Tess Sharpe - Far From You

But I can’t do that. Jackie had a little sister and parents and people who love her, who miss her. Who might object to someone snooping around.

I’m not Mina. I’m not good at making people comfortable or getting them to talk. Even before the crash, it wasn’t one of my talents.

I’m finishing up my practice, sitting in lotus pose, breathing long and slow, when the doorbell rings.

I check the window before going downstairs. Trev’s F-150 is parked outside my house, and my first instinct is to change. I’m in shorts and a tank top. It’s stupid. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me in less; in nothing at all.

The bell rings again.

I take a deep breath and walk down the stairs.

“I need to talk to you,” he says as soon as I open the door. He brushes past me, not waiting to be invited in.

He turns, trapping me against the door, and stares me down. “Kyle stopped by last night,” he says.

Shit. I should’ve made Kyle promise not to go to Trev.

“He told me the drugs weren’t yours. That he lied about Mina telling him that you two were going to score. That you’ve been telling the truth this whole time. That Mina was investigating Jackie Dennings’s disappearance, and that’s why you were at the Point.”

I cross my arms, planting my bare feet on the Spanish tile. It’s cool, solid, and I tilt my chin up and meet his eyes.

“Is that what Kyle says?”

Anger darkens his face. “No, Sophie, you don’t get to do that. I just spent eight hours tearing my sister’s room apart with Kyle, trying to find some threatening notes he’s claiming she got. Don’t pull that shit with me. Not about Mina. Tell me the truth!”

“I tried,” I spit out. “I wrote you when I was at ­Seaside. I explained everything. But you sent the letter back unopened. You didn’t seem interested in the truth then.” I can’t hide the resentment in my voice. I don’t want to.

He looks down, disarmed for a moment. “There were drugs at the scene. The pill bottle had your prints on it. Detective James was sure it was a drug deal. What was I supposed to think? You’d lied to us for years. Years, Sophie. Just six months away to get clean, and I’m supposed to forget that?”

“I don’t care that you didn’t believe me,” I say. “Not anymore. Not after everyone else turned on me. I care that you didn’t believe in her. She never would’ve taken me anywhere to get drugs. And you should’ve known that—you should’ve known her!”

My voice rises with each word, until I’m yelling at him, jabbing my hand in the air with each sentence.

“Don’t you…” He steps toward me, then thinks better of it and backs away instead, until he’s right up against the front door.

I hold my ground. It’s been months since he sent the letter back, but my anger feels fresh, pushed down and ignored.

“You let me down,” I say. “And you let her down by believing that she’d allow me to relapse like that—like she’d even help me score. Are you kidding me? She’s the one who ratted me out the first time. What the hell were you thinking?” I’m yelling, my voice rising and rising, like my rage has no limits.

This time, he doesn’t back away. He stands up straight, and sweat trickles down my spine when he glares at me. “I was thinking that I didn’t know who the hell you were anymore,” he says. “You lied to us for years. You pretended to be fine, and we fell for it. I fell for it. And it started to make me wonder what else you were lying about. When you went to Portland, Mina spent the next two months just…wrecked. I’d never seen her like that. Not since Dad…” He rubs a hand over his mouth, his shoulders pressing hard into the door, steeling himself.

“I tried to tell myself she was worried, she missed you. You two were always your own little dastardly duo. Like sisters. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You and Mina. You weren’t sisters. And you weren’t just friends, were you?” He’s searching my face, looking for a hint of the truth.

He knows.

Ohgodohgodohgod, too late, too late, too late.

“Were you in love with Mina?” he demands, and I can hear it, the dread in his voice. “Was she in love with you?”

I don’t know how to answer that last question. I wish I did.

“Kyle told you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Trev breathes, and I realize that Kyle hadn’t said anything—instead I’ve just confirmed it, this long-ignored fear, the deeply buried what-if in Trev’s mind.

He’s gone pale beneath his deep summer tan. He leans against the front door like he needs it to hold himself up. I wish we’d done this in the living room so he could sit down—so I could sit down. My legs are trembling, and my palms are slick with sweat.

“Jesus Christ,” he says again, shaking his head, staring into space like I’m not even there. “This entire time…” He looks back at me. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“It was none of your business.”

“None of my…” He lets out an incredulous half laugh. “You know I love you. Don’t you think you should’ve mentioned that you don’t like guys? This whole time, I’ve been telling myself you just needed…” He trails off. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” He shakes his head once and turns away, going for the door.

“Hey.” I catch his arm.

It’s a mistake to touch him. I know it instantly. There’s no excuse. No fresh shock of Mina’s death. No drunken night and flimsy shirt.

It’s just him and me. The two left standing. He is the only other person who misses her the way I do, who shares half my memories of her, who’s loved me the exact opposite way she did: steadfastly and openly.

He doesn’t pull away. He can’t, so I have to. For both of us.

“You didn’t make it up,” I say firmly. “You and me. There’s chemistry. Or whatever you want to call it. There’ve been times, moments with you… You didn’t make it up, Trev. I promise you.”

“But you’re into girls.”

“I’m not gay; I’m bisexual. There’s a difference.”

“And Mina?”

My silence answers for me, and then he does, too.

“It was Mina this whole time, wasn’t it?”

I give him the only thing I can: the cold, hard truth. The one that’ll rewrite every memory he has—of him and me, her and me, the two of them, all three of us: “It’ll always be Mina.”

FOUR AND A HALF MONTHS AGO (SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD)

The bathroom is empty. Mina is in front of the mirrors, rifling through her makeup bag.

I stand there, furious and enraged and every other angry word I can think of.

She won’t even look at me. Just starts applying lip gloss like we really are in here to freshen up.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“I’m putting on lip gloss,” she says. “Do you think it’s too dark for me?”

“Mina!”

She flinches. The tube falls out of her hand and onto the brown tile floor. Wide eyes meet mine in the mirror before she looks away.

“What are you doing?” I ask her again.

“Nothing,” she mutters.

“Nothing? You’re trying to set me up with Trev.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asks, quick and defensive, like I’ve insulted her brother. “Trev’s sweet and he’s good and he’s honest. He’d be a great boyfriend.”

“He’s Trev,” I say, which should explain everything.

“He loves you; you know that.”

Of course I know that. It’s why what she’s doing is so twisted. She is not this stupid—but she is exactly this smart. If I’m with Trev, I’m off-limits in a way that’ll keep her from crossing any line. It’s the only thing that’ll stop her. Stop us.

I want to scream at her. I want to apologize to Trev, because there might have been something between us if Mina hadn’t ruined me for anyone else. I want to run out of here and slam the door behind me so hard the tiles crack.

I want to press her between the sinks and run my tongue along her collarbone.

“Why are you doing this?” I step toward her, and she backs away, but I just keep coming until her shoulders knock against the mirror. I use that stretch of height I have over Mina to my advantage. I get in her space and stay there. I’ve never done this before, the aggressive thing. The initiation part has always been the guy’s job, but now it’s different. I’m different. I can do anything. I can be anything.

I can draw the back of my finger down the soft skin of her neck and let the sound she makes twine deep in my stomach and stay there.

So I do.

“Sophie.” It’s a warning, a gasp. “I just—I want things to go back to normal. Things need to go back to normal.”

“They can’t,” I say.

She licks her lips. “We can’t do this.”

“We can,” I say.

“But Trev…” She trails off. “My mom. Everything. It can’t work. You and me—it’s not right. You and Trev is right. It’s normal. Everyone expects it. I’m trying to help.”

“You’re trying to hide,” I say.

“I can hide if I want.”

“I’m saying you don’t have to.”

She jerks out of my hold. “Of course I do!” she bursts out. “What do you think? That everything’s going to be fine if I tell my mom I’m a lesbian? She’d call in an army of priests to start praying. How do you think Trev will feel when he figures out the girl he’s been in love with forever screwed his little sister? And everybody at school—do you remember what happened to Holly Jacobs? Do you want DYKE spray-painted on your car? Because that’s what’s waiting for us, Soph. Hiding is safe. Choosing Trev is safe.”

There are tears in my eyes, down my cheeks. There’s nothing to say to convince her. We don’t live in a big city. Mina doesn’t come from a family where such things are accepted. She’s right, her mother would call in a priest. And Trev—no matter what happens, Trev will always get hurt.

Nothing I say will change her mind. Years of loving her taught me that. I hate how trapped she is, how trapped she’s made me.

“Trev loves you,” she says in the horrified quiet that hangs between us. “He’d be good for you.”

“I love Trev,” I tell her. “I love him enough that I can’t do that to him. I can’t use him to hide because it’s safe or because you want me to.”

“Be smart, Sophie,” she says, and I hear more warning than pleading in her voice. A wariness that’s never been there before. “Choose him.”

I walk away from her—it’s almost easy, like another person is controlling me—but when I get to the door, I turn back. She stands at the mirror, watching me through the reflection, and I meet her eyes.

“I’ll choose you,” I say. “No matter how hard it is. No matter what people say. Every time, I’ll choose you. It’s up to you to choose me back.”

As I close the door behind me, I hear her start to cry.

NOW (JUNE)

Trev is quiet, leaning against the front door for an endless stretch of time.

There is nothing either of us can say.

There is nothing left to say.

There is just the truth, finally out in the open. I can see the weight of it settling on him, dragging him down. I hate that I’ve done this, hurt him this much, but at the same time, an undercurrent of relief pulls at me.

He’s all I’ve got left—my best friend by default. The quiet, steady presence in my life that’s been there for so long, I’d be lost without him. I’ve taken advantage of that steadiness so many times, and I hate that I can’t stop now.

He comes alive suddenly, like he’d been frozen by the truth I’ve thrown at him. He straightens against the door and starts talking fast, a staccato burst of sound from a grim mouth: “If it was never about drugs, I have to tell my mom. The police—”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But if you think you have a lead—”

“I have nothing,” I say. “I have Mina’s notes on an almost three-year-old cold case. I don’t have any evidence that proves she was being threatened. I can’t go to Detective James and be like, ‘Hey, here’s a break in the investigation you think I’m hindering.’”

“But if Kyle explains that he lied, they’ll have to believe you.”

“No, they won’t. There were drugs at the scene. My finger­prints were on the bottle. As far as Detective James is concerned, I’m a liar who’s still covering for her dealer. Some notes that Mina wrote about Jackie’s case aren’t going to change that. But figuring out who was sending Mina threatening notes will. Whoever got rid of Jackie killed Mina—and I’m going to find him.”

“Are you crazy?” Trev asks. “Mina died because she got too close to figuring it out. And now, what, you want to launch an investigation? Do you have a death wish or something?”