Far From You

29

NOW (JUNE)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, but my voice shakes. I can feel the panic rise inside me: Kyle knows.

“Shit, Sophie, give me a little credit,” Kyle says. “She told me.”

My stomach lurches. Saliva floods my mouth, a hot, slick rush that I can’t contain. I gag, moving past the Dumpsters, and manage to get to an empty trash can before I start to throw up, coughing and spitting.

Big hands grab clumsily at my hair, pulling it back as the rest of my breakfast comes up. I jerk away from him, my skin flashing hot and cold, goose bumps breaking out everywhere. Finally I straighten up, wiping my mouth with my hand, my eyes damp with tears, my throat raw. He steps away from me again, leaning against the chain-link fence, his hands in his pockets.

“Kyle…” I start, and then I stop, because I don’t know what to say. I hate that he knows. It’s different with Rachel, with someone safe, someone who didn’t know Mina.

The smell of vomit curls inside my nose, making the queasiness roar back to life, and I press my fingers to my mouth, swallow convulsively, and breathe through pursed lips until it passes. I back away from the trash until my shoulders are pressed against the chain-link fence that separates the restaurant’s back lot from the Capri M-tel. I can see people on the second level, walking back and forth from the ice machine.

“I was so pissed. I yelled at her. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I made her cry, I…I said some really shitty things. And then she wouldn’t take my calls the next day, she wouldn’t listen to me, so I left her that note. I just wanted to tell her I was sorry. But she wouldn’t pick up, and then the next thing I know, Trev’s on the phone telling me that she’d been killed.” He takes a step back, like he needs the distance as much as I do. “I fucking hate you sometimes,” Kyle says. “Every time I see you, I get so pissed at you. Whenever you’re around, I think about her telling me, the look on her face…” He lets out a shuddering breath. His Adam’s apple bobs under the collar of his polo shirt. “She was so relieved. Like she’d wanted to say it forever. And I was just—I was shitty. All I did was make her cry.”

“This is why you lied to the police.” It’s crazy, and I’m furious that all of this, the months I spent trapped at ­Seaside, was because of this. Because she’d trusted him, of all people, with her—our—biggest secret. Because he was mad at being tossed over for another girl.

I hit him, a hard smack across his chest that feels better than it should. “You screwed up everything!” I burst out. “I spent three months in rehab for a drug addiction I’d already kicked. My parents think I’m a hopeless junkie and a liar! Everyone in this town thinks I’m the reason Mina was out at Booker’s Point. Trev won’t even look at me. Not to mention that by giving the police false information, you probably helped the murderer get away with it.”

“There were drugs,” he insists. “I didn’t make it up. I heard the police had found pills. Who else would they belong to? I didn’t want to explain to the detective why I was calling Mina so much that day, so I told him that Mina had said you two were going out to the Point to score and that I tried to stop her. I thought it’d get you in trouble.”

I want to hit him again, but I hold back this time. “Yeah, well, you thought right. The only problem is the drugs weren’t mine. Whoever killed her planted them on me.”

His eyes narrow. “You’ve really been clean this whole time?”

“Do you want me to swear it on her grave?” I ask. “Because I will. We can go there right now.”

“No,” he says, too quick, and I realize I’m not the only person who has a problem visiting Mina’s grave. “I—I believe you.”

“Oh, great,” I snarl. “That makes me feel so much better. Thanks a lot.”

He stands there, and now more than ever, he’s like a massive, slobbery puppy. He sticks his big paws inside the pockets of his cargo shorts, biting his lower lip, staring at his feet. “Look, I’m sorry for lying…even though I didn’t think I was totally lying,” he says. “But you did sleep with my girlfriend.”

“I didn’t sleep with her while she was your girlfriend!”

“Whatever.”

“Seriously,” I say. “Look at me.” He scuffs his foot on the pavement, and I snap my fingers in front of his face until he meets my eyes. “You don’t get to be pissy to me about this,” I tell him. “Whatever she told you…” I let out a breath. I can’t think about what she told him, about herself, or about the two of us. Every time I do, I feel everything slipping out of my control, my footing in the gray area precarious.

Nine months. Three weeks. Six days.

I tap the numbers against the skin of my wrist, a heartbeat to build on.

“She liked girls,” I continue when I’ve got a hold on myself. “She only liked girls. The guys were a cover. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it was.”

“I know that,” he says quietly. “I know,” he says again, his face crumpling.

The back door of the restaurant bangs open. “Kyle,” calls a man in a spattered apron. “We need you.”

Kyle ducks his head so the guy can’t see how undone he is. “Just a sec,” he mumbles. The guy nods and heads back inside.

Kyle stares up at the sky, and I give him a moment of silence to get himself together.

“I’ve got to get inside,” he says. He wipes at his cheeks and clears his throat before pushing past me.

“Kyle, Mrs. Bishop can’t find out about this.” I hate how small my voice gets, that I’m practically begging.

What looks like sympathy flickers across his face before he looks away. “She won’t find out from me. I promise.”

He’s doing it for Mina and for himself, not for me, but I don’t care, as long as it stays a secret.

Mina had constructed her cage a long time ago, built by shame from the beliefs she was brought up with. She may have told Kyle. But she never wanted anyone else to know.

I plan on keeping it that way.