Far From You

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.