Tess Sharpe - Far From You

Something close to relief starts to uncurl inside me. Everything that she’s saying is everything that I’ve thought, over and over, while I’ve been locked away. Why did he leave me alive? Why did he plant the pills? How did he know enough about me to plant the right pills?

“I didn’t know the pills were in my pocket,” I say. “I swear. He must have put them there while I was unconscious—he was gone when I came to. And Mina was…” I have to blink hard and swallow before I’m able to continue. “I had to stop the blood. I used my jacket, but it wasn’t…I left it there, after she…after. It wasn’t until Detective James came to the house that anyone even mentioned drugs. Then it didn’t matter to Mom or Dad that my tests from the ER came back clean—they wouldn’t listen to me. No one would.”

“I’m listening,” Macy says. “Tell me what happened. Why were you girls out at Booker’s Point in the first place?”

“We were going to our friend Amber’s party,” I say. “But halfway there, Mina said we had to take a detour to the Point. That she had to meet someone for a story she was working on. She was doing an internship at the Harper ­Beacon. When she wouldn’t give me any specifics, I just figured it was an errand for her supervisor, or maybe an interview someone had to reschedule. I didn’t want to make the trip—it was way out in the boonies, and Amber lives on the other side of town. But Mina was…” I can’t say it, that I couldn’t ever deny her anything.

My hands shake, rattling the ice cubes in my glass. I put it down carefully, knotting my fingers together and studying the table like the answer to everything is hidden between the glitter in the Formica.

I haven’t talked about this honestly since the police first questioned me. Dr. Charles tried her hardest, through broken furniture and weeks of silence, but I’d twisted the truth to suit the person she thought I was.

With Macy, I’m finally safe. She’d yanked me back from rock bottom once, and I know she’d do it again. But I’m not at the bottom anymore. I’ve found my footing in that precarious middle place, the gray area where you trade addiction for something almost as dangerous: obsession.

“I saw him before Mina did,” I say. “I saw the gun in his hand. I saw he was wearing a mask. I knew…I knew what he was going to do. I knew there was no way I could outrun him. But Mina might have. I should’ve yelled at her to run. She could’ve gotten away. She would’ve at least had a chance.”

“There’s no way to outrun a bullet,” Macy says. “He wanted to kill Mina. That was why he was there. You couldn’t have stopped him. Nothing could’ve.”

“He said something to her. After he hit me, I fell, and as I was blacking out, I heard him. He said, ‘I warned you.’ And then I heard the shots and I…I couldn’t hold on anymore. When I woke up, it was just us. He was gone.”

My hands are shaking again. I tuck them underneath my thighs, pressing them hard against the red vinyl booth.

“I told Detective James all of this. I told him to talk to the Beacon staff. To ask her supervisor what she’d been working on. Did he check her computer? Or her desk? She wrote notes on everything—they have to be somewhere.”

Macy shakes her head. “He talked to everyone, Sophie. Mina’s supervisor, her fellow interns, even the cleaning lady who worked the night shift. He dragged in every known dealer in three counties for questioning, along with most of the kids in your grade, but didn’t find anything to warrant further investigation. Along with a witness testimony that was—well, shaky.” She fiddles with her fork, looking up at me. “Without any fresh evidence or a miraculous confession, it’ll be dismissed as an unsolved drug-related murder, and that’ll be it.”

I feel sick inside and grit my teeth. “I can’t let that happen.”

Macy’s eyes soften. “You might have to, babe.”

I don’t say anything. I keep quiet.

We get up, she pays the bill and tips the waitress before we leave the diner. I’m still silent, the idea of never knowing who took Mina away from me burning in my chest. But somehow, as always, Aunt Macy hears the words I can’t say. When we’re in the car, Macy reaches over and takes my hand.

She keeps it in hers the entire drive home.

It feels like a safety net.

Macy is always poised for my inevitable fall.

NINE AND A HALF MONTHS AGO (SIXTEEN YEARS OLD)

“You’re a fucking sadist,” I snarl at Macy.

It’s been three days since my parents shipped me off to Oregon so Macy can “straighten me out,” as my dad put it. Three days since I’ve had any pills. The withdrawal is bad enough—like my body is one giant, throbbing bruise and spiders crawl underneath my sweaty skin—but the pain, undulled and persistent, is too much to take. With the pills, I can move without it hurting too much. Without them, my back is killing me and my leg’s always giving out. Every movement, even turning over in bed, sends sharp flares down my spine that leave me breathless, pain-tears tracking down my face. The pain, full-force for the first time since the accident, combined with the withdrawal is excruciating. I stop getting out of bed. It hurts too much.

It’s all Macy’s fault. If she’d just give me my damn pills, I’d be fine. I’d be able to move. I wouldn’t hurt. I’d be okay again.

I just want to be okay again. And Macy won’t let me.

I spend a lot of time staring at the cheerful yellow walls of her guest room, with its lace curtains and vintage travel posters. They make me want to puke. I hate everything about Macy’s house. I want to go home.

I want my pills. The thought of them consumes me, drives everything out of my head, makes me focus with a singularity I’ve had for only one other thing in my life. Mina would hate me for comparing her to this, but I don’t care, because I kind of hate her right now, too.

“I’m helping you.” Macy barely looks up from her magazine. She’s sitting in a turquoise armchair across the room, her legs kicked up on the matching stool.

“I’m…in…pain!”

“I know you are.” She flips a page. “Which is why you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Best pain management doctor in Portland. We’ll find non-narcotic options for you. And Pete’s got an acupuncturist friend who’s going to come to the house to treat you.”

The idea twists in my gut. “You want to stick needles in me? Are you crazy?”

“Acupuncture can be therapeutic.”

“There is no way I’m doing that,” I say firmly. “Can’t I go home, please? This is so stupid. The doctors were the ones who gave me the pills in the first place. I have prescriptions. Do you really think you know better than them?”

“Probably not,” Macy admits. “I didn’t even graduate college. But I’m in charge of you now, which means I get to do what I think is best. You’re a drug addict. You screwed up. Now you get clean.”

“I told you, I don’t have a drug problem. I’m in pain. That’s what happens when you get crushed by an SUV and your bones are held together by metal and screws.”

“Blah, blah, blah.” Macy waves it off and sets her magazine down. “I’ve heard it all before. Some people can handle pain meds, some can’t. Considering the pharmacy your dad found in your bedroom, I’m going to say you’re just a few bad days away from an OD. You think I’d let you do that? Put your mother and me through that? I don’t think so. Not again.

“When you run out of bullshit excuses and admit you’ve got a problem, then we can talk. The sooner you admit it, babe, the sooner we’ll get to the root of this. You might as well start talking—you’re not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re not a danger to yourself.”

“I’m fine.” I wipe the sweat off my forehead, swallowing against the constant nausea that’s taken over since yesterday. God, withdrawal sucks.

Macy gets up and shoves a trash can in my hand. “If you’re going to throw up, use this.”

Her face softens, a ripple in that bad-cop facade she wears so well. She reaches over, grasping my free hand in hers, and holds on tight enough that I can’t tug away. “I won’t give up on you, Sophie. No matter what you do, no matter what you say, I’m here. I won’t lose you. Not to this. I will get you clean. Even if you end up hating me for it.”

“Great,” I say bitterly. “Lucky me.”

NOW (JUNE)

Harper’s Bluff is nestled in Northern California’s side of the Siskiyou mountain range, a tiny town carved out of the ­wilderness, sheltered by the piney mountains, surrounded by oak woodland for miles around, with a lake that stretches out into what you trick yourself into thinking is infinity. We’ve got a population just tipping twenty thousand, more churches than grocery stores, American flags flying from most of the houses, and REAL MEN LOVE JESUS bumper stickers on every other truck on the road. It’s not idyllic, but it’s comfortable.

I thought I was ready to come back, but the second we pass the WELCOME TO HARPER’S BLUFF sign, I wish I could tell Macy to hit the brakes. Beg her to take me back to Oregon with her.

How can I be here without Mina?

I bite my tongue. I have to do this for her. It’s the only thing I can do. I stare out the window as we pass by my high school. I wonder if they decorated Mina’s locker, if it’d been festooned with flowers and candles, notes tucked into corners, never to be read. I wonder if her grave’s the same, teddy bears and pictures of her, beaming up at a sky she’ll never see again. I hadn’t even gone to her funeral—couldn’t bear to watch them put her in the ground.

As we’re turning onto my street, Macy gets a call. Maneuvering the car into the driveway, she tucks the phone under her chin. “Where?” She listens for a second. “How long ago?” She shuts the car off, eyeing me. “Okay, I can be there in thirty.”

“Someone jump their bail?” I ask after she hangs up. Macy’s a bounty hunter, though she prefers being called a bail recovery agent.

“Sex offender in Corning.” She frowns at the empty driveway. “I’d hoped your mom would be here by now.”

“It’s okay. I am capable of being alone in my own house.”

“No, you shouldn’t be by yourself right now.”

“Go catch the bad guy.” I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. “I promise I’ll be fine. I’ll even call as soon as Mom gets home, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Macy taps her fingers against the steering wheel. She’s itching to get going, to chase down that guy and put him in jail where he belongs.

I know that feeling, that drive for justice. All the women in my family have it. Macy’s is wrapped up in the chase, in hard and fast and brutal judgment, and Mom’s is wrapped up in rules and laws and juries, the courtroom her chosen battlefield.

Mine is wrapped up in Mina, magnified by her, defined by her, existing because of her.

“Seriously, Aunt Macy. I’m seventeen, I’m clean, and I can spend some time by myself.”

She shoots me a calculating look. Then she reaches over and flips open the glove compartment. “Take this,” she says, pressing a container the size of a water bottle into my hand. There’s a white pulley at the top of it and a label with big red letters that say BEAR REPELLENT.

“You’re giving me bear spray? Seriously?”

“It’s got way better range and packs more of a punch than that pepper spray key chain stuff they sell at the drugstore in the cute pink holders, and it’s even better than a Taser,” Macy says. “Too many things can go wrong there—clothes can get in the way, the prongs don’t fully eject, some big guys don’t go down from the current. Spray them in the face with this? They’ll go down.” She takes the canister out of my hands and points to the pulley. “Press the button at the top, move it right to unlock the mechanism. Aim and pull the trigger. Don’t ever drop the can—you may need to use it again. Spray and then run. Even if your attacker’s incapacitated, if he’s got a gun or a knife or any weapon, even blind, he can do some damage. Spray, run, and don’t let go of your only weapon. You got that?”

“You’re actually encouraging me to use this?”

“If someone’s coming at you? Absolutely,” Macy says, and her voice is so serious, it sends prickles down my back. “Whoever killed Mina is still out there. You are the only living witness. And I’m pretty sure you’re about to stir up some serious shit, so be careful.”

“You’re not going to stop me?” Until I say it out loud, I realize that I’ve been waiting for her to.