He pulled another plastic bag from his pocket and held it in front of Thayer’s face. A long rectangular piece of paper was lodged within the plastic. “I believe this is yours, Thayer,” he said, shaking the bag under Thayer’s nose. “I found it in Miss Mercer’s car. Care to explain?”
Thayer glanced at it. He didn’t flinch—didn’t even blink.
Quinlan yanked the paper from the bag. “Don’t play dumb, kid. There’s your name, right there.”
He slammed the plastic bag on the table and pointed to the piece of paper. Emma leaned forward. It was a bus ticket with a Greyhound logo in the corner. The point of departure was Seattle, WA, and the destination was Tucson, AZ. The date was August thirty-first. And there, printed in small, neat letters at the bottom, was the passenger’s name: THAYER VEGA.
I drew in a breath the same time Emma did. So Thayer was in my car the night I died.
Quinlan eyed Thayer. A blue vein at his temple pulsed. “You were back in Tucson in August? Do you know what you put your parents through? What you put this community through? I spent a lot of time and money searching for you, and it turns out you were right here, under our noses!”
“That’s not quite true,” Thayer said in a quiet, steady, discomfiting voice.
Quinlan crossed his arms over his chest. “Then how about you tell me what is true?” When Thayer didn’t answer, he sighed. “Is there anything you can tell us about the blood on the hood of Ms. Mercer’s car? Or how your ticket ended up in her car?”
Thayer limped over to where Emma sat. He put both palms on the table, glancing from Emma to Quinlan. He opened his mouth like he was about to give a long speech, but then just shrugged. “Sorry,” he said, his voice creaking as though he hadn’t spoken for days. “But no. There’s nothing I can tell you.”
Quinlan shook his head. “So much for being cooperative,” he grumbled, then shot to his feet, grabbed Thayer by his muscular forearm, and dragged him from the room. Just before Thayer slipped out the door, he turned his head and gave Emma a long, eerie look. Emma stared back, her lips slightly parted. Her gaze fell from Thayer’s face to his shackled hands, and then to the rope bracelet around his wrist.
I looked at the bracelet, too, and was overcome with a strange snapping feeling. I’d seen that bracelet somewhere. All of a sudden, the pieces fell into place. I saw the bracelet, and then Thayer’s arm, and then his face … and then a setting. More and more dominoes fell over, more and more images flashed into my mind. And before I knew it, I was falling headlong into a full-blown memory …
7 
NIGHT HIKING
I pull up to the Greyhound station in Tucson just as a silver bus chugs into the parking lot. I roll down my window and the pungent smells of a hot-dog vendor’s cart waft into my British racing-green 1965 Volvo 122. Earlier this afternoon I rescued my car, my baby, from the impound. The paperwork flutters on the dash, my signature prominent at the bottom, a big, red-stamped AUGUST 31 at the top. It had taken me weeks to save up the money to pay cash to get the car off the impound lot—there was no way I was going to charge it on a credit card, since my parents always saw the statement.
The bus door sighs open, and I crane my neck to scan the exiting passengers. An overweight man with a fanny pack, a teenage girl bopping her head to an iPod, a family who looks shell-shocked from the long journey, all of them holding pillows. Finally, a boy tumbles down the stairs, black hair disheveled, shoelaces untied. My heart leaps. Thayer looks different, slightly scruffier and skinnier. There’s a tear in the knee of the Tsubi jeans I bought him before he left, and his face looks more angular, maybe even wiser. I watch as he scans the parking lot, looking for me. As soon as he spots my car he breaks into his trademark, soccer-star sprint.
“You came,” he cries as he wrenches open the door of my car.
“Of course I did.”
He climbs inside the car. My arms reach out and wrap around his neck. I kiss him hungrily, not caring who might see us—even Garrett, my so-called boyfriend. “Thayer,” I whisper, feeling the layer of stubble along his jaw rough against my cheek.
“I missed you so much,” Thayer answers, pulling me close. His hands are low on the small of my back and his fingers graze the top of my yellow cotton shorts. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Nothing could keep me away,” I say, making myself pull back slightly. I check the plastic alligator-print watch on my wrist. Most of the time, I wear the Cartier tank watch my parents got me for my Sweet Sixteen, but what they don’t know is that I love this cheap thing more. Thayer won it for me at the Tucson County Fair the last day he was in town.
“So how much time do we have?” I whisper.
Thayer’s green eyes shine. “Until tomorrow night.”
“And then do you turn into a pumpkin?” I tease. This is a longer visit than usual, but I feel greedy. “Stay another day. I’ll make it worth your while.” I toss my hair over my shoulder. “I bet I’m more fun than wherever it is you run off to.”
Thayer runs his finger along my jaw line. “Sutton …”
“Fine.” I turn away, squeezing the steering wheel. “Don’t tell me where you’ve been. I don’t care.” I reach for the radio dial and turn up the sports channel. Loud.
“Don’t be like that.” Thayer’s hand covers mine. His fingers trail along my bare arm until they pause at my neck and uncurl. My skin warms beneath his hands. He leans closer until I can feel his breath against my shoulder. It’s minty, like he chewed a whole pack of gum on the ride here. “I don’t want to fight with you the only day we’re together.”
I face him, hating the lump that forms at the back of my throat. “It’s just hard here without you. It’s been months. And you said you’d come back for good this time.”
“I will, Sutton, you have to trust me. But not quite yet. It’s not right.”
Why? I want to ask. But I’ve promised not to ask questions. I should be happy that he has left wherever he’s been staying to see me, even if it’s only for twenty-four hours. Coming back here under such secrecy is a risk. So many people are looking for him. So many people would be furious if they knew he was here and hadn’t reached out.
“Let’s go somewhere special,” Thayer says, tracing a pattern on my leg. “Want me to drive?”
“You wish!” I tease, checking my rearview mirror and revving the engine. And just like that, I feel better. There’s no use in dwelling on what I don’t know and what the future might hold for us. Thayer and I have twenty-four blissful hours, and that’s what matters.
I peel from the station’s lot and turn onto a main road. Two kids wearing cut-off jean shorts and clutching duffel bags who look our age are trying to hitchhike from next to a patch of desert broom. The Catalina Mountains tower in the distance. “How about a night hike?” I ask. “No one else will be out right now—we’ll have the whole mountain to ourselves.”
Thayer nods and I switch the radio to a scratchy jazz station. Saxophone music filters through the car. I reach to change it, but Thayer stops me.
“Leave it,” he says. “It puts me in the mood.”
“In the mood for what?” I ask, giving him a sly sideways look. I put my index finger to my lips and tap them like I’m thinking hard. “I bet I can guess.”