Tess Sharpe - Far From You

“Is that in your professional medical opinion?”

He smiles, dispassionate, with no edge to it, no pity, no judgment. It’s a nice change from everyone else. “Absolutely,” he says wryly. He pushes the box of tissues across the coffee table at me. I take a few, but instead of patting my eyes, or blowing my nose, I twist them in my hands.

“This won’t happen again,” I tell him. “Don’t start expecting it.”

“Whatever you say.” He nods and smiles. I look away.

A YEAR AND A HALF AGO (SIXTEEN YEARS OLD)

On the morning of my sixteenth birthday, I wake up with a purple Post-it note stuck to my forehead. I pull it off, wondering how in the world she’d managed to stick it there without waking me up.

Congratulations! As of 5:15 this morning, you are officially sixteen. Proceed to your closet for part one of your surprise.

—Mina

P.S. Yes, you have to wear what I picked out. No arguments. If I leave it up to you, you’ll just wear jeans. Please, go with me on this for once. The color is perfect.

I shuffle to my closet and pull it open. She’s bought me an entire new outfit. It’s not a surprise, considering how much she complains about my fashion sense. I rub the soft jersey dress between my fingers. Its dark red color is nice, but it’s too short.

I pull it out of the closet anyway and see the note she’s taped to it.

No arguments!!!

Rolling my eyes, I layer two camisoles underneath the dress to cover the scar on my chest and pull on a pair of leggings and knee-high boots. I’m putting the finishing touches on my makeup when there’s a tap on my door.

“You awake, birthday girl?�� my dad calls.

“Morning, Dad. Come on in.”

He pushes open the door, a big smile on his face. “That’s a pretty dress,” he says. “Is it new?”

“Mina,” I explain.

Dad grins. “Speaking of Mina…” He hands me an envelope. “She sneaked in this morning. Wanted me to give you this. You girls have plans today?”

I nod. “You and Mom have me tonight,” I promise.

“Good,” Dad says. “I’ve got to get to the office. Your mom had to go in early. But there’s a surprise downstairs for you.” He ruffles my hair. “Sixteen,” he says. “Can’t believe it.”

I wait until I hear his car pull out of the driveway before I do my morning lines of Oxy.

I’m sure he wouldn’t believe that, either.

Go to the Old Mill Bridge and walk to the middle.

—M

Mina loves birthdays. Trev and I have been trying to top her for years, always failing. For my thirteenth birthday, she’d gotten my dad to help her in an elaborate ruse involving a flat tire, a clown, and a skating rink full of balloon animals. She’d spent an entire year saving for and planning Trev’s eighteenth. I’d helped her decorate his sailboat so it looked like it’d been shipwrecked. We filled it with presents, and then sailed it out to one of the little islands dotting the lake. She’d arranged for Trev to borrow a friend’s boat and texted him coordinates, sending him on a quest to find his treasure, with little chests of foil-wrapped chocolate coins marking each stop.

Now it looks like I’m in for another surprise of my own.

The Old Mill Bridge has long been closed to car traffic, with a newer, shinier version built down the river. I brush my fingers over the moss-covered bricks, looking for something that doesn’t belong.

The flash of bright color grabs my eye—a red balloon tied to one of the stone columns. I walk up and untie it, but there’s no note. I look around, expecting to see her leap out from somewhere, bounding toward me, all smiles and trickery and delight.

“Mina?” I call. I search the ground. Maybe the note fell.

But I find nothing.

My phone rings.

“You forget something?” I ask after I pick up.

“Pop the balloon,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Are you watching me?” I ask, looking around. I go to the edge and peer down the bridge, trying to find her. It feels good to lean on the solid stone railing, take the weight off my bad leg for a second.

“I’ve got binoculars and everything,” Mina says, lowering her voice, trying to make it sound dangerous and failing when she bursts out laughing.

“Stalker. Where are you?” I peer behind me, trying to spot her.

“I had to make sure no one took the balloon! I had your dad text me when you woke up.”

“You could just show yourself,” I suggest. I look down over the railing and finally spot her on the north side, down the trail near the riverbank. She’s a blur of yellow, her dress bright against the gray railing. She waves.

“Pop the balloon first, then I’ll come up,” she says.

I dig my keys out and jab the longest one into the balloon. It pops, and something small and silver falls to the ground, skittering across the pavement. I chase after it, bending down on my good knee to pick it up where it’s spun to a stop.

For a long moment, I’m silent, the ring in my hand, the phone against my ear.

“Soph? Did you get it?” Mina asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I…” My thumb swipes over the ring, over the word engraved on it. “It’s beautiful,” I say. “I love it.”

“It’s like mine,” Mina says. “We match.”

“Yeah,” I say. “We match.”

I press my thumb against the word, let it imprint on my skin.

Forever.

NOW (JUNE)

Dad drops me back off at home. He stays at the curb, the car idling until I’m safe inside the house. I wait until he’s gone, then I get in my car and drive to Sweet Thyme Nursery.

I try to distract myself among the rows of plants, leaning too hard on the cart as I push it along. I breathe deep, gulping in the scent, rich and earthy and green, and it loosens something inside my chest that’s been there since I stepped inside David’s office.

After paying for my marguerite daisies and organic soil, I smile and shake my head at the girl at the counter who asks if I need help. The cart’s heavy, but I put my weight into it, gritting my teeth as my muscles spasm.

By the time I get to my car, my leg’s hurting enough that I’m steeling myself to go get someone to help me load the bags of soil into the trunk. Someone honks behind me, and I pull the cart out of the way.

“Hey, Sophie, is that you?” Adam Clarke peers out at me from his pickup. I’ve known him, like nearly everyone else at my school, for most of my life. He’d dated our friend Amber for almost a year, and she used to go on and on about how he looked like a country music video version of a Disney prince. Pair the worn baseball cap, his shit-kicker cowboy boots, and a fondness for ­Wranglers and John Deere T-shirts with his green eyes, straight nose, and perfect smile, and Amber had a point.

“Hi, Adam.”

He looks from my trolley of soil down at my leg, and understanding filters through his face. “You need help?”

When I finally was allowed back to school after the crash, Mina had assigned all our friends jobs to make sure my comeback went smoothly. There’d been a calendar with color blocks and code names and everything. Amber had been my bathroom buddy because Mina had a different lunch period than we did. Cody was in charge of reminding me when to take all my medications, because he was the most punctual. And because they were the biggest and in all my classes, Adam and Kyle had carried my stuff for me and made sure I didn’t fall down.

I’d hated Mina’s little army of helpers at first, but after the fourth time I got the stupid walker I used back then stuck in the handicapped stall, I knew better than to refuse the help. I learned to be grateful for Amber and how she’d slam the bathroom door shut if anyone tried to come inside.

“That’d be great. Thanks, Adam.”

Adam pulls his truck up next to my car and hops out. “Planting a garden?”

“Yeah, gives me something to do.” I pop my trunk open, and he grabs the first bag of soil, placing it inside. “What are you doing here?”

“Mrs. Jasper buys venison from me and Matt. She makes jerky out of it.”

“Good season this year?”

Adam smiles, pushing his baseball cap back, black hair curling against his forehead. “Yeah. It’s been great for Matt. He’s been getting healthy.” He hefts another bag easily over his shoulder, dumping it in my trunk.

“What about you?” I ask, because I don’t want the conversation veering to me. “Are you going for the soccer scholarship still?”

“Trying.” He grins. “Pretty much the only way I’m gonna get out of here. But Uncle Rob thinks I’ve got a good chance. He’s been on my ass about it. Making me run suicides.”

I wince in sympathy. “I remember he used to have us do those. My dad thought we were too young. They used to argue about it.”

“I forgot you played soccer.”

“I lasted a season, and then swimming took over. And after that, you know…” I shrug.

Adam reaches out and squeezes my arm, and it takes an effort not to flinch. If I don’t see it coming, I tend to jump when people touch me now. I’m sure David would have loads to say about it.

“I know things have been tough. But it’ll get better,” he says earnestly. “You just need to stay clean. You know, my brother went through the same thing. He relapsed, too. He really screwed up, stole money from our mom—she almost lost our house because of it. But my uncle got him on the right track. Matt made amends, and he’s doing really good on the program now. Healthy, like I said. He and my mom are even talking again. So I know if you take it seriously, stick close to your family, you’ll be okay. You’re strong, Soph. Just think about all the stuff you’ve gotten through.”