Far From You

by Tess Sharpe

  “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.”

  40

  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.

  41

  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?”

  I step even further away from him, a flinch I can’t control. He’s too wrapped up to notice the hurt I’m throwing off. Or maybe this is what I’ve pushed him to, this kind of heart twisting that once was Mina’s specialty.

  “I’m doing this for Mina. Do you really think Jackie’s still alive, after three years? That bastard in the mask killed her. And then he killed Mina because she was too close to finding him out. He has to pay.”

  “Yes, he does. But that’s what the police are for. You’re gonna get hurt if you keep this up,” Trev grits out.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m not Mina. I’m not going to keep secrets. I’ve got Kyle and my friend Rachel helping out. But to get the police to listen to me, I need proof Mina was looking into Jackie’s disappearance, that she was being threatened because of it. You and Kyle didn’t find the ­killer’s warning notes, did you?”

  Trev shook his head.

  “So I have to put together a list of people who knew Mina was investigating Jackie and then narrow it down to the likely suspects.”

  Trev runs his hands through his hair. “This is insane.”

  “What else am I supposed to do? I can’t sit around and hope that the cops will figure it out. I understand that you’re trying to move on or whatever, but I can’t do that. Not yet.”

  It’s exactly the wrong thing to say to him—I know it before the words are out of my mouth. His gray eyes widen, and his cheeks flush beneath his tan.

  “Move on?” He spits out the words like they’re poison. “She was my baby sister. I practically raised her after Dad died. I was supposed to be there when she got what she wanted out of life. She was supposed to be the aunt to my kids, and I should’ve been an uncle to hers. I wasn’t supposed to lose her. I would’ve done anything for her.”

  “Then help me!” I snap at him. “Stop yelling at me and help me already. I’m doing this with or without you, but I’d rather do it with you. You understood her.”

  “I guess I didn’t understand her at all,” Trev says, and it hits me all over again that Trev didn’t just lose Mina. He lost me, too—this shining, bright idea of a me that never was.

  I want to touch him, to comfort him somehow, but I know better. I settle for going toward him a few steps, close enough to touch.

  “You understood her,” I say. “As much as anyone could, you did. She loved you, Trev. So much.”

  Trev had been Mina’s favorite person. Her second confessor, after me. I think, if I hadn’t been at the center of this, she would’ve told him the truth about herself.

  Maybe he would have made it easier. If she could have basked in his acceptance, it might have given her enough strength to break free.

  I don’t know. I can’t ever know. Thinking about it is maso­chistic, like the hours I spent in rehab, spinning a perfect version of our lives, where she tells everyone and it doesn’t matter, a future filled with prom dresses and slow dances and promises that never get broken.

  When he looks at me, I feel exposed. For the first time since I’ve come downstairs, I’m acutely aware of how little I have on. How bright the hall lights are, and how my scars shine white and pink.

  There’s a clicking sound, and Trev steps forward, away from the front door just as my dad opens it.

  There’s a long, uncomfortable moment when Dad’s eyes flick over my face, tear-stained and too red, to settle on Trev, looking just as bad.

  “Trev,” Dad says, and it’s like he’s seven feet tall instead of five foot eight.

  “Mr. Winters,” Trev says.

  I shift from foot to foot, clenching my fists at my sides to keep from scrubbing at my face.

  “Sophie, is there a problem here?” Dad asks, still not taking his eyes off Trev.

  “No,” I say. “Trev was just leaving.”

  “I think that’s for the best,” Dad says.

  Trev nods. “I’ll just— Well, good-bye, Sophie. Bye, sir.”

  The door’s barely shut behind him before Dad is turning to me, opening his mouth. “Just a second,” I tell him, and I slip out the front door after Trev before Dad can stop me.

  He’s already walking down the path.

  “Trev!” I call.

  He turns.

  From where I stand at the bottom of the porch steps, it’s like an ocean between us, this new knowledge that stretches us so far from each other.

  “The interviews,” I say, lowering my voice. “The ones that Mina did about Jackie. They’re recorded.”

  His eyes widen, and he takes a step toward me almost automatically.

  “I can’t listen to them alone,” I confess.

  Trev nods. “Tonight?” he asks.

  Relief, sweet and simple, rushes through me.

  He’s always giving me what I can’t ask for.

  “Tonight,” I say.

  42

  THREE AND A HALF YEARS AGO (FOURTEEN YEARS OLD)

  “I can do it myself,” I say, clutching the bottle of vitamin E oil.

  “No offense, but your hand still looks like raw hamburger.”

  Mina is not patient or soft. She grabs the bottle, ignoring my protests. It’s normal, her being bossy and my falling into line, so I shrug my robe off one shoulder as she settles behind me on my bed.

  I bite my lip, looking down at the carpet. I can feel her eyes on my shoulder where metal dug into the skin, mangling it. Her fingers don’t linger as she gently smooths the oil over my scars with determined efficiency. “This stuff smells like my grandma.” She gets up and moves to my front.

  “Lavender,” I explain. “Mom got it at that natural health food store in Chico. Here, let me.” I try to grab the bottle away from her, but she dangles it out of my reach. “Nice,” I say. “Way to taunt the gimp.”

  “I dare you to call yourself that in front of your mom. She’ll flip.” Mina smiles wickedly at me.

  “She’d probably just send me to the shrink for another six months.”

  “She means well. That whole week you were in coma-land, she was freaking out. Soap-opera style. It was intense.” Her fingers trace over the top of my shoulder, the new rough landscape that my body has become.

  “She keeps acting like things are going to go back to normal.”

  “Well, that’s stupid,” Mina says. “Things are different. But it doesn’t mean they have to be awful.”
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  “I feel awful, sometimes,” I whisper. “I mean, look at me.” I hold my arms out, my robe slips all the way off my shoulders, and the scar on my chest, a raw split of skin, is even uglier in the light. “I’m gross. And it’s not like things are going to change. She needs to realize that.”

  “Oh, Soph.” Mina practically deflates. She sits down next to me. “What happened to you was horrible,” she says. “Beyond horrible. And it isn’t fair or right that Trev and I came out of it fine and you…” She trails off. “But gross?” She presses her hand against my heart. Her thumb brushes up against the edge of the scar on my chest. “This isn’t gross. You know what I think when I see this?”

  I shake my head.

  Her voice drops. She’s whispering, a secret for just the two of us: “I think about how strong you are. You didn’t stop fighting, even when your heart stopped. You came back.”

  The unspoken “to me” hangs between us. We both hear it, but neither of us is brave enough to say it.

  “You don’t…you don’t ever wish they hadn’t saved you, right?” Mina asks. She’s staring hard at her hand, like she can’t bear to be looking in my eyes if I give the wrong answer.

  I can’t tell her the truth. She’d be almost as scared of it as I am.

  “Of course not,” I say.

  The truth?

  I don’t know.

  Maybe.

  Sometimes.

  Yes.

  43

  NOW (JUNE)

  When I get back into the house, Dad is waiting in the hallway.

  “What was that about?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “Sophie, you’ve been crying.” He reaches out, and I move away when his hand makes contact with my cheek. “Did Trev say something—”

  “We were talking about Mina,” I interrupt. “I got sad. Trev wasn’t—I was just sad.” I rub at my arms, stepping farther away from him. “What are you doing home? Did you forget something?”