last summer, he’s forcing me to look at him as something more. A boy with doubts and fears and things he loves and wants to keep safe. Not unlike me.
I don’t remember confiding in him my fears about not knowing who I am yet. But he remembers it well enough to be able to quote what I said that night. Why do we remember some things and not others? What else have I forgotten—about Seth, about last summer, about my own past self?
My secret phone buzzes in my pocket.
Seth, of course. Home safe, though that 5-minute walk was fraught with peril
I exhale. Glad you made it
Seth: I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me
Then he writes: Thanks
Anytime. Good night Seth
Sweet dreams, Addie
I go through my nighttime routine, then double-check that all the doors and windows in the house are locked. I look in on Davy—already asleep—then go to bed, my mind whirling with Seth, his theories, his eyes, and fall asleep with them bleeding into my dreams.
11
The next morning, as I’m coming back from a run, I get a text from Seth.
I found the dorm where Caleb lives. Head out tomorrow?
I exhale. I really don’t want to leave Davy alone. And what am I going to tell my dad?
There’s also the idea of spending a long car ride alone with Seth. It feels fraught with the potential for uncomfortable conversations, the kind I’ve always tried to avoid.
But Caleb is the only lead we have so far.
Davy’s home when I get there, sitting at the kitchen counter shoveling Cheerios into his mouth while staring at his phone. I’m startled. “I thought you were at soccer camp.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Oh.” I’m losing track of what day it is. “Where’s Dad?”
“Grocery shopping.”
“He grocery shops on Sundays.”
“Yeah, but he has that golf thing tomorrow, remember?”
I forgot about that, too. That’s lucky. So Dad, at least, won’t even know I’m not here all day.
Davy chews, swallows, raises an eyebrow. “I am capable of being home alone.”
I try and smile. “I know, just…with everything going on, it might be best if none of us were alone right now.”
“You went on a run last night by yourself.”
“That’s different,” I say automatically. I don’t like lying to Davy, but it can’t be helped. “I don’t go near the ravine.”
“Addie, I wasn’t near the ravine. I’m home. I’m not the one you need to worry about.”
His tone is patient, like he’s talking to a child. I’m not entirely sure when this newer, attempting-to-be-a-grown-up Davy emerged. Last summer? This past year?
That year after Mom left and Dad was gone all the time, when it was just the three of us home alone with our grandpa, who was asleep more often than he was awake, Davy listened to everything Fiona and I said. We packed his lunches, we helped him with his homework, we kicked the soccer ball around with him until bedtime. We weren’t parents, exactly, especially not when Dad started spending more time with us again. But we were more than big sisters. And that’s what I’ve remained, even with Fiona gone.
At least that’s what I thought.
Davy puts down his phone. “Ethan thinks it’s a serial killer,” he says abruptly. “He thinks someone else is gonna be next.”
I silently curse Davy’s annoying little soccer friend. “That’s stupid. Serial killers are rare.”
“Ethan says they’re more common than people think.”
“Ethan doesn’t know everything.”
Davy’s face is serious. “Addie, were you really just on a run last night?”
I hesitate a moment too long.
Something falls in his face. “Did you go see Seth again?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I just had to talk to him.”
“How is you going to meet up with Seth okay, but me going anywhere not okay?”