When she arrived at Sylvan Street, the parking lot was already full to bursting and the lobby was crowded with large families and cranky kids waiting for their tables. Cam had put his name in but he informed Alexa that it was going to be a forty-five-minute wait, which she could have predicted. There was always a wait at Sylvan in the evenings, especially if there was a big movie playing next door. But the seats at the bar were first come first served, so they took a quick walk around, where a lot of people were glued to the Sox-Yankees game. It was the third of the series, and it would mean a sweep for the Sox if they won this one. There was a collective sense of anticipation among those watching the TVs.

Then, in a stroke of luck, a couple vacated two seats on the far end, and Alexa beelined toward them, just edging out two guys in their late twenties. She didn’t make eye contact, because she knew that when you are taking something from somebody you just have to go for it. No hesitation.

Alexa wondered if they might try to get served, and she perused the cocktail menu just in case. There was a summer lemonade with vodka that looked good. But Cam ordered a Coke so she ordered a seltzer, figuring that he was probably being smart. In general, the bigger the chain the more stringent the ID policies. The seltzer arrived in a cup big enough to do the backstroke in, and as she removed the paper hat from the straw she said a silent apology to Morgan, who had joined the Straw No More campaign this summer.

The Sylvan menu was bigger than the book of Job. Alexa skipped straight to the salads and chose the chicken spinach, dressing on the side. Cam was really taking his time, frowning at the menu, reading through the wraps and combos and pasta and seafood dishes like his first language wasn’t English. Finally he said, “I think I’m going to have the scallop pie. And maybe Mama Louanne’s Brickle Pie for dessert.”

“Big pie night,” said Alexa. Scallop pie sounded like something her grandmother would order, but she didn’t get the sense that Cam was in a joking mood so she refrained from adding that. She said only, “I’ve never understood brickle. I mean, what is it?”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” said Cam. He looked at the TV closest to them. It was the top of the seventh, and the Yankees had pulled ahead by one. The guys that Alexa beat out for seats found some after all and they seemed to be taking the score personally.

“I did some reading,” Cam said once they’d ordered. His expression was grave. “Online.” He leaned closer to Alexa so she leaned into him a little bit too. “About the Witness Protection Program.”

“Oh!” said Alexa. “Oh. Now I understand why we’re eating here instead of somewhere in town—this is an undercover operation.”

Cam ignored that. “How much do you know about it?” he asked.

“Enough,” said Alexa.

“This is serious stuff, Alexa. Serious, serious stuff. Like, we could be talking Tony Soprano sort of stuff.” He took her hand and an electric charge shot through her. But there was something unromantic about the way he was holding it more like he was protecting her, or maybe even looking for protection himself. “Whatever this girl and her mother saw, whatever they knew, and the people they knew it about . . . it had to have been a really big deal. For them to be put into this program, moved here like this. There must be people out there looking for them, or the government wouldn’t have bothered to hide them.” The bad men, thought Alexa. “If you tell anybody else, Alexa, it could be a really big problem. Or if you’ve already told anybody else.”

“I haven’t told anyone,” said Alexa. “I am positive nobody else knows.”

“I just don’t like the way it feels,” said Cam. “I don’t want to put a little girl and her mother in danger by knowing something I’m not supposed to know. I wish I could un-know it.” He looked positively downtrodden, so downtrodden that he barely brightened when the scallop pie arrived.

“I’m sorry,” said Alexa. “I’m sorry, but you can’t un-know something that you know. I can’t un-know it either.”

“Yes, but you—” Cam let his voice trail off, but Alexa knew what he was going to say before he said it. “You could have kept it to yourself. You didn’t have to tell me.”

He was absolutely right. She didn’t have to tell Cam, but she had anyway. She did it for no other reason than that she wanted his attention, and somebody else’s secret was the most valuable thing she could find to trade for that. She should apologize. She should acknowledge accountability. But Alexa had never been good at admitting when she was wrong. So instead, she said the only thing she could think of to say, which was, “That scallop pie is gigantic. Do you think you’re still going to want the brickle?”

“Listen,” said Cam. “I’m going to do my very best to forget that I know this thing. I can’t un-know it, you’re right, but I can do my best to wipe it out of my mind. I have no other choice, and I don’t think you have another choice either, Alexa. I mean that with the utmost seriousness.” He frowned at his pie.

All at once a collective sense of anticipation rose around the bar. Alexa glanced at the television. The Sox were up, bases loaded. Mookie Betts stepped up to the plate and a chant of Mookie, Mookie broke out.

“Alexa? You’re with me? There could be people out there, you know. Looking for people who know things. There could be really dangerous people out there.”