by Tess Sharpe
“Well, that goes without saying,” Mina answers. “I’ll make sure to thank you when I win my Pulitzer.”
“I’m honored.”
Mina goes back to her chair and book, and I go back to my tomatoes. She flaps the neck of her tank top back and forth. “It’s so hot,” she complains.
I grind my good knee into the dirt, spacing the seedlings evenly apart, neat rows of three across, four down. “The twentieth’s coming up,” I say finally. “You okay?”
Mina shrugs, eyes glued to the page. The sun beats down my back, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far.
For a moment, I think that’s all I’m going to get out of her. But then she looks up at me. “I’m going to spend the day with Mom and Trev. She wants to go to Dad’s grave in the morning.”
“Do you…do you go out there a lot?” I ask. I’m curious, all of a sudden, and she seems willing to actually talk about it for once. I know that Mr. Bishop is buried in Harper’s Bluff, that he grew up here and that’s the main reason they moved back after his death. And the only reason I know that is the first time Mina and I got drunk, she’d slurred it out against my shoulder and cried and didn’t—or just maybe wouldn’t—remember the next morning.
“Sometimes,” Mina says. “I like to go and talk to him. It makes me feel closer. Like, I don’t know, maybe it’s easier for him to check on me there.”
“Check on you from heaven?” I ask, and I don’t mean it to be there, but there’s skepticism in my voice.
Mina frowns, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Of course, from heaven,” she says. “What—you don’t believe in it?”
I look away, shy under her scrutiny. We’ve never talked about this. I’ve avoided the subject. Mina isn’t devout like her mom, but she’s someone who believes. Who goes to Mass when her mom asks her to and wears the little golden crucifix that her dad gave her.
And I am me. I would’ve lost my faith after the crash, if I’d had any to lose.
“Not really.” I won’t lie about this when I’m already hiding more urgent things from her: the crushed-up pills and the dirty straws, the need for numbness that eats more of me up each day. She’s starting to notice how often I nod off in class. I make excuses, but she’s watching me closer.
I brush the dirt off my hands, standing up to find her staring at me like I’ve declared the sky is green. “Soph, you have to believe in heaven.”
“Why?” I ask.
“You just…you have to. What do you think happens when we die, then?”
“I don’t think anything happens,” I say. “I think this is it. All we get. And when we’re gone, we’re gone.”
She shifts in her chair, and the unhappy curve of her lips makes me wish I’d never answered the way I did. “That’s a crappy way to think. Why would you want to believe that?”
I’m quiet for a moment, rubbing my fingers against my knee, tracing the scar by memory. I can feel the bumps of the screws that lay under my skin through the material. “I don’t know. It’s just what I think.”
“It’s horrible,” Mina says.
“Why does it matter? I’m not an expert.”
“It matters,” she says.
“What, are you worried that I won’t end up there if there is a heaven?” I ask.
“Yes!”
I can’t stop the smile that stretches across my face.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Mina says angrily. “Like you think it’s cute or something. My dad missed everything, all of my and Trev’s lives. The idea that he’s here still, that he’s keeping an eye on us? That’s not cute—that’s faith.”
“Hey.” I reach out to grasp her hands. She doesn’t pull away, even though my fingers are still dirty. “I didn’t mean…I’m—I’m glad it makes you feel better. But I don’t have that in me. It doesn’t make me right or you wrong, it’s just how it is.”
“You have to believe in something,” Mina protests.
I squeeze her hands and she grips mine back, tight, like I’m going to disappear any second.
“I believe in you,” I say.
47
NOW (JUNE)
Trev’s late by almost twenty minutes. I’ve almost given up hope he’ll show when the doorbell rings. My parents are out on their weekly date night, so I let him in the house and we stand awkwardly in the foyer for a moment. I don’t know what to say to him now that he knows.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I say.
He follows me up the stairs, and I pause at the top, my back aching at the injection points. When we get to my room, he hovers in the doorway as I walk over to my desk and sit down.
He closes the door behind him and stands at the edge of my bed, waiting.
“Kyle filled you in on Mina’s notes?” I ask.
Trev nods. “We looked at the time line and some of the articles she saved.”
“There are three interviews,” I say. “Mina talked to Matt Clarke, Jackie’s grandfather, and her little sister, Amy, all in December. Mina dropped the case after talking to Amy, because she got those threats. Something made her go after it again in February, but I’m not sure what.”
“She was always bad at leaving things alone,” he mutters. “She probably figured the risk was worth it.”
It’s almost a relief, his frustration. It makes me feel less guilty about my own.
“Did she ever mention Jackie to you?” I ask. “Even in passing?”
“Not since you guys were freshmen. She was really into figuring it out back then. Remember? It was kind of creepy.”
“She wanted to know what happened. People were still talking about it when I got out of the hospital and back to school. She was curious,” I say.
“She was too curious,” Trev says, and his voice cracks on the words. “She was fucking reckless.”
“You can’t blame her,” I say, and it comes out low and shaky. “Yes, she was stupid not to tell anyone what was going on. But it isn’t her fault. It’s his fault. He killed her, whoever the hell he is. And he’s going to pay.”
Trev looks at me with shiny eyes, and I can see it happen, the way he pulls himself together, seems to grow a foot, his shoulders squaring. “Play Matt’s first. We were friends. Maybe I’ll catch something.”
I click on Matt’s interview, keying up my speakers. There’s a bit of static, and then:
“Okay. You ready, Matt?”
The moment her voice fills the room, I’m flooded with it, the pain and relief that comes from hearing her again. Trev sinks onto the edge of the bed, his fingers knotted, eyes closed.
Hearing her, it’s not the same.
But it’s all we have.
“How did you and Jackie meet?” Mina asks.
I force myself to focus on Matt’s answer. He has a deep, slow voice, and he pauses between his sentences, like he’s thinking carefully about each word. “Our moms were friends,” he says. “She was always around, you know? Girl next door. I asked her out in eighth grade, and that was it.”
“That’s a long time to be together,” Mina says, and I can almost hear the encouraging smile in her voice.
“Yeah,” Matt agrees. “She was special.”
“It must have been really hard for you when she went missing.”
There’s a long silence, only broken by rustles and a clinking sound. “Yeah. It was horrible for everyone. Everyone loved Jackie.”
I look anywhere but at Trev as the recording continues. Mina asks Matt about school, about his and Jackie’s friends, about Jackie’s involvement in youth group and soccer; ordinary, unassuming questions that won’t make him suspicious. Slowly but surely, she gets him to open up to her, until she’s asking about the weeks before Jackie disappeared, about Detective James and how he’d treated Matt during the questioning.
“But he let you go.”
“He didn’t have anything on me,” Matt says.
On the recording, a phone rings. “Just one more question before you get that. You and Jackie—you guys were, you know, intimate, right?”
There’s another long pause while the phone rings and rings. I can picture Mina sitting there, baldly asking Matt if he’d had sex with his girlfriend, that calm smile on her face, like she wasn’t crossing some line.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Matt says. “And I think we’re done now.”
“Of course,” Mina says. There’s a rustling sound, and then the recording cuts off abruptly.
I look over at Trev, and my heart jackknifes in my chest at the sheen in his eyes. “We don’t have to listen to any more,” I say quickly.
His face hardens and he says quietly, “Play them.”
I press Play.
Mina’s interview with Jackie’s grandfather is focused on Jackie’s childhood. She doesn’t ask any questions about the case, but once Jack Dennings starts talking about Jackie’s teen years, Mina keeps steering the interview back to her relationship with Matt.
I can hear the whistle of the six o’clock train downtown as I grit my teeth and click on the final interview—the one with Jackie’s sister, Amy. As it begins to play, I realize the file’s less than a minute long. Both Matt’s and Jack’s interviews were more than fifteen.
“What’s that?” a girl’s voice asks.
“I was going to record the interview,” Mina says. “That okay?”
“No,” Amy says. “I told you, I’m not supposed to talk to you. Turn it off.”
“Okay,” Mina says. There’s a shuffling sound, and then the recording cuts off abruptly.
Trev frowns. “That’s it?”
“I guess.” I do a quick global search of Amy’s name to see if Mina had transcribed the interview somewhere instead of recording it, but all that comes up is the time line document. “She didn’t put the interview in here.”
“What do you think they talked about?”
“Well, when I talk to Amy, I’ll ask her. She’s friends with Kyle’s little brother; I’m gonna try to nail down her schedule.”
“You do that, and I’ll call Matt,” Trev says.
“Are you still in touch?” Trev had never spent much time with Mina or me at school. I knew who his friends were, but I’d never been around them much.
“I’ve seen him a few times since I left for college. Playing soccer with the old team, you know.”
“How bad was Matt into drugs?” I ask. “Are we talking a little pot, or pills or…”
“Meth,” Trev says.
“Shit.”
“Yeah. But that didn’t happen until after Jackie disappeared. Or at least, none of our group knew about it. I mean, he was definitely getting to a place where people were worried. His dad left when we were freshmen, and Matt got into a lot of fights after. The whole thing with Jackie just kind of pushed him over the edge.”
“Do you think he could’ve killed her?”
Trev gets up from my bed, walking over to my window and pushing my blue curtains aside to look down at the front yard. “Back then, I would’ve said no way.”
“What about now?”
Trev doesn’t say anything for a while, just stares out my window, his jaw tense. “I have no idea,” he says. “Maybe they were in love. Maybe she hated him. Maybe he killed her. I’m not really trusting my ability to judge people right now.”
I look away.
“I should go,” Trev says. “I’ll call Matt.”
“See if we can meet him tomorrow,” I say. “Maybe he said something to Mina off the record or talked to someone else about Mina’s interest in Jackie. Or maybe he did it.”
As I talk, I lean forward on my desk so I can push myself up and out of my chair. My back is killing me. After the shots, it’s always worse for a day or two before it gets better, and I can’t hide my sharp intake of breath when I get to my feet too fast.
Trev turns at the sound, but I make it to my bed and ease myself down belly-first before he can move to help me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’ll find Jack Dennings’s address,” I say, ignoring the question. “We can go see him, too.” I’m beginning to feel desperate about all of this. I don’t even know how to solve the murder I witnessed, let alone a three-year-old cold case.
I close my eyes. I’ve been staying up late rereading articles about Mina’s murder and Jackie’s disappearance. Every time I make an effort to sleep, I’m back at Booker’s Point with her, and I can’t think about that. So I don’t sleep. Not when I can help it.
But I can’t fight it much longer.
There’s a hand. Warm against my shoulder.
Trev’s hand.
I tilt my head to the side so I can see him. He’s watching me, sitting beside me, and I don’t look away.
There’s a realization that’s settling in him, something I think he’s suspected but tried to deny for months, if not years. An acceptance that’s not begrudging, but hesitant. I can see it in his face, feel it when he touches me.
“Your back hurts?” he asks.
I tuck my hands underneath my chin and nod. He rests his hand on my shoulder, and that constant pressure, that bloom of heat, is another reminder of how present he is. How gone she is.
“Need anything before I go?”
I shake my head. I’m afraid to speak. Afraid I’ll do something stupid, like press into his touch.
I can’t do that to him—to myself, to her.
I won’t.
“Do you think she’s up there?” I mumble. The words are half-lost in the pillow, and he has to tilt forward to hear them. “Watching us from heaven?”
“I do.” He brushes hair off my forehead with his free hand, and the backs of his fingers graze my temple.
“Must be nice.”
“Sometimes.” Trev keeps stroking my hair, a light touch that spreads through me like a warm blanket. “Sometimes it’s hell, thinking of her watching everything and not getting to be a part of it.”
We stay like that for a while, with her memory wrapped around us. I’m half-asleep, eyes closed, when he leans over and presses his lips against my forehead.
His footsteps echo as he leaves my bedroom and I tell myself I’m crying from the pain.
48
ONE YEAR AGO (SIXTEEN YEARS OLD)
“You know, the whole point of being on a sailboat is to sail,” Trev says.
Mina laughs, and I can feel the vibration of it through my skin. She’s resting her head on my stomach, and the two of us are lying out on the deck of the Sweet Sorrow, Trev at the helm. Both of them are reading. Trev’s got some paperback mystery that he sticks in his pocket when he needs to get up and man the sails. Mina’s been absorbed in the same hardcover about Watergate for a week, taking precise notes in her journal. She props it on her knees, highlighting passages as she goes.
I am content to lie here and listen to them call back and forth to each other, their familiar, good-natured bickering more soothing than anything else could be. We’ve been dead in the water for an hour, Trev too absorbed to chase what little wind there is.
“I don’t see you pulling the rope things to get us going,” Mina says.
“It’s called the rigging, Mina. And I’m at a really good part.
” Trev holds his book aloft.
She squints at the title. “I finished that last week. Want to know who the murderer is?”
“Don’t ruin it for him,” I protest.
“See, Soph’s on my side. Two against one.”
Mina rolls her eyes and turns a page.
I fall asleep eventually, lulled by the sun and the rocking of the boat—and by the pills I took before I got in the car this morning.
When I wake up, the sun’s sinking fast, and Mina has moved up to sit with Trev. I watch them for a moment, their dark heads bent together, legs dangling off the side of the boat. And I catch the end of Trev’s sentence, still half-asleep and hazy. “…worried about her?”
“It’s those stupid pills they have her on.”
I freeze. They’re talking about me.
“She needs them. She’s in pain.”
“I know, but lately…Never mind. I’m being stupid.”
“Hey, no.” Trev puts his arm around her, pulling her into him. She rests her head on his shoulder. “I get it. You’re worried. We all worry about her.”
“You worry about her,” she says pointedly. There’s resentment in her voice, and resignation.
A long silence. Trev pulls away from her, and they stare at each other. “Does that bother…Is that a problem?” he asks.
My heart thumps. I should cough, call out one of their names, anything to draw attention to the fact that I’m awake. It’d be the right thing to do.
But I stay where I am, eavesdropping in the worst possible way on the two people I love the most. I wait for her to answer. A part of me can’t help but hope that this will be the moment—when she finally tells him, when he finally realizes the truth.
“Of course it’s not a problem,” Mina says, and it’s so smooth, the way she says it, like there aren’t years of denial and heaps of lies and boys who touched our bodies but never had a chance at our hearts.
“You sure?” Trev asks. “I know she’s your best friend. If it’s weird—”
“Oh, whatever,” Mina says lightly. “You’ve never been able to hide things. It’s why you suck at poker. Everyone knows. Even—”
