Far From You

27

NOW (JUNE)

Rachel leaves for her dad’s, promising to call me as soon as she gets the thumb drive open. I start my morning yoga practice, but I pushed myself too much yesterday. After my knee buckles for the fourth time in warrior pose, I roll up my mat and put it away.

It’s important to know when you’re beat.

My jeans are still on the floor where I tossed them last night, and when I pick them up, the envelope the thumb drive had been in falls out of the pocket.

There’s a piece of notebook paper folded inside that I hadn’t noticed last night. I unfold it and see unfamiliar handwriting:

Please, babe, just answer the phone. We have to talk about this. All I want to do is talk. I promise. Just answer the phone. If you keep ignoring me you’re not going to like what happens.

I turn the note over, but it’s not signed.

It doesn’t matter. It has to be from Kyle.

If you keep ignoring me you’re not going to like what happens. I read the sentence over and over again, stuck on it, like it’s on an endless loop in my head.

“Sophie?”

I look up from the paper in my hand. Dad’s standing in my doorway, frowning.

“Sorry. Yeah?”

“I was just saying I’m heading out,” he says. “I’ve got an early lunch with Rob. Your mom already left. Sweetie, are you okay? You look pale. I could cancel—”

“I’m fine,” I say, but my ears are ringing. Already, I’m cycling through the possible places Kyle would be right now. “I just pushed myself too much. My knee hurts.”

“Do you want some ice?”

“I’ll get it,” I say. “You don’t have to cancel, Dad. Go to lunch. Say hi to Coach for me.” I need Dad out of the house. I have to find Kyle. Where would he be right now? At home?

“Okay,” Dad says. “You’ll call me if it gets bad?”

I smile, which he seems to take as a yes.

I wait, Kyle’s note crumpled in my fist, until Dad drives off in his sedan. Then I pick up my phone and punch in Adam’s number. I pace across the room as it rings.

When he finally picks up, I can hear laughter and barking dogs in the background. “Hello?”

“Adam, hi. It’s Sophie.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you knew where Kyle’d be right now,” I say. “I found a necklace of Mina’s that I think he gave her. I wanted to give it to him to make up for being such a bitch last week. I wasn’t sure where or when he was working this summer.”

“Yeah, he’s probably at work,” Adam says, and someone says his name, followed by more male laughter. “Wait a second, guys,” he calls. “Sorry, Soph. He’s at his dad’s restaurant, not the diner, the seafood place out on Main…the Lighthouse.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Adam says. “Hey, give me a call next week. The team’s having our bonfire out at the lake. We’ll hang out.”

“Sure,” I say, not taking it seriously. “I’ve got to go. Thanks again.”

I drive too fast, gunning it as the yellow lights switch to red, barely pausing at stop signs, careening around corners. Our downtown isn’t much because our town isn’t much. The good and bad parts are kind of squished together, the courthouse and the jail a block apart, the liquor store kitty-corner to the Methodist church. A handful of restaurants, a diner tucked across the railroad tracks, and a few pay-by-the-week motels that are a breeding ground for trouble. I slow down only when I see the Capri M-tel, the blue-and-pink neon sign with the missing O.

The Lighthouse is right next to it, so I park quickly and bang through the doors, not caring if I’m drawing attention. Kyle is leaning on the counter, watching the basketball game on the flat-screen on the far wall.

The restaurant is almost empty, just a few tables full. I march past them and up to Kyle as his mouth tightens.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m at work.” He glares at me through his floppy blond hair. “If you go psycho in here—”

“Take a break to talk to me, or you’ll find out how ­psycho I can get.”

He glances around at the people at the tables. “Come on,” he says, and I follow him through the kitchen and out the back way, behind the restaurant, where there’s a fenced-in area for the Dumpsters. It smells awful out here, like grease and fish and garbage, and I breathe through my mouth, trying to block it out.

“I can’t believe you.” Kyle rounds on me as soon as the door closes and we’re alone. “What’s your problem?”

I hurl the note at him, slapping my palm on his chest. “Want to explain that?”

He grabs it from me, scanning it. “So what?”

I fold my arms and plant my feet. “Tell me what you and Mina fought about the night before she died.”

Kyle is the definition of an open book. He’s crap at hiding his emotions, and his mouth drops for a second before he remembers to close it. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is when you’re leaving Mina threatening notes right before she gets murdered!”

“Bullshit,” Kyle says. “This wasn’t a threat. I just wanted her to call me back.”

“You threatened her. ‘If you keep ignoring me you’re not going to like what happens.’ Who says that to their girlfriend?”

Kyle goes red, his puppy-dog eyes hardening. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it to me. Tell me what you guys were fighting about.”

“You need to leave it alone,” he warns.

“Not gonna do that.”

“Fuck you.” He starts toward the door, and I plant myself in front of him and push him hard. He’s over six feet and thick with muscle, but it feels good to shove him. As he stumbles, I move toward him again, but he recovers his balance and grabs my wrists easily. “Stop it, Sophie.” Then he lets go of me and steps back, holding his dinner plate–sized hands out in front of him. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

I lunge for him again, but he darts out of the way. I come down too hard on my leg and nearly fall.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he mutters as he grabs my arm to steady me.

“Tell me,” I insist. I’m panting, adrenaline ricocheting through me. “Why were you fighting?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Just don’t.”

“What did she tell you that made you so angry? What were you threatening her with?” With each question, I push him, and he just takes it. I’m right in his face, inches away, standing on my tiptoes. I have to grasp the chain-link fence behind him to stay steady. My leg is shaking, but I try to ignore it. I won’t fall in front of him. “She cared about you. She even let you sleep with her! Why would you—”

“Shut up!” he yells, and I gasp, flinching at the raw note in his voice. His brown eyes shine, like he’s about to cry. “Shut up. There’s only one of us here who was fucking her, and it sure as hell wasn’t me.”