Chapter 7 Above #3
The front door opens. Melinda Hill freezes in the doorway.
She’s in jeans and a loose teal blouse, a day--off outfit.
Her hair is in a braid over one shoulder.
She’s not wearing makeup—-probably the first time I’ve seen her without it.
The effect is startling, like a figure on a poster suddenly stepping onto the street.
Her gaze flicks quickly to me, to Emily, back to me. “What is she doing here?” she asks, looking at me without addressing me.
“Having coffee. Would you like some?” Emily replies mildly.
Melinda’s eyes track to the coats dripping dry on the rack, the muddy boots by the door. “You were out,” she says.
“There’s a girl missing. Audrey’s looking for her,” Emily explains. “She was on Terry’s land, apparently.”
Melinda’s head whips back around. “You were on Terry’s land?”
“Is that a problem?” Emily looks entirely too innocent, sipping her coffee.
“We don’t need any more problems with that man,” Melinda says. She presses a fingertip to the point between her eyes, shutting them briefly like she’s fighting off a headache. “You need to stop antagonizing him. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“He’s violent?” I ask.
Melinda fixes me with a flat look. “When I was a teenager, he tried to shoot my dog because she ‘made too much noise.’ And that was when I was standing right next to her. So yes, I’d say he’s violent.”
“Jesus,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“Terry’s not here. He’s in the hospital, and he’s probably going to die there,” Emily says, blunt and disconnected. “And Bill isn’t here, either, so you can calm down.”
Melinda looks like she wants to say something, but she only clenches her jaw. “You should go,” she says to me.
“She’s my guest. This is my house,” Emily says. There’s tension in the air between them, a power struggle I can’t begin to fathom.
I rise. “I probably should be getting home anyway,” I say. “Thank you for showing me around.”
“Come back anytime,” Emily says, but the remark seems more directed at her sister than me.
“Let me walk you to your car,” Melinda says. Emily rises, takes my mug from me wordlessly, and ghosts her way into the kitchen. I gather up my things, shoving my feet into my boots.
It’s only a few steps to the car, but Melinda keeps her word and comes with me.
I open the driver’s side door, but she still stands there, like she’s trying to decide whether to say something.
She looks back over her shoulder. Emily stands at the kitchen window, looking not at us but at the trees beyond. Melinda sighs.
“I’m sorry, Audrey, this isn’t exactly how I’d prefer to run into you again,” Melinda says. “I haven’t really seen you since . . .”
“Since you dropped an unconscious teenager on my doorstep,” I say dryly.
She winces. “I didn’t handle that situation well.”
“I don’t think any of us could say it was our finest hour,” I reply.
I still have no idea why Janie gave Melinda my address when the eldest Hill found her at a party eight shots in and pooled in the corner of the couch while Andrew partied in the next room.
Their short--lived fling was long over, but I guess Melinda still felt some sense of responsibility for her.
“She told me to bring her here. What do you want me to do?” Melinda had asked, car still running on the street. My parents were out of town. Janie’s dad wasn’t, and I knew she’d be in deep shit if she went home like this.
“Bring her in.”
We put her in my bed. I stayed up, making sure she was okay.
Left aspirin and a bottle of water next to her bed and left before she woke up.
I didn’t come back until the afternoon. She was gone.
She didn’t even leave a note. That was three months after we’d stopped talking.
Still more than a year before she ran away.
Sometimes I imagine the version of our lives where I stayed. Helped her sober up. Had a heart--to--heart. We would have fixed what was broken, and she would have stayed my friend and stayed in Franklin, and maybe—-
But we only would have fought again. It wouldn’t have changed anything.
Melinda’s lips compress. “You should be careful with Emily,” she says, as if this is a natural continuation of the conversation.
“Careful? How so?” I ask, struggling to sound casual. The whole situation has me on edge. The tension in the air is palpable, and I don’t understand why.
“Emily has lived a very sheltered life,” she says, clearly picking her words with deliberation.
“She was pulled out of school, she said.”
Melinda hesitates. “Yes, well. Things weren’t always . . . She’s always had some problems. And being isolated out here didn’t exactly help matters. She can’t really cope in the real world. Sometimes she does or says things that people find . . . alarming.”
“All right,” I say slowly.
She rakes her hair back from her face. “She’s not . . . I don’t want to sound like I’m insulting her. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. You or her.”
“We were just talking. How would we get hurt?” I ask.
She considers me for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” she says at last. “I shouldn’t be butting in. I just worry about her.”
“It’s fine,” I assure her, though I still don’t quite understand what she’s getting at.
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a business card. “Listen. This is my number and email. Please, just . . . call me if you notice anything off,” she says, holding my gaze. “With Emily, I mean.”
“Off how?” I ask.
She shakes her head and turns away. Her footsteps crunch on the gravel as she makes her way back to the house and shuts the door behind her. A moment later, Emily vanishes from the window. I wait a minute more, straining for any sign of argument, but the house is quiet.
I get in my car and drive toward home.