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50

FOUR MONTHS AGO (SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD)

Detective James is tall, at least six and a half feet, with slick dark hair

and a worn plaid shirt. He sits on my mom’s red couch, and the cup of

coff ee looks tiny in his large hands.

My mom places her hand on my shoulder. “Sophie, this is Detective

James. He has some questions for you.”

I’m ready to answer them. He’s safe. He’s police. If I just tell the

truth, everything will be fi ne. He’s going to fi nd her killer.

I have to repeat it a few times in my head before I can venture

further into the room.

“Hi,” I say. “Do you want me to sit?” I ask.

“Hello, Sophie.” He stands up briefl y to shake my hand and nods,

short and clipped. His face is grim, like he’s seen it all and then some.

I sit down in my dad’s armchair across from the couch, folding my

good leg underneath me. I stretch out my bad one, the fl ex brace on

my knee only letting me get so far. My mom hovers in the doorway,

arms folded, her eyes on the detective. I can hear Dad moving around

in the kitchen, staying close so he can eavesdrop.

Detective James pulls out a notepad. “Sophie, can you tell me who

attacked you and Mina?”

“No. He was wearing a mask.”

“You’d never seen him before?”

T E S S S H A R P E

243

I frown. Did he not hear me? “I don’t know. He was wearing a ski

mask.”

“But it was a man?”

“Yes. He was tall. Over six feet. That’s really all I can tell you about

him. He had a big coat on; I’m not sure if he was heavy or thin.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Not at fi rst. He . . .” I can feel my face scrunching as I try to think,

and it pulls sharply on the stitches swirling across my forehead, end-

ing at my hairline. “He said something. Aft er he hit me. Right before I

passed out, I heard him. He said something to Mina.”

“And what was that?” Detective James asks.

I have to think about it, pick it apart through the tumult of fear

and pain and panic that had surged through me in that moment. “He

said, ‘I warned you.’ ”

The detective scribbles something down on his notepad. “Had

someone been threatening Mina? Had she been fi ghting with some-

one? Having problems with anyone?”

“I don’t know . . . I don’t think so. I—”

“Why don’t you tell me why you girls were out at Booker’s Point?”

he interrupts. “Your mom says that you told her you were going to a

friend’s place—Amber Vernon—but Booker’s Point is a good thirty

miles away from her house.”

“We were going to Amber’s,” I say. “But Mina had to take a detour

to the Point. She was meeting someone for a story.”

“A story?”

“She has an internship at the
Beacon
.” I stop, my lips pressing

together tightly. “Had,” I correct myself. “She
had
an internship.”

“She didn’t tell you who she was meeting?” The skeptical note in

his voice makes my mother bristle, the lawyer coming out in her face.

244

F A R F R O M Y O U

“No. She wouldn’t tell me. She said she didn’t want to jinx it. She

was excited, though. It was important to her.”

“Okay,” Detective James says. For almost a minute, he’s silent,

writing on his notepad. Then he looks up, and my mouth goes dry at

the look on his face—someone zeroing in for the kill. “Booker’s Point

is well known as the place to go for drug deals,” he says. “It would

be understandable, for someone with your history, to return to bad

habits.”

“We weren’t out there for a drug deal,” I say. “Test me again. Go

get me a cup right now to pee in. I don’t care what anyone’s saying.

Kyle’s lying. Mina was meeting someone for a story. Ask her super-

visor at the paper what she was working on. Ask the newspaper staff .

Go through her computer. That’s where you’ll fi nd your killer.”

“And the drugs in your jacket?” Detective James asks. “Were those

part of Mina’s story, too? Or did they just appear out of nowhere?”

I open my mouth, tears fl ooding my eyes, but before I can say

anything, there’s Mom, striding to the center of the room. “I think

that’s all for tonight, Detective,” she says fi rmly. “My daughter’s been

through a great deal and she’s refused pain medication. She needs to

rest.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but my mom is already hustling

him out with the power of her stare and the authoritative click of her

heels.

I’m left alone in the living room, my parents talking in low voices

in the kitchen, so I slip upstairs before they notice.

I curl up on my bed, and a few minutes later my mother comes

into my room. My mattress sinks down as she sits next to me.

“You did well,” she says. “You didn’t incriminate yourself. But

this is just the fi rst interview. There’ll be more as the investigation

proceeds.”

T E S S S H A R P E

245

I look straight ahead, unable to meet her eyes. “I didn’t relapse,” I

say. “I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” she says. “It matters what the

police think. You could be in a lot of trouble, Sophie. You need to be

aware of that.”

I turn over on my back and fi nally look at her. “What matters is

that they fi nd Mina’s killer. They can’t do that if they think it was

a drug deal. Because that’s not what happened. I don’t care if they

charge me with possession—I only care about fi nding the person who

did this.”

Mom fl inches. “Well,
I
care what happens to you,” she says curtly.

“I am doing everything I can to keep you out of trouble, Sophie. You’re

seventeen; you could be tried as an adult. No off ering drug tests, do

you hear me?”

“I’m clean,” I grit out.

“Promise me.” Her fear has crept inside the room with us, thick

and heavy. Her mouth, shark-bite red, trembles, and her fi ngers twist

together. Mommy will always protect me, even when I’m destroying

her.

“I promise,” I say.

It’s the only way, because I know my mother. She’ll never believe

me, but she’ll do whatever it takes to keep this from ruining my life.

It’s the fi rst thing I’ve done that isn’t about Mina.

It’s for me, and for Mom, who’d claw her fi ngers bloody fi ghting

for me.

It feels like a betrayal.

51

NOW (JUNE)

It’s happening again.

I’ve wondered every day how it could have been differ-

ent: if I had been faster, braver, if he hadn’t gone for my bad

leg fi rst, maybe I would’ve been able to stop him.

And now there’s another gun in my face and I want to

be brave this time. More than anything, I want to be brave.

But I can’t stop my bad leg from folding beneath me.

I go down hard. My knees scream in protest. There’s

blood in my mouth; I’ve bitten through my cheek. I can’t

look anywhere but at the shotgun barrel. Can’t even focus

enough to make out the blurry fi gure holding it. All I know

is that it’s happening again and I can’t do anything to stop

it. I’m not blocking Trev anymore, and the panic makes me

scramble forward, towards the gun. I can’t be responsible

for his dying, too.

Someone’s yelling. Something brushes against my shoul-

der, forcing me away from that night and back to reality.

Trev’s moved past me.

“What the fuck?”

It’s Trev. Trev’s yelling. Angry and loud in a way that’s

shocking, because he has the slowest fuse in the universe.

T E S S S H A R P E

247

Things start to sharpen, my heartbeat slowing in my ears

as my eyes focus.

He takes another step until he’s completely in front of

me. I want to grab his legs, yank him away. “Get that out of

her face!” he yells.

“Who are you two?”

I try to focus on the voice, on the white-haired man

holding the gun.

“I said put the gun
down
!” Trev looms in front of the man,

using his height, his broad shoulders, and the strength that

he won’t use until it’s needed. There’s no fear in his voice,

ringing out clear, an unmistakable order.

It’s crazy.

It’s stupid. And I love him for it.

The man, bent, scrawny, with leathery skin and a razor-

blade mouth, lowers the barrel a few inches. “What the hell

are you two doing here?”

“I’m Mina Bishop’s brother. We wanted to talk about an

interview she did with you a few months ago.”

The suspicion melts from the man’s face and he lowers

the gun. “Sorry ’bout that,” he croaks, wiping his forehead.

“You never know, out here.” He nods toward the cage of

plants. “Kids come out all the time, try to steal my medicine.”

“We’re not here to jack your weed,” Trev says as he

kneels down on the ground next to me. “Soph,” he says

gently, and I can see in his face how bad I must look right

now. He holds his hand out, waiting for me to take it.

Both my legs shake as I get up, and I rub at my cheeks

with my sleeve.

248

F A R F R O M Y O U

“I didn’t mean to scare you that bad, girlie,” Jack Den-

nings says to me.

“Yes, you did.”

He smiles like I’m being funny. “I’m sorry to hear about

your sister,” he says, nodding at Trev. Trev nods back, his

shoulders still tense. “What did you want to know about

Mina talking with me?”

“Jackie’s childhood. I showed Mina the trophies she

won.” Jack smiles, and this time there’s sadness at the edges

of his mouth. “She was a natural. Got a soccer scholarship

and everything. Was gonna be the fi rst in the family to go

to college.” He taps the rifl e against his leg, eyes softening.

“She was my fi rst grandchild . . . such a good girl.”

“And did you tell anyone Mina was interviewing people

close to Jackie?”

“Nope. I don’t get into town too much these days.

Though I think Matt Clarke knew about it, because that’s

where Mina said she got my phone number.”

“Are you close to Matt?”

Jack Dennings spits on the ground. “Not likely. Boy

wasn’t good enough for my granddaughter. He took a bad

turn when his daddy left. Quit basketball, started fi ghting,

doing too many drugs. Didn’t want that for her, told her

that, but she was a headstrong one, my Jackie.”

“You ever think he was responsible for Jackie going

missing?” Trev asks.

Jack’s eyes narrow. “You sound like your sister,” he says.

“Did she think Matt did it?”

“Don’t know, didn’t ask.”

T E S S S H A R P E

249

“Do
you
think he did?” I demand.

“Let me put it this way,” Jack says. “You gotta be sure,

and I’m not. So Matt gets to go along, live his life.”

“And what happens if you
are
sure?” I can’t help but ask.

Jack Dennings smiles wide. He’s got a gap in the back of

his grin, missing a few molars. “When that day comes, that

boy’s gonna be bear food in the forest before his momma

even misses him.”

I shudder, too on edge to stop it, because I can see how

much he means it.

Because something inside me understands him.

“Okay, thanks,” Trev says. “We’ll be going now.”

“You don’t come back, you hear?” Jack orders. “Don’t be

getting any ideas.”

“Your plants are safe, sir,” Trev says wryly.

He slips into the driver’s seat without asking, and I hand

him the keys, not taking a deep breath until we’re on the

move, driving down the highway. Trev shuts off the radio

and watches me out of the corner of his eye, one hand on

the wheel, the other curved out the window.

One mile. Two.

I’m drowning in the quiet.

We don’t speak the entire forty minutes it takes to get

back to my house. And when he pulls up to the curb and

I get out, he follows. He follows me down the driveway,

through the back gate, along the raised beds he built for me,

up into the tree house that he’d repaired countless times.

I scrunch myself in the corner, and he sits across from

me, the silence as bruising as a hailstorm. I think about the

250

F A R F R O M Y O U

last time I was up here with him, how I don’t regret it, even

though I probably should.