Far From You

6

FOUR MONTHS AGO (SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD)

The day after Mina is murdered, my dad drives me home from the hospital. We’re silent the whole way. I want to rest my forehead against the window to let the solidity ground me. But when I lean my temple on the glass, it presses against the arc of stitches. I wince and look to my right.

It’s sunny out. A crisp February day, snow still capping the mountains. There are kids playing in the park as we pass it. It seems strange, life going on now, after everything.

Dad opens the car door for me after we pull into the driveway, but when we get into the house, I hesitate at the bottom of the stairs. He looks at me, concern in his face.

“Do you need help, honey?”

I shake my head. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Remember, the detective should be here in about an hour. Do you think you’ll be ready to talk then?”

They’d sedated me at the hospital. I’d been too out of it to answer questions when the police had come by.

The idea of talking about it makes me want to scream, but I say, “I’ll be ready,” before I labor up the stairs. I almost wish I hadn’t tossed my cane when I was fifteen, because right now I could use it.

I turn the water on and undress slowly in the bathroom, peeling off my sweats and henley.

That’s when I see it: a smear of red-turned-brown on my knee.

Mina’s blood.

I press my fingers against the spot, my nails digging into my skin until beads of fresh, bright red appear. My fingers are stained with it, and it makes my chest go tight, tight, tight.

Five months. Three weeks. One day. Ten hours.

I breathe in. The air’s steamy from the shower, hot, almost sticky down my throat.

I toe off the sneakers Dad had brought me to wear home. My feet are still dirty. I’d been wearing sandals last night. Along with everything else I had on, they’re probably sitting in a bag somewhere, to be tested for evidence.

All they’ll find is her blood. My blood. Our blood.

My nails dig deeper into my knee. I take a breath, then another.

On the third, I step into the shower.

I let the water wash away the last of her.

When I get out of the shower, I find my mother ransacking my room.

“Are there more?” she demands. There’s mascara running down her face, eyes flecked with red as she rips the sheets off my bed and flips up the mattress.

I stand there wrapped in a towel, my hair dripping down my shoulders, stunned.

“What are you doing?”

“Drugs, Sophie. Are there more?” She rips the cases off the pillows, unzips them, and pokes her hand inside, clawing through the fluff.

“There aren’t any drugs in here.” I’m reeling from the anger that throbs off her like heat.

Mom grabs my jewelry box off my dresser, shaking it upside down. Bracelets and necklaces tumble out, fall in a heap on the ground. She yanks my dresser drawers with enough force to pull them clean out and dumps their contents on the bed.

As she scrabbles through shirts and underwear, tears leak from the corners of her eyes, smearing more black down her face.

Mom is not an emotional person. She’s a lawyer down to her bones. She likes control. Rules. The chaos she’s rained down on my room is so out of character that I just stand there, my mouth open.

“Mom, I’m not doing any drugs.” It’s my only defense: the truth. I have nothing else.

“You’re lying. Why are you still lying to me?” More tears course down her face as she throws open the closet doors. “Detective James was just downstairs. He told me they found OxyContin in your jacket pocket.”

“What? No. No!” Shock penetrates through the numbness that’s taken over me. My eyes widen as I realize that she believes him…as I realize what this means.

“The police talked to Kyle Miller the morning. Kyle says Mina told him that you two were going out to Booker’s Point to score.”

“No!” I’m on a loop, the only word I can get out. “Kyle’s lying! Mina was barely even talking to Kyle. She wouldn’t even pick up her phone when he called!”

Mom looks up at me from the closet, and there’s shame mingling with the smeared mascara and tears in her eyes.

“They found the pills, Sophie,” she says. “You left them in your jacket at the crime scene. And we all know they weren’t Mina’s. I can’t believe this. You’re not even home a month, and you’ve already relapsed. Which means everything Macy did…” She gestures wildly with one of my shoes and shakes her head. “I should have sent you to rehab. I should never have let you go to Macy. You need professional help. That’s my fault, and I’m going to have to live with that.”

“No, Mom. We weren’t out there to score, I swear. Mina was meeting someone about a story she was doing for the newspaper. I’m not on drugs! I haven’t taken or bought anything. I’m clean! My tests at the hospital were clean! I’ve got five and a half months!”

“Stop playing games, Sophie. Your best friend is dead! She’s dead! And it could’ve been you!” She throws the shoe across the room. It thumps against the far wall and scares me so badly, my knees buckle. I crash to the floor, hands over my head, my throat choked with fear.

“Oh God, sweetie. No, no, I’m sorry.” My mother’s face is a study in remorse, and she’s down on the ground with me, cupping my chin in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says. She’s not just apologizing for throwing the shoe.

I struggle to breathe with her so close. I can’t stand the contact. I push her away, scooting until my back’s pressed against the wall. She stays where she is, crouched next to my dresser, staring at me, horrified.

“Sophie, please,” she says. “Tell me the truth. It’ll be okay. As long as you tell me. I need to know, so I can figure out how to keep you out of trouble. It’ll make you feel better, sweetheart.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are,” she says, the ice creeping back into her voice. She draws herself up, standing straight over me. “I won’t let you kill yourself. You’re going to stay clean, even if I have to lock you up.”

She shreds that final thread of naiveté I have. It’s in pieces on the floor, with the rest of my life. My mother tears apart whatever’s left, determined to find the lies, the pills—anything to prove Kyle and the detective right.

She doesn’t find anything. There’s nothing to find.

But it doesn’t matter. Kyle’s words, those pills shoved into my jacket, they’re enough to convince anyone. Even her. Especially her.

Two weeks later, she sends me to Seaside.